Category Archives: Religion in America

Is the problem with American Christianity its love affair with the suburbs?

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Amid all the debate over the decline of the mainline and realignment in American Christianity, its worth pausing a moment and pondering Fred Clark’s question:

The suburbanization of American Christianity has had a huge impact on institutional and denominational structures. Automobile-shaped development has produced an automobile-shaped ecclesiology. The car has abolished the possibility of the parish. And that, in turn, has helped to redefine “neighbor” as a matter of preference more than of proximity — as optional rather than obligatory. That redefinition is rather significant, since “Who is my neighbor?” is kind of an important question for Christians.

On secularism, establishment, and the Olympic opening ceremonies

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I didn’t watch them. I was at the theater with friends but my twitter feed was full of comments from Americans and Brits about what they saw and didn’t see. One of the most poignant moments of the entire ceremony was the ballet set to “Abide With Me” in memory of “those who are not here.” NBC cut to an interview with Michael Phelps.

I wondered what that says about the US and Great Britain, about how an established church, even if relatively unimportant, helps to shape the self-understanding of a people. In addition to the “Abide With Me” sequence, the opening ceremonies began with Blake’s “Jerusalem.” The Dean of Durham comments:

Instead, Boyle was true to Blake’s text, which is his Christian vision of a just and caring society. But it has to be formed and helped to flourish with the native gifts and characteristics that make us what we are.  This nuanced awareness is, I think, an aspect of the spirituality of our islands that we cherish.  It’s embedded in the way we do liturgy and theology. In its eloquence and simplicity, that moment carried great power.

Of “Abide with me” he writes:

The other moment where faith broke through was in the invitation to remember ‘those who are not here’.  After the spectacle and the celebration, what heralded the arrival of the athletes was not a grand rhetorical climax but the silencing of the crowd, an act of recollection, the words of a prayer.  For yes, unbelievably, we had all of ‘Abide with me’ sung quietly while a simple ballet on the theme of being lost and found was performed on the stage.  It was a clever choice because of its Cup Final resonances; and yet once again, it was subverted in a way that restored meaning to a great hymn and personalised it.  ‘Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes / Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies’: who would have thought we would hear such words charged with Christian hope and expectation at an Olympic opening ceremony?  For me it was among the most moving aspects of the whole event.

I doubt anything of the sort could be produced in the US. We lack a lingua france of liturgy and theology. It’s not just that there would be protests from the separation of church and state people. There would also be conflict over who would get to shape and define whatever religious expression was being made. And the secularists who are completely tone-deaf about religion would probably cut to an interview with Michael Phelps.

He concludes:

There is more to ‘spirituality’ than when it surfaces and becomes explicit.  It has an intuitive side that doesn’t get expressed in words but is still alive in most people’s experience of life.  Perhaps in the joy and exuberance of last night, something more about life and about God was hinted at.  Perhaps some may have experienced it as a kind of liturgy.  Perhaps, even, the sight of thousands of people of every age, background and ethnicity throwing themselves into this genuinely democratic celebration offered a glimpse of Jerusalem and of the kingdom of heaven itself.

Read it all here.

The “Abide with me” sequence is available here.

Whatever the meaning of this for the British, it seems to me to make clear the barrenness of religion’s role in American culture.

 

Bad Religious Art–It’s not just to laugh at

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The 11 most Unintentionally Hilarious Religious Paintings are here. One of the painters represented on the list is Jon McNaughton. Among his most famous paintings is this:

David Morgan, Professor of Religion at Duke, comments on the significance McNaughton’s vision of America:

It is easy for art critics to scowl at McNaughton’s pictures as preachy, partisan, and cheesy. Their solemnity and their illustrational literalism tempt many observers to dismiss them as propaganda or kitsch. And Wake Up America! certainly seems more political cheerleading than artistic vision. But simply scorning the work misses the opportunity to understand something powerful moving through many religious sub-cultures in the United States today. These groups do not distinguish between religion and politics the way that many commentators and cultural analysts would prefer. For McNaughton and his admirers, as well as many more, there is nothing at all absurd about Jesus holding the Constitution as a sacred artifact, as evidence of his authorial intent.

Yet intent is complex. Nothing is as unambiguous as the artist would like. Reading images does not eliminate the problem of uncontrolled interpretation. Despite McNaughton’s meticulous symbolism and labeling, viewers have seen the seated Caucasian figure in The Forgotten Man as lamenting only the white unemployed. The looming absence of blacks in the picture—Obama stands alone in a crowd of white faces—is striking. Seen in the light of Skousen’s outré defense of slave owners in his revisions of American history, the contrast is more than striking. McNaughton objects that “there is no racial meaning or undertone” to the painting.

Some more perspectives on “the decline of the mainline”

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From Martin Marty. He finds the fact of the vigorous response by Episcopalians worthy of note.

Jill Gill has this to say about the future of liberal religion.

Evangelicals have watched the debate and offer their own perspective. One might think they would be gloating, but they have noticed declining numbers in their own denominations. Eric Metaxas has this to say. Metaxas points to a more substantive piece by Timothy George.

And finally, a robust defense of progressive Christianity directed at secular progressives, by James Rohrer.

What we’re really up against

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We’ve had lots of advice during and since General Convention about what’s wrong with the Episcopal Church, why it’s dying, and all. There’s the Stand Firm in Faith folks (I won’t link to them, I don’t want to be responsible for any heart attacks or strokes). There’s Ross Douthat in yesterday’s NY Times who is certain that the decline of the mainline is due to liberal theology divorced from the gospel.

There’s also been plenty of pushback from good Episcopalians who are confident and excited about the future of our Church. I am too, but the reality is that we are up against some significant cultural trends that require us to rethink almost everything (and we are doing it). Diana Butler Bass’s essay is typical of the lot (and it doubles as a plug for her most recent book).

Some of the response to Douthat has focused on larger trends that challenge all denominations, not just the Episcopal Church, or even mainline Protestantism. As Martin Marty points out, all denominations are in decline, including the conservative stalwarts like the Southern Baptist Convention (five consecutive years of decline in membership and numbers of baptisms).

One problem often cited as a reason for decline is litigation over property. Yes, it’s unseemly, but at least we’re not suing dissident groups for trademark infringement (like the Seventh Day Adventists).

Meanwhile, Gallup reports that confidence in religion and religious institutions is at an all-time low (but then so are all other institutions in American life).

But it’s not just a matter of confidence in institutions. People are searching for spiritual meaning in their lives in all sorts of ways and places. Here’s one example. Tracy Clark-Flory writes about yoga class as ersatz church:

I’ve always wanted to have a church to go to. I’ve fantasized about what my dream version of this would look like: a weekly gathering where passages are read from great literature, where experts give workshops on their area of expertise — whether it’s psychology, philosophy or art. (Which sounds a whole lot like … college.) Yoga doesn’t exactly satisfy all of those demands, but it comes close. My teachers read a range of inspirational (see, I even cringe at that word!) quotes and poetry, from Rumi to Philip Booth. I take from it what I want and what I believe. It’s open-source spirituality.

Open-source spirituality. The Book of Common Prayer simply can’t compete.

Viv Groskop, writing about her experience in the Church of England, tends to agree with Clark-Flory:

I would not describe myself as a religious person but I do have some sort of faith. I grew up singing in the choir in the church where I got married (sorry, blessed). Over the years, though, any belief I once had has dwindled away to next to nothing because there is no way to express it casually or on a part-time basis. You’re not that welcome at church services unless you want to become a regular member of the congregation…

Further,

I would like to see the Church of England be more inclusive not only towards women priests but towards people like me – people who rarely attend church, often question their faith, but who are, essentially, supportive of the church.

The last sentence echoes Clark-Flory: “A whole generation is heading to the nearest yoga class.”

Freedom and Faith on the Fourth

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some random thoughts and links. A sampling of stories from Religion Dispatches

Commentary on the US Catholic Bishops’ Fortnight for Freedom campaign

Silk points out the bishops’ selective use of history. They began their fortnight on the feast days of Thomas More and John Fisher, both of whom were executed by Henry VIII. Neither of the two were particularly interested in preserving the religious freedom of those who disagreed with them. More, as Henry VIII’s Lord Chancellor, oversaw the execution of many religious dissidents. John Fisher, as Bishop of London, oversaw book burnings and heresy trials. Their appeal to Becket is equally lame.

On American Civil Religion

The civil religion that’s not idolatrous is one that’s prophetic in the sense that it sees the American project as defined by a set of ideals, as opposed to being defined by a set of accomplishments. So if you imagine America as this great nation which has achieved all of these things, and you list all of the things that it’s achieved, in a way you’re already a little bit on the slippery slope toward idolatry. That always has to be held in balance with a recognition of how often and how much the US falls short of its central ideals that are part of the project.

If you asked my true religion, I would not answer anything practiced in a church, synagogue or mosque. My real religion is America, and I feel privileged that, among the world’s 7 billion people, I am one of the roughly 300 million lucky enough to be an American. This transcends mere patriotism. I believe in what this country stands for, even though I acknowledge its limits and failures. As individuals, we are no better than most(selfishness and prejudice having survived). As a society, we have often violated our loftiest ideals (starting with the acceptance of slavery in 1787). Our loud insistence of “exceptionalism” offends millions of non-Americans, who find us exceptional only in our relentless boasting.

Rhetorically, civil religion appears to be opposed to conflict and war; practically, though, it is deeply indebted to both.  For if civil religion is the appropriation of religion by politics, there is nothing more serious for politicians to do than to justify killing and dying, and nothing gets that job done better than coupling religion and war.  If we carry Hunter’s statement above to its conclusion we might note how the culture wars begat the Civil War which begat an American civil religion.

Politics, Partisanship, and Christianity

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Jonathan Merritt reflects on 33 years of the organized Christian Right in an essay on The Atlantic. He asks, “What have we learned?” His response:

First, partisan religion is killing American Christianity. The American church is declining by nearly every data point. Christians are exerting less influence over the culture than even a few years ago, organized religion no longer garners the respect of the masses, and two in three young non-Christians claim they perceive the Christian church as “too political.” Church attendance is declining, and the percentage of Americans claiming no religious affiliation is rising.

Second, we learned that partisan Christianity cannot effectively change our culture. When the religious right formed, conservative Christians were energized around restricting abortion and same-sex marriage, reducing the size of government, and protecting religious freedom. More than a quarter-century later, these same debates innervate the movement. Little progress has been made despite their best efforts, and an increasing number of individuals now recognize the religious right strategy has largely been a failure. The irony of this turn of events is that Christians above all others know that true change must occur in hearts — not just the halls of power.

An interview with Sociologist of Religion Robert Wuthnow, who has recently published Red State Religion:

One way to think about that is that religion and politics is often described by academics and journalists as a kind of knee-jerk reaction: that people are driven by ideology so much that they lose sight of their own self-interest. What seems to be happening in Kansas (and I guess in a lot of places right now in the 2012 election) is that yes, ideology influences people but it doesn’t totally drive their politics or their religion. They are thinking locally: what’s good for us, for our family, how can we make our life better, those sorts of things. In some ways that may involve moral issues; in other ways it may involve economic issues. It may matter a lot in terms of who they vote for, or it may not matter much at all. And that’s what we see in the history of religion and politics in Kansas.

He seems to confirm what Kathy Cramer Walsh has discovered in Wisconsin:

But Walsh, a lifelong Wisconsin resident whose parents were public school teachers, says she first ran up against the public/private divide when visiting a community in northwestern Wisconsin during the spring of 2008.

She says that a group of loggers, most of whom were self-employed, believed that while schoolteachers may work hard during the year, they have cushy positions. Among the perks: great benefits, health care, summers off and an annual salary of about $50,000 a year. “Nobody in this town makes anywhere near $50,000,” says Walsh, paraphrasing comments she heard. “At the lumber mill, they’re making $20,000 and losing their fingers!”

Walsh says when she probes further, asking why people see a public employee/private employee divide and not a rich/poor divide, she gets stares of disbelief.

It seems to come down to what is tangible and what can be controlled. Private-sector workers, many of whom are struggling, perceive that a large portion of their taxes are going to pay for the salaries of public workers. A cut to public-employee wages and benefits would, at least in theory, mean lower taxes.

But these same people don’t see themselves as having any control over the salaries and benefit packages of CEOs in the private sector, says Walsh. Moreover, they don’t really see anything wrong with top executives making big bucks.

How to spend your Sunday mornings

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Tripp Hudgins muses on his own experience growing up not going to church. He points out that there are other ways to spend Sunday mornings.

If I pine for anything it is fishing and sleeping in. I pine for breakfast with my family and wonder if life-long Christians recognize that going to church on Sunday mornings is to sacrifice all the other possible nurturing and beautiful human interactions that avail themselves on Sunday morning. As radical as this might seem to many ecclesial pundits, going to church is to give up community. It is to sacrifice family and relationships. It is to lose time with your spouse.