I don't mean to make fun of people who are concerned about this information, but I am a little confused about why it came as such a huge shock to Christians and other religious people. The nones went up from about 15 to about 20 percent over 6 years. I don't see that as an alarming spike, just an indicator of a natural movement, though maybe that does count as alarming. Among young people, it was more like 30%. That actually seems low to me. So I am concerned as well, not that there are so many nones, but that the church people didn't realize it. Who have they been hanging out with? Are church people spending so much time with other church people that they seriously didn't know a minority of people do not consider themselves religious?
The next question, of course, is why and what now. The why seems somewhat easy to me too, which brings us to the tutu part. I read a quote from Desmond Tutu a few weeks ago, and I've been turning it over in my head ever since. He's talking about the experience of Africans being visited by Christian missionaries, with "he" being African people in a collective sense.
The next question, of course, is why and what now. The why seems somewhat easy to me too, which brings us to the tutu part. I read a quote from Desmond Tutu a few weeks ago, and I've been turning it over in my head ever since. He's talking about the experience of Africans being visited by Christian missionaries, with "he" being African people in a collective sense.
"...he was being redeemed from sins he did not believe he had committed; he was being given answers, and often quite splendid answers, to questions he had not asked."
That describes a lot of people's experience. You definitely don't have to be African to feel like certain expressions of religion are irrelevant, just meaningless to your life. Even I have felt that way sometimes, and I'm in ministry! I had never quite thought of it the way he put it: answering questions that aren't being asked. I wager that's at the root of what many of those unaffiliated people would say. They're into serving their communities, donating time and money, and often meditating or discussing sacred texts. They feel like they can do those things without church, and they're absolutely right. They can. They are getting the answers to some of their questions in these places. How can I connect meaningfully with other people? How can I enrich my own and others' experience of life? How can I slow down and find peace? The churches that thrive and draw these people are the ones that pay attention and offer responses to these questions. The churches that are "dying"? Those are the ones whose answers don't line up with people's real questions. Heaven and hell, right and wrong, who's in and who's out...in my experience, people don't worry too much about these things, at least not as much as living a rewarding, compassionate life.
I'm not saying the church should abandon its agenda and start playing to the crowds. I'm saying the church's interests are really quite well-aligned with most people's interests: relationships, wholeness, sustainability, big questions about selflessness and sacrifice and what love looks like in any given moment. Those binary questions like right and wrong, if they come up at all, can easily be addressed within these compelling frameworks. And it's not a hide-the-pill-in-the-peanut-butter thing either, like we're giving people something attractive in order to slip in something difficult. No, it's more like when I was teaching Creative Writing to college students. I knew I wanted to teach David Sedaris (fangirl moment OMG he's the best!). My first semester, I chose the shortest essay in the one book of his I had at the time, Me Talk Pretty One Day. I chose it only for its length, thinking anything by him would get the job done and of course students like to read fewer pages.
Me Talk Pretty One Day is divided into two parts, one about growing up in North Carolina and one about living in France. This essay came from the France part, and I thought it was hilarious because I had majored in French. The humor had to do mostly with the language. It didn't occur to me that other people might not be as amused as me, but the students, of course, just found it strange.
The following semester, I taught another essay from the same book, from the North Carolina part, chosen on advice from more-experienced TA's. The students loved the essay. Every semester, they loved it. No one ever said it wasn't funny or wasn't good. It was longer by a few pages, but they were more than willing to go there. It also had a lot of cusses, which didn't hurt.
What I mean is, sometimes a certain thing makes sense on paper. It's shorter, seems easier, in some situations it's just right. I can't tell you how much I loved that first essay. And we might think people want easy teachings about what's right and wrong, what to do and not to do. But context is everything. If there's no point of contact in someone's reality, if they don't know the language, forget it.
This college where I taught was in North Carolina. Most of the students were from North Carolina. The second essay took place in North Carolina and had to do with some cultural things about North Carolina. That was available to me the whole time, but because I assumed they wanted something shorter, I first chose the essay that was rather alien to most of them. That was a mistake in several ways. If the topics arise from what is already on their minds, if they are drawn in by what they recognize, the difficulty level is not a problem. People will do so much more work when it matters to them. They will read the extra pages, they will take all the time necessary, they will pay attention, because they are being taken into account and addressed directly. Someone has been listening to them, and they notice that feeling. In that state, people are more than willing to do the difficult work of exploring non-binary, ambiguous questions.
It was really hard for me to hear that my students didn't like the first essay. It was hard to let go of teaching it. I cared about it, and I wanted so badly for everyone else to care too. But you know what? I couldn't tell you a thing about it now. The second one, though, I know intimately, years later. If you and I are ever at a cocktail party, don't bring it up unless you want me to corner you all night talking about this essay. Every time I think about it, I remember my students and the time we spent together. I am so glad I paid attention to what they cared about, because it turns out I care about it too. When I set aside the first essay and picked up the second, I lost nothing but my pride. If I had insisted that we keep reading the first one just because it was meaningful to me, I wouldn't have been a very good teacher. When we insist on doing church a certain way just because it is meaningful to us, without a thought for people who might be interested if we made some changes, we are not being very good friends or neighbors.
And here's some profoundly good news for those of us who feel a sense of loss when we let go of our preferences. Some of my students have almost certainly picked up the book and read the first essay along with all the others. They probably liked it, even though it wasn't appealing as an introduction to Sedaris. Because the second essay worked for them, they were interested in reading more. When we offer compelling introductions, people pick up from there and eagerly pursue the topic with an excitement that surprises everyone. Those texts that once seemed irrelevant and distant become the site of fruitful discussion and lush growth. The church traditions that come off as dated might be renewed and enlivened with the right interpretation. No essay is too hard to read, no question too hard to ask. It just requires the right introduction, the questions lining up. Answers not guaranteed.
That describes a lot of people's experience. You definitely don't have to be African to feel like certain expressions of religion are irrelevant, just meaningless to your life. Even I have felt that way sometimes, and I'm in ministry! I had never quite thought of it the way he put it: answering questions that aren't being asked. I wager that's at the root of what many of those unaffiliated people would say. They're into serving their communities, donating time and money, and often meditating or discussing sacred texts. They feel like they can do those things without church, and they're absolutely right. They can. They are getting the answers to some of their questions in these places. How can I connect meaningfully with other people? How can I enrich my own and others' experience of life? How can I slow down and find peace? The churches that thrive and draw these people are the ones that pay attention and offer responses to these questions. The churches that are "dying"? Those are the ones whose answers don't line up with people's real questions. Heaven and hell, right and wrong, who's in and who's out...in my experience, people don't worry too much about these things, at least not as much as living a rewarding, compassionate life.
I'm not saying the church should abandon its agenda and start playing to the crowds. I'm saying the church's interests are really quite well-aligned with most people's interests: relationships, wholeness, sustainability, big questions about selflessness and sacrifice and what love looks like in any given moment. Those binary questions like right and wrong, if they come up at all, can easily be addressed within these compelling frameworks. And it's not a hide-the-pill-in-the-peanut-butter thing either, like we're giving people something attractive in order to slip in something difficult. No, it's more like when I was teaching Creative Writing to college students. I knew I wanted to teach David Sedaris (fangirl moment OMG he's the best!). My first semester, I chose the shortest essay in the one book of his I had at the time, Me Talk Pretty One Day. I chose it only for its length, thinking anything by him would get the job done and of course students like to read fewer pages.
Me Talk Pretty One Day is divided into two parts, one about growing up in North Carolina and one about living in France. This essay came from the France part, and I thought it was hilarious because I had majored in French. The humor had to do mostly with the language. It didn't occur to me that other people might not be as amused as me, but the students, of course, just found it strange.
The following semester, I taught another essay from the same book, from the North Carolina part, chosen on advice from more-experienced TA's. The students loved the essay. Every semester, they loved it. No one ever said it wasn't funny or wasn't good. It was longer by a few pages, but they were more than willing to go there. It also had a lot of cusses, which didn't hurt.
What I mean is, sometimes a certain thing makes sense on paper. It's shorter, seems easier, in some situations it's just right. I can't tell you how much I loved that first essay. And we might think people want easy teachings about what's right and wrong, what to do and not to do. But context is everything. If there's no point of contact in someone's reality, if they don't know the language, forget it.
This college where I taught was in North Carolina. Most of the students were from North Carolina. The second essay took place in North Carolina and had to do with some cultural things about North Carolina. That was available to me the whole time, but because I assumed they wanted something shorter, I first chose the essay that was rather alien to most of them. That was a mistake in several ways. If the topics arise from what is already on their minds, if they are drawn in by what they recognize, the difficulty level is not a problem. People will do so much more work when it matters to them. They will read the extra pages, they will take all the time necessary, they will pay attention, because they are being taken into account and addressed directly. Someone has been listening to them, and they notice that feeling. In that state, people are more than willing to do the difficult work of exploring non-binary, ambiguous questions.
It was really hard for me to hear that my students didn't like the first essay. It was hard to let go of teaching it. I cared about it, and I wanted so badly for everyone else to care too. But you know what? I couldn't tell you a thing about it now. The second one, though, I know intimately, years later. If you and I are ever at a cocktail party, don't bring it up unless you want me to corner you all night talking about this essay. Every time I think about it, I remember my students and the time we spent together. I am so glad I paid attention to what they cared about, because it turns out I care about it too. When I set aside the first essay and picked up the second, I lost nothing but my pride. If I had insisted that we keep reading the first one just because it was meaningful to me, I wouldn't have been a very good teacher. When we insist on doing church a certain way just because it is meaningful to us, without a thought for people who might be interested if we made some changes, we are not being very good friends or neighbors.
And here's some profoundly good news for those of us who feel a sense of loss when we let go of our preferences. Some of my students have almost certainly picked up the book and read the first essay along with all the others. They probably liked it, even though it wasn't appealing as an introduction to Sedaris. Because the second essay worked for them, they were interested in reading more. When we offer compelling introductions, people pick up from there and eagerly pursue the topic with an excitement that surprises everyone. Those texts that once seemed irrelevant and distant become the site of fruitful discussion and lush growth. The church traditions that come off as dated might be renewed and enlivened with the right interpretation. No essay is too hard to read, no question too hard to ask. It just requires the right introduction, the questions lining up. Answers not guaranteed.
