A Little Conformity Might Do Us Good

These days, and among younger generations, one of the worst insults you could heap upon someone is to call them a "conformist."  This is the age of individuality, being your own person, and not caring what other people think of you.  Becoming one's own unique person is the goal, and any hint that you are borrowing identity or beliefs is an insult.

Perhaps the most obvious manifestation of the non-conformist culture is in the realm of religion.  For more and more people, it is a sign of weakness and conformity to be involved in organized religion or to claim a traditional, already established religion as one's own.  Instead, in order to be a unique individual, people create a hodge-podge of beliefs, coming up with a new name for what they believe, or they may even start their own religion.

There's one big problem with the idea that we choose our own path, think for ourselves, and find our own beliefs: It's not true.

The fact of the matter is that our context, relationships, and experiences have a huge influence on us, almost to the point of being determinative.  Sociologists have known this for a while; the rest of us have missed it. Sociologist Inagrace Dietterich once wrote,

"The modern emphasis on the autonomous self too often ignores, or even denies, the formative power of the various communities in which we participate.  We assume that our "habits of the heart" - the notions, opinions, commitments, and desires that motivate, order and guide our lives - are chosen and formed in isolation from other human beings and social realities....[But] the question is not whether we will be socialized, but what kind of society will have its way with us."  

As the old (and biblical) saying goes, "There is nothing new under the sun." (Ecclesiastes 1:9).  Any time we "think for ourselves," we are merely processing knowledge, data and thoughts that have been passed onto us by someone else.  (It's kind of like making a recipe: the result might look unique and impressive, but it's really just age old ingredients prepared in a certain way). As we age and "become our own person," we are often merely becoming an adult version of our younger self and we still live and repeat the same patterns we learned there. Couples who do counseling with me are often shocked by the connections I'm able to make between their behavior patterns in their family of origin and the current relationship.

Similarly, any time we become our own "spiritual individual," we are merely rearranging what's been passed down to us and what we've been exposed to.  Everything is borrowed.  If we come up with something that's new to us, it is just that: new to us, but trust me, it has been thought of before, and we were only able to think it because of what we have gleaned from others.  I would argue that "free thinking," as the term is used in our culture, is not possible.  We all operate within what Peter Berger called "plausibility structures."

In a Christian Century article dated Sept 1, 2011, Lillian Daniel wrote a masterful piece about this phenomenon of people saying they're "spiritual, but not religious" and rejecting anything that seems to be "organized religion."  He talks about a man who came into his office to announce his departure from the church and that he had come up with his own beliefs:  Daniel writes, "He dumped this news in my lap as if it were a controversial hot potato, something shocking to a minister who had never been exposed to ideas so brave.  Of course, this well-meaning Sunday jogger fits right in to mainstream American culture. He is perhaps by now a part of the majority."

Daniel goes on to say something that rings very true with my own experience:

"If we made a church for all these spiritual-but-not-religious people, if we got them all together to talk about their beliefs and their incredibly unique personal religions, they might find out that most of America agrees with them. But they'll never find that out, because getting them all together would be way too much like church. And they are far too busy being original to discover that they are not."

There is truth to the tongue-in-cheek quip that non-conformists are all alike. Sure, they might have a few personal tweaks here and there and motives that are genuine, but it's all taken from the same ingredients, and if you have your "own religion" or you have rejected religion all together, you are no less influenced by your context than I am. Your influences have just been different. I remember as a teenager getting a kick out of the so-called "goth" dress that some of my fellow students were donning. When asked, most of them would tell you that they are dressing that way in order to assert their individuality. I'm not ridiculing them, but it was always amazing how similar they all looked.

There's an important distinction to be made between "default" and "choice" when it comes to people's beliefs.  For example, there's a big difference between an atheist by default and an atheist by choice.  A default atheist is someone who was perhaps raised in a non-religious home where God was never discussed, so even though they might often hear people speak of God and faith, it's just not part of their contextual framework.  An atheist by choice, on the other hand, is someone who - regardless of their background - has critically engaged the question of religion and belief and made a decision to be an atheist (though often in opposition to a default religious context).  But due to our culture of individuality and non-conformity, people often end up rejecting their default belief system simply because it's the default, not out of careful consideration. It's important to own our beliefs. Contrary to the attitude of Christian apologists who try to beef up our young people with ready answers to the intellectual challenges they'll face in college, it is quite healthy and necessary for people to go through a period of disillusionment and questioning with respect to their default belief system. This can and should happen. But there seems to be this idea today that we're supposed to leave our default belief system behind, whatever it happens to be.  If we don't, we're being submissive conformists.  I've seen people leave Christianity simply because it was their "default"--what they were raised in--and they don't see a way to move from default to choice without also moving to another religion (or none at all).  Like many young adults, I've also made the journey from default to choice. It involved much questioning, doubt and anxiety. But for me, it did not involve leaving the faith I was raised in altogether, nor did it have to.

I applaud the way today's cultural trends have heightened our awareness of a bad type of conformity; that is, mindless submission. But I think we've lost the value of another kind of "conformity."  The good kind.  I think the valuable truth we're missing in this hyper-individualistic culture is that we were made for community, and that our faith journey finds fulfillment and meaningful expression in the context of community.

This false idea of the autonomous individual can be found just as strongly present in the church as outside it. You hear it in Christian theology through phrases like "personal relationship with Jesus Christ" (a phrase found nowhere in the Bible). We see it in the way the church is treated like a dispenser of religious goods and services rather than a collaborative effort in faith formation. We've totally lost the communal aspect of faith development and even salvation. That's why Christians today are confused when we read verses like Acts 11:14 or Acts 16:31 that talk about whole households being collectively saved.  In fact, the Bible is chock-full of examples of God relating to, teaching, and shaping people in the context of a community or people group. Whenever God did relate specially to an individual, it was for an eventual communal purpose. Churches have strayed a very far distance from the early church as described in Acts 2:42-47 and Acts 4:32-35, so much so that groups of Christians who do operate as the early church is described are often not referred to or thought of as a church.

When we see ourselves as totally autonomous individuals and act as competing, individual kingdoms, nothing gets done. This is why ministry (and other things that involve working with volunteers) feels so much like herding cats these days. We need to experience conformity again, in its good sense.  Modernity and the focus on the individual were not a completely bad thing; to be sure. It heightened our awareness of personal rights and freedoms and that we should never force people to do something. However, it has gone way too far, and it's time to reclaim and live in awareness of our mutual dependency.  It requires putting some personal preferences aside and holding our beliefs tentatively, and many are not willing to do that.  But it's community where we "spur each other on toward love and good deeds" (Heb 10:24-25). It's where we learn the value of mutual submission (Eph 5:21). It's where we seek and find truth.  It's where we bring together our gifts and talents to accomplish more than we ever could on our own (Romans 12:4-5). Jesus prayed that all believers would be "one" (John 17:20-21).

In short, I think a little more "conformity" might do us some good.

Reality - Escape or Transform?

Have you ever thought about how many of our activities ultimately amount to an escape of reality?

I did it a lot as a kid.  Most days, after school, I would make a retreat into my room where I would immerse myself in video games or my world of pretend aided by my tape player.  If I wasn't beating up the bad guys on my Nintendo, I was a super-hero, a pop-singer, etc.  Anything other than what I was would do.  A half-invisible, nerdy kid who couldn't swim or ride a bike was the self-image I had, and I had little interest in that person.  Like every kid and teenager, I experimented with several identities.  The one that has worked for me since I was 16 is "the confident, able leader."  To this day I get uneasy when I don't feel like I'm fulfilling that role.

There's something about escaping reality that's very healthy.  They actually say that children need to do it occasionally in order to develop properly...but only to a point.  Children who do nothing but live in the fantasy world are often socially inept.  Adults need to do it too.  Reality can suck.  Kids and bosses drive you crazy, families are messed up, suffering is all around us, and the realization of how much we have no control over can be paralyzing.  We cope with this by retreating into constructed realities with clear parameters.  Novels, games, movies, etc.  Sometimes these things are a healthy tool for our psychological survival.  But do we sometimes go beyond their occasional, healthy function?

Take a quick self-assessment of your free time (yes, we all have some, we just like to say we don't).  How much of it amounts to an escape from reality?  Take a quick self-assessment of the rest of your time - when you're at work, school, with family and friends.  How much of your thought processes and/or conversations amount to an escape from reality?

What some of us might find is that we spend an inordinate amount of time in some sort of escape from reality, or at least that our lives feature little if any contact with the lives of people outside our close circles.  But as a Christian, how am I called to relate to the real world?  Escape it, or transform it?

Another way we do this is in our relationships.  Think about it:  how often are your relationships based on intimate knowledge of and conversation about the other?  This is very rare.  Usually, conversations are centered away from the people engaged in them and focus on other things like hobbies, events, or other people.  This triangled focus in relationships is very common:  guys talk about sports, women talk about clothes, families sit with each other while watching the TV, etc.  These triangles create the illusion of closeness in a relationship but actually maintain distance and shield us from the realities of our life and others' lives.  As a Christian, how am I called to relate to the lives of others?

In scripture, Jesus and 3 of his disciples enjoyed a brief escape from reality in the story of the Transfiguration (Matt 17:1-9; Mark 9:2-8; Luke 9:28-36).  They had what you could call a "mountaintop experience."  Aren't those great?  I remember having them growing up, and some were literally on top of a mountain at camps like Eagle Eyrie and Ridgecrest.  But I remember the let-down when I came back home and was surprised to find that I was my old self and returned to my old habits.  In all 3 synoptic gospels, this "mountaintop story" is followed by Jesus being met at the bottom of the mountain by a man begging for Jesus to free his son of demon possession (the only time a majority of the gospels put two stories in the same sequence).  How do you like that?  A marvelous, heavenly experience, and then WHAM - back to the grind.

Scripture is less "heavenly-minded" than we might think.  It abounds with narratives and images of God transforming reality rather than calling people out of or away from it.  I think of the creation narrative of Genesis 1 in which God takes formless matter and reorders it into something majestic.  I think of Ezekiel's image of dry bones coming to life (Ezek 37:4-6). I think of Isaiah's visions of peace and prosperity even among the animal kingdom (Isa 65:17-25) and Revelation's promise of a "new heaven and a new earth," God making "everything new" and dwelling "among the people" (Rev 21:1-4).  In fact, it seems that whenever God does do something "other-worldly," it always has a very grounded, earthly purpose.  Isaiah had a wild vision that culminated in God "touching his lips" and giving him a message to preach (Isaiah 6:1-8).  The angelic visits to Mary served to prepare her for what was to come; a very real birth in a very real (and dirty) place.  The "tongues of fire" at Pentecost and the coming of the Spirit served to make it possible for everyone to hear the word of God in their own language (Acts 2:1-12).  One of my favorite moments comes a chapter before that, right after Jesus has ascended and disappeared from the disciples' sight.  "Two men" appear and deliver a great line: “Men of Galilee, why do you stand here looking into the sky?" (Acts 1:11)

Indeed.  Why do we stand here looking into the sky?  Why do we always focus on everything but the other person in relationships?  It seems to me that while God has a way of providing those important escapes from reality when we need them, our primary calling is to transform reality.  We are to be in the thick of it all, bringing the hope, love and grace that we have freely received and must now freely give (Matt 10:8).  Outside of our novels, games, movies and puzzles - as good and fun as they are - we can't forget about the much greater, messier, and spectacular narrative unfolding all around us.

I dare say that some versions of Christianity are little more than a different kind of escape from reality, draped in the language of piety and faithfulness.  From the fascination with rapture and end times (including a best-selling 12-book series) to hymns of the "roll being called up yonder," many people seek only to see heaven through human eyes rather than to see earth through God's eyes.  These dreams and escapes are only valuable insofar as they provide us with an encouraging vision of what could be; what God is trying to remake the world into.  We are to be the "salt of the earth" and the "light of the world" (Matt 5:13-16).  This requires a faith that "spurs us on toward love and good deeds" (Heb 10:24), a faith that takes us into the dark corners where light is most needed - realities we would otherwise just seek to escape, left to ourselves.

This post is an entry in the "Missional Church" section of this blog.

I Saw the Light?

There's a great Christian revivalist phrase, so familiar that it's often used even by Christians themselves in light-hearted conversation: "I have seen the light!" In order to say it correctly, of course, you have to stay on the word "seen" for an incredibly long time, and put your hands up in the air as a bonus. "I have seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen the light!"

Indeed, this is how believers think and talk about the difference between belief and non-belief. Supposedly I, as a Christian, have come to see something that those who believe differently from me have not seen. I have knowledge of the truth, I have come into contact with the divine, etc. The focus seems to be on me. I made a change, I redirected my gaze, and now I see the light. Therefore, we approach life and faith with certainty. I know. I have truth. I see the light.

Light is a common metaphor in the Bible. It is equated with God's truth or presence. People who had a special encounter with God radiated with light (e.g., Moses). It is an important theme in the gospel of John, as Jesus refers to Himself as the "light of the world" (John 8:12, 9:5). So, it makes perfect sense for a follower of Christ to use "light" in reference to their faith.  

But if we take this light analogy seriously, a very different way of thinking emerges. Think about "physical" light...that which is detectable by the human eye at 380 to 780 nanometres on the electromagnetic spectrum. Do I see light? Or is it light by which I see?

Go into a dark room or closet. Make it completely dark so that you can't see anything. Now, turn on a light. Are you seeing light? Or is it the light by which you see? Would you and I be able to see anything if not for light? If it's completely dark and we want to be able to see something, we are completely dependent on finding a source of light. Light is not just one of the many things in the world that our eyes can see; it is the very agent by which we see at all.

Think about it: our sense of sight is useless without light.

Bringing this metaphor back to the spiritual realm, we can see nothing apart from God. We do not see God, we do not find God. It is only by God's light and truth that is present in the world that we see, understand, and experience anything at all. I do not see God's light. God's light enables me to see.

This is very much in line with passages we find in the Bible that seem to unequivocally place all revelatory initiative with God. In other words, in many parts of the Bible, humans are completely dependent on God to reveal anything to them.

We're told of Samuel before his encounter with the Lord that he "did not yet know the Lord; the word of the Lord had not yet been revealed to him" (1 Samuel 3:7). The great prophetic oracle of Isaiah 65 begins with the words, "I revealed myself to those who did not ask for me; I was found by those who did not seek me. To a nation that did not call on my name, I said, 'Here am I, here am I.'" Jesus prayed in Matthew 11:25-26, "I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. Yes, Father, for this was your good pleasure." Or consider what he said to Peter after his confession of him as the Messiah: "Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah, for this was not revealed to you by man, but by my Father in heaven." (Matthew 16:17). The apostle Paul made several references to the notion that still much has not yet been revealed, or cannot be perceived by humans (Romans 8:18-25; 1 Corinthians 13:9, 12). He also said, "The mystery of Christ was not made known to men in other generations as it has now been revealed by the Spirit to God's holy apostles and prophets" (Ephesians 3:5).

But the interesting part is what happens in these biblical narratives when people get that glimpse of God; that moment of clarity with the divine. What happens? Did they burst into "hallelujahs" or walk away with confidence and vindication in their beliefs? No; often, it was a traumatic experience that left them reeling. At the very least, those called felt unworthy and looked for a way out (Exodus 3-4; Jeremiah 1:6; Jonah 1:1-3). Paul was left blinded (Acts 9), and Isaiah ended up berating himself and his people (Isaiah 6:1-5). Even an encounter with an angel would always reduce the biblical characters to debilitating fear.

 I tend to think we take too much credit. Am I reduced to humility when I think I have a special revelation from God, or do I flaunt it and revel in new-found self-vindication? We don't see light; light allows us to see. And we don't know God; God allows us to know. Consider this question: Do you see your faith as simply one worldview among (and sometimes against) many others, or do you believe in a God who is bigger than that; a God whose light informs all worldviews?

Before He Eats the Apple

My son likes to play with the older kids in the neighborhood. Several times in the last month, I've watched as those older children tried to insult, pick on, or otherwise demean him, and he continued to play with them, thinking nothing of it. As an example, two of the older children like to run off behind a tree whispering, trying to make my son concerned that they are talking about him or planning something in secret. My son, who is too young to get it, simply runs around the tree and keeps playing with them, unfazed by their efforts. He is still too naive to be bothered by psychological bullying.

Everyone knows the story of Adam and Eve, right? The famous story of Eve being tempted to eat the "apple" is found in Genesis 3. Many refer to this story in Genesis 3 as "the fall;" that is, the story of humanity's fall from perfection to sinfulness. However, it seems that the story is much more one of humanity's premature growth from naivete to awareness.

The fruit (not identified as an apple) that Eve is persuaded to eat by the serpent (not identified as Satan) is said to be from "the tree of the knowledge of good and evil." Adam and Eve eat the fruit and it says "their eyes were opened" and "they realized they were naked." In the serpent's temptation, he never lies but merely manipulates the truth. He suggests to them that they would not literally or immediately die (which turned out to be true), and he revealed to them the reason that God didn't want them to eat of it (God had not shared the reason but had only threatened punishment). At the end of the chapter, God laments this new knowledge that Adam and Eve have gained, and consequently locks up the secrets of eternal life and throws away the key: "[Mankind] must not be allowed to...take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever" (Genesis 3:22). It's a very profound and intriguing point. This narrative in Genesis 3 tells the story of a God who didn't want human beings to come out of a child-like naivete to see the world with insight...at least, not that soon. They were created naive (for lack of a better word), and gained the knowledge of good and evil when God didn't want them to.

My son has not yet eaten many apples. He's not supposed to yet. He will need the knowledge eventually. He must lose his naivete as he ages and matures...but not yet. Like Adam, Eve, and God, if he were to somehow come to me and ask for the knowledge I have (and if I were somehow able to give it in that moment), I wouldn't give it to him, and he wouldn't understand if I tried to tell him why. The best place for him to be right now is in his toddler world where there is no such thing as manipulation, rejection, and anxiety.

Isn't this the way it goes for most of our lives? We approach new things with a certain level of naivete, and then we eventually gain insight and learn the truth, and while we don't usually want to return to our ignorance, we wrestle with disappointment and think, "Man, this isn't all it's cracked up to be." As we become adults, we become aware of things like rejection and grief and begin to know the pain. We can't often see past where we are. When we encounter someone who is more naive than us, we shake our heads and think about how foolish they are; and when we encounter someone who is less naive than us, we feel disgust at what we perceive as their pessimism.

You might be familiar with the scene in The Matrix where Neo is talking to Morpheus after he has just learned the truth about his existence. In shock from all he has learned, Neo asks Morpheus, "I can't go back, can I?" Morpheus responds, "No. But if you could, would you want to?"

Man, what a question.

I'm reminded of the verse in the Bible that says, "Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the days of trouble come and the years approach when you will say, 'I find no pleasure in them'" (Ecclesiastes 12:1). If you're like me, every once in a while, you want that Garden of Eden you once lived in. The world where there's no such thing as rejection. The world where you've got nothing to lose. The world as it was before you ever knew of things like death or disease. The world where everything was under control and nothing bad would happen to you as long as you were faithful to God. There's not just one apple that we eat. Rather, month by month and year by year, we climb out of naivete into wisdom and insight. Sometimes, it's an exercise in having our bubble burst or our feet knocked out from under us.

But then we are left with a choice. We can let despair get to us and we can spend today longing for a yesterday that will never return. Or, we can embrace the rewards of the path we're on. The apostle Paul said it this way: "We know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope" (Romans 5:3-4). As we grow from naivete to maturity, there is something precious that we lose, but there is also something far more valuable that we gain.

But believe me: I love watching my son play in the Garden of Eden. And I'm not going to rush him out.