Ever have a series of moments that’s led you to stop and think to yourself, “what on earth is going on?” That’s been me over the past week.
It all started with a comment I made on someone’s Facebook post, then some responses I got from my last blog post, and then even more from my own Facebook post I made recently. I’m not referring to the encouraging words or general feedback in response to a question I had asked (those responses have been immensely helpful). I’m referring to the private responses I’ve received that have been out of concern for my own well-being.
To some extent, I do understand the words of warning and sincere curiosity at what would motivate me to say some of the things that I’ve said. When someone makes a comment [apparently] out of the blue that affirms another’s critique of church leadership, then writes a public document that refers to even more unease towards a denomination, and then poses an open question asking why members of a specific demographic have left/are leaving said denomination, I can see why one would be surprised and wonder what’s going on.
On the other hand, it’s also social media, and social media is a horrendous way of engaging with reality; things are taken out of context, too many assumptions can be made, and its overall a horrific platform by which to communicate effectively (which is why I requested people to send me a private message rather than post comments, but that’s an aside).
In light of this, I’d like to reflect on some things and clarify what’s going on:
First off: I’m not on a rampage, nor am I setting out to write some epic expose’ on the Church of the Nazarene. I don’t think nearly highly enough of myself to assume that anything I write or post on Facebook is going to make a difference or affect change. Yes, I have been very hurt by certain events that have transpired recently in my life, but I’m not on the warpath invoking a ‘scorched earth’ policy.
For those who know me well enough – and I realize that number is not very large, as I am a private person – one of the best ways I’ve found to process various events in my life is to write. As I mentioned in my last post, it forces me to articulate and organize my thoughts, which is a great benefit for me. However, I am also cathartic. It does very little for me to merely write out my thoughts and then keep them to myself; the greatest sense of relief and conclusion I feel is when I offer up my own life experiences and growth moments for others to consider. Who knows, but perhaps my pain and anguish can be a benefit to someone else.
In fact, the time when this blog had the most active readership was when I was seriously wrestling with a lot of my personal beliefs, and delving in a variety of theological discussions. For whatever reason, my own reflections seem(ed) to be of interest to other people, and I am happy to oblige.
That being said, the primary reason I’m planning on writing on some aforementioned subjects is 1) for my own benefit, and 2) for the benefit of my readers (whoever they may be). I have little interest in purposefully being a part of a broader conversation or “invited to speak at the table” when it comes to the denominational level. Board members and delegates can do what they please; I just want to write and listen.
Second: I was asked what my motivation was for posting the question I did on Facebook.* Quite simply, here is my reasoning…
*For those who are unaware, I invited young adults who have left the Church of the Nazarene (or are looking to leave) to share with me what led them to that point.*
I was sitting down to begin working on a draft of what I wanted to express in relation to “A Young Adult’s experience with the Church of the Nazarene,” drawing from my own experiences – good and bad – and offering some observations and suspicions of why there’s been a migration of young adults away from the Nazarene Church. This idea came about mostly because it truly seems to be an issue no one wants to talk about, and I’m tired of seeing so many of my friends dip-out with not so much as a whisper from the general church. Something seems off, and I felt it would be prudent to address this subject as one who is still an ordained elder within said denomination.
But, in the process of planning out what such a writing would look like, I realized that I would end up making far too many assumptions about what young adults, in general, are sensing/experiencing/struggling with. So, the natural conclusion I came to was, “why not just ask what others have been through and simply listen to them?”
So, I did.
Third: My simple question ended up highlighting a stark reality for me. Namely, that within church leadership (I can only speak on the Nazarene culture in this regard), once you hit the level of ‘local pastor,’ you find yourself in a climate that prevents you from saying much. It’s not overt, but it wasn’t until I found myself outside the umbrella of District-level involvement that I realized how self-censoring clergy are expected to be.
There is a subtle, gradual realization when you take on a church that anything you say can, and will, be used against you. You stop asking the questions you used to ask. You stop exploring the difficult topics because they’re too much of a risk. You stop challenging what you used to challenge. And all because you know, at any point, you could be fired by your church board or have your credentials pulled by the District if someone deems that you’ve “crossed the line.”
So, you fall in line and only in the rarest of circumstances attempt to engage in difficult conversations. This isn’t out of confusion on the issues, nor it is necessarily out of disinterest, but out of fear. There is an underlying assumption that you will not be shown any grace nor understanding. And when-or-if you decide to speak out; whether it be a small group study or a sermon – even if it’s merely to call attention to the topic – you’re hit with anxiety over how long it’s going to be until that phone rings and you’re asked to meet with the board/DS.
That sets the stage for my third point, which is this reflection: Within the Church of the Nazarene, I’ve come to realize that we have conditioned ourselves to not ask questions, nor to engage with the difficult topics. Young adults leaving the denomination is one of those difficult topics, and simply asking the question of “why” seems to be enough to warrant blowback.
If we have such little security in the state of our church that we fear what others might say if asked a simple question, that speaks more to where we are as a denomination than it does to the one who asks; and it doesn’t speak well.
For those familiar with the concept of a “Church Life Cycle,” this is a clear indication that we now find ourselves in the “Institutionalized Church” stage; where commitment and loyalty to the business and administration of the church is a higher priority than loyalty to the mission of the church. And, according to the experts who have evaluated these life cycles, the only routes to take are a slow death spiral or drastic innovation. For my part, I once again admit disinterest in either of those conversations; I’m merely pointing them out.
Fourth: I really don’t appreciate that my loyalty to the denomination is being called into question due to my recognition that that the Nazarene Church isn’t perfect. I can’t name a single organization, whether secular or religious, where leadership doesn’t drop the ball and have huge blind spots at various points in their history, or that never face critical issues such as a large portion of a certain demographic expressing discontent and moving on.
To add to this, I feel I can speak for many young adults when I say that the notion of loyalty towards a denomination is a dangerous expectation, especially when said loyalty only serves to gloss over aforementioned issues and expects that we ought to carry on with our heads down and eyes closed.
Fifth, and finally: I want to express understanding. The Church of the Nazarene has a varied, and frankly brief, history. In the mere 100 and some-odd years, we’ve been through a lot as a denomination. We’ve gone through major theological swings, seen amazing changes, raised up phenomenal leaders, and have faced incredibly trying times.
The sad reality is this: In my humble estimation, a large contingency of members in our churches today (broadly, I’ll refer to the “Boomer” demographic, with no intended insult or belittling) lived through what are arguably some of the greatest years in our history; a period of growth, excitement, adventure, rewarding challenges, and highly respectable leaders. I truly sympathize with their perspective, and God knows how much I wish we were still in that era. Unfortunately, we aren’t anymore.
Yes, we have great leaders among us. Yes, there are good and wonderful things happening and developing. But I feel we are being dishonest if we assume those are the rules and not the exceptions that people within our churches and among our clergy are witnessing.
I often think back to my days as a Preaching Ambassador at Olivet. Those first 5 years were some of the best in my life! There was innovation, excitement, and everyone wanted to be a part of what was going on. It was like a slice of Heaven.
Then, over time, things changed. I can honestly say that it isn’t the same program that it was before. There’s been bureaucratic overreach in some places, a dismantling of some of the systems and processes that made it great in others, and it’s become just another program – an institution instead of an organic entity.
I don’t begrudge that fact, nor do I harbor any ill feelings to those involved. It’s just a fact of life that any organization or church body goes through these phases.
I am writing what I’m writing because I feel this denomination is in a downward-trajectory phase (at least in regards to young adults), and I’ve said what I’ve said, and asked what I’ve asked, because I don’t think it’s healthy to ignore the reality of the situation. Even if the only person to benefit is myself, I want to better understand what’s happening to my church.
What everyone else chooses to do with that is their affair.
Strait Talk 