The Dreams For Tomorrow vs. The Reality Of Today

(This post is Part 2 of a series on the struggle to maintain idealism. Part 1 can be found here.)



Earlier today, I became involved in a discouraging conversation on Twitter. It focused on the matter of worship in the mainline church and whether new styles are practical and/or necessary. I was trying to make the point that for many people, traditional worship is rote and uninspiring. They attend more out of duty than for a genuine and exciting experience of God’s presence. Because that sense of obligation is fading as the church gradually recedes from the cultural mainstream, changes will be necessary if the church is to remain vital and strong in coming decades.

Much to my surprise, I received a good bit of resistance from the group of mostly progressive church leaders. Where I thought I would find abundant resonance to the idea of boldly blazing a new trail of creative faith expression, I instead received a litany of reasons why change efforts are risky/impractical/unnecessary/irresponsible/arrogant. On the whole, my desire for a new vision was not affirmed, and even the concept of moving forward was brought into question.

I ended the conversation with a frank expression of my frustration, accusing the participants of splitting hairs and lacking vision. Upon further reflection, I admit that my reaction was a bit rash, but it is born out of a deep and genuine angst over the prevalent “we fear change” mentality in the mainline church. It’s an angst that I imagine everyone in that Twitter conversation shares on some level, and it can lead even those who are favorable to change to respond negatively when others call for it. I’ve caught myself doing it sometimes.

The reason this happens is related to my previous blog on idealism and its tendency to fade over time. I observed that a lot of people (especially ministers) harbor high ideals for changing the world when they are young and in school, but gradually let go of these dreams as they become established in the real world.

One reason for this was revealed by today’s Twitter conversation. In an environment such as seminary, students are encouraged to think about the future. Discussions of what the church should look like in 10, 50, or even 100 years are common.

Once we hit the ground, however, and must deal with the day-to-day realities of a congregation, the focus changes dramatically. There might be precious little time to consider what worship should look like in 20 years, because we are consumed with what we’re going to do this coming Sunday. And in every church I’ve been in, staff and committees have rarely talked about what will happen more than six months into the future.

In such “present-centered” work environments, idealism naturally takes a back seat to practicality and realism. It’s no surprise, therefore, that concerns about how current church members will respond to change take precedence over what will happen in a generation if we don’t change.

Which is where most of the folks I got so frustrated with on Twitter seem to be. In theory, they might agree with the need for an evolving long-term vision of worship. In a seminary class, we probably would have had the kind of affirming, uplifting conversation about this that I was hoping for. We would have been free to focus on the larger sweep of church history and where we are heading beyond the horizon of the current church season.

But on a random Wednesday morning, when we’re all neck-deep in our preparations for another Sunday and another busy fall, it turned out differently. Instead of the forest of idealism, it was all about the trees of reality, about “what we are doing right now.” And right now, as much as it might be needed, it is quite difficult to be an agent of change in an institution that is so steeped in tradition.

Anyone leading a traditional mainline church faces this tension between long-term vision and short-term practicality. For the next five to ten years, I know that my church will continue to thrive with the same service it’s been doing. But if we want to remain vital beyond that, we have to start today in forming a new concept of worship (and a lot of other practices, too).

So the question I pose is this: How do we honor both? How do we be sensitive to the concerns of the present day without sacrificing our long-term future? Or do we have to choose?

Cling To Your Idealism - Part 1

A couple of years ago, I was talking with a colleague of mine about some difficulties I was having in my church. One of the issues concerned prophetic statements I had made about health care and some other social issues. My friend concluded that the conflict was in large part a spillover from the angry national political climate, but he also placed some of the responsibility on my shoulders - observing that even in my late 30s, I am still quite the idealist.

He was quick to qualify his charge, saying that idealism can be a very good thing - but the implication was clear. Idealism is something that is fine for students in a classroom theorizing about changing the world; but real people out in the real world, and especially pastors, need to get over it if they want to avoid trouble and get anywhere.

In my time in the church and in politics, I have seen many people “get over” their idealism. From seminary classmates with whom I shared pitchers of beer and dreams of a social justice movement in the church; to fellow ministers who have been slowly seduced by the allure of bigger steeples; to partners in political blogging who transformed from bold critics of the system to dependents on the status quo – in all of these, the basic pattern is the same.

Grow up. Go to school. Come to understand the evils of the world and its systemic nature. Develop big dreams and plans for changing the world. Graduate. Go out into the world. Realize that changing the system is a lot more difficult than anticipated. Watch a lot of friends and colleagues do well by abandoning their idealism and conforming to the system. Watch a few struggle painfully by continuing to fight the system.

Ultimately, the process forces young idealists into a difficult choice. In the movie “The Rainmaker,” the rookie lawyer played by Matt Damon asks the grizzled veteran who defends a criminal corporation, “Do you even remember when you first sold out?” What he’s really asking is if the lawyer made a conscious choice to abandon the principles of his youth, or he if he just woke up one day and realized he had drifted away from them.

My sense is that most ministers who lose their idealism drift away. They might not even realize it is gone, thinking they are still fighting for those same lofty principles they developed in seminary. But bit by bit, they might soften their language from the pulpit and edit their words in the newsletter. They might shy away from the challenging programs and study topics, instead making choices that are less controversial and more popular. Slowly but surely, they become cogs in the system they once decried, and they come up with a variety of justifications for why they shouldn’t pursue a bolder, more prophetic style of ministry.

In the next installment of “Cling To Your Idealism,” I’ll unpack some of these justifications, and I’ll examine some ways in my own ministry I have felt the temptation to abandon the lofty ideals of my youth.