What Do Californians Believe?
Living for the first time in a predominantly non-religious environment (85% not only non-Christian, but non-religious according to Pew Research) leaves me with a question--without faith of some kind, how do people find and determine meaning for their lives?
I have always lived in the shadow of the church. With my dad as a pastor, church was just part of the daily fabric. Faith, of course, came later and gradually as I owned for myself what the church proclaimed--faith and religion are always and forever two very different animals, albeit with considerable overlap. Yet, by being exposed continually to religious expressions of faith, it sank in, became part of me, and has led me through my life's journey as the core source of meaning and purpose.
That has been true even as I strayed from the church. Faith was always present, even if I had little time or presence in any organized religious community. Even in seminary my relationship to church was not always constant. My relationship to God deepened and took firmer hold of me, but I struggled with how we manifested that presence in work and worship in the church. Sometimes, although God was named and proclaimed in every other breath, what we were doing seemed at odds with God. Personally, that push-pull led to several manner of reformation within myself. As I pastor, one of the most comforting tenets of Reformed theology has always been, Reformed and always reforming. The longer the faith journey continues, the more tweaking it requires as experience strips away the effectiveness of religious practice, leading ever deeper into the attempt to find communion with God in a way that a community of us can find meaningful and that remains relevant to each of us as individual children of God. Wendell Berry has a wondrous image of marriage as a dance wherein the partners are at times pressed close together and at other times appear to be dancing completely solo, the tie being invisible to all observers except the dancers. That is a perfectly apt analogy for my own experience of faith within the church. At times, I must have seemed anything but the pastor I claimed to be, yet God was always central for me and to me.
God at center gives me the means by which to navigate life. My vocation--calling--work--is to be a pastor, caring compassionately for the people before me, even when I am out on my morning run, or preaching, or, now, as a presbyter, trying to guide a marvelous contingent of the faithful who may or may not want any guidance. Knowing that being a pastor is who I am shapes my life. It forms the architecture for even the most mundane interactions like at the coffee shop or going to Target--the people present are children of God; i.e., worthy of dignity and respect, even if all I am doing is handing them my debit card to pay for milk. And it surely shapes my thinking, speaking, and doing as I go about my daily work in the office. It even shapes my presence with my own family. I want to be present with them with the same compassion, grace, and openness that I would with any congregant.
God at center gives the eyes with which to see the world, too. It shapes my response to the happenings all around us. I try to see how I can faithfully vote in an election, not limiting that thinking to which candidate voices adherence to church, a set moralism, or collection of "churchy" dictums, but who might actually come to embody the same self-emptying, other-centered compassion and mercy found in Jesus. I try to see my immediate neighbors in my apartment complex as God sees them, not as they are labelled by culture or economics. I cannot pass the homeless pushing their grocery carts up Folsom Boulevard without hearing Jesus quietly saying, When I was naked...when I was hungry...when I was in prison...I know we need to do something. I try to find beautiful imagination of God at play as I walk the woods, or stroll along the river, or am simply stopped short by the sudden clarity of the Sierra Nevadas on a cloudless, humidity free morning.
All of that combines to give me more than enough reason to get up in the morning. There is something meaningful to do. There is someone present to connect with. There is something to say. There is something to be.
But, geez, it sure is quiet on a Sunday morning around here. On my way to visit a congregation, I could well drive right down the middle of the freeway, with the lane stripes going right down the center of my Honda. Shoot, I could weave all over the entire span of five or six lanes with no worries of hitting anyone because no one's there to hit. I know, of course, that does not mean no one else is saying quiet prayers or meeting God. My whole apartment village may be sunk deep in private communion, but the research says otherwise. Observer after observer explains that this section of the country really is sleeping late on Sunday just to sleep late before another work week rises. They go on to say that God is not cursed or rebelled against or denied, but rather simply ignored, not even thought about, and, for all intents and purposes, non-existent--why ponder a blue sun when blue suns don't exist? So, we don't ponder them, and, frankly, don't even think such thoughts.
So where does meaning come from? How does anyone answer the basic what's-the-point question all human beings ask at some point? What leads folks to decide to find a life partner and have a family? What informs the values, worth, and mores passed on to children? What are we working for? What is the reason to rise from bed each morning?
I do not believe it is as crass as simply making money, gathering wealth, or collecting the toys. Nor do I believe that bliss is the goal, either through sex, chemicals, or yoga. I watch my immediate neighbors head out for work each day. They are good, decent people, working really hard if I read the parking lot right--empty by 900 AM, not really full again until 730 or 800 at night. Why? What leads them? What's at center? It can't be as base as it's-just-what-people-do. It certainly is not true that there is nothing there at all like some religious observers want to curse them. No, as a species, we need reasons to do what we do, except when we choose to act unreasonably just because (the knucklehead paddling a kayak over a twenty foot waterfall). But even then, we will say it's to let off the steam of doing what needs to be done, of serving whatever it is that drives us.
Moreover, I see acts of deep compassion done. I watch folks openly practice radical hospitality. I see mercy done. Why? If God is not the reason, what is?
So, what is it? What's core?
Sadly, as soon as someone finds out what I do for a living, the conversation shuts down. I can silence a checkout line at Target in seconds flat. Recently, a bubbly, bright young barber was suddenly struck dumb as soon as she asked me what I did, and I chose to tell her. That was the quietest haircut I ever got, and it took six minutes from start to sweeping the floor.
But I want to know. I want to know what folks are centering themselves upon. I want to know where meaning comes from, meaning that quiets the 300 AM angst that comes.
Let's talk.
Please.
I have always lived in the shadow of the church. With my dad as a pastor, church was just part of the daily fabric. Faith, of course, came later and gradually as I owned for myself what the church proclaimed--faith and religion are always and forever two very different animals, albeit with considerable overlap. Yet, by being exposed continually to religious expressions of faith, it sank in, became part of me, and has led me through my life's journey as the core source of meaning and purpose.
That has been true even as I strayed from the church. Faith was always present, even if I had little time or presence in any organized religious community. Even in seminary my relationship to church was not always constant. My relationship to God deepened and took firmer hold of me, but I struggled with how we manifested that presence in work and worship in the church. Sometimes, although God was named and proclaimed in every other breath, what we were doing seemed at odds with God. Personally, that push-pull led to several manner of reformation within myself. As I pastor, one of the most comforting tenets of Reformed theology has always been, Reformed and always reforming. The longer the faith journey continues, the more tweaking it requires as experience strips away the effectiveness of religious practice, leading ever deeper into the attempt to find communion with God in a way that a community of us can find meaningful and that remains relevant to each of us as individual children of God. Wendell Berry has a wondrous image of marriage as a dance wherein the partners are at times pressed close together and at other times appear to be dancing completely solo, the tie being invisible to all observers except the dancers. That is a perfectly apt analogy for my own experience of faith within the church. At times, I must have seemed anything but the pastor I claimed to be, yet God was always central for me and to me.
God at center gives me the means by which to navigate life. My vocation--calling--work--is to be a pastor, caring compassionately for the people before me, even when I am out on my morning run, or preaching, or, now, as a presbyter, trying to guide a marvelous contingent of the faithful who may or may not want any guidance. Knowing that being a pastor is who I am shapes my life. It forms the architecture for even the most mundane interactions like at the coffee shop or going to Target--the people present are children of God; i.e., worthy of dignity and respect, even if all I am doing is handing them my debit card to pay for milk. And it surely shapes my thinking, speaking, and doing as I go about my daily work in the office. It even shapes my presence with my own family. I want to be present with them with the same compassion, grace, and openness that I would with any congregant.
God at center gives the eyes with which to see the world, too. It shapes my response to the happenings all around us. I try to see how I can faithfully vote in an election, not limiting that thinking to which candidate voices adherence to church, a set moralism, or collection of "churchy" dictums, but who might actually come to embody the same self-emptying, other-centered compassion and mercy found in Jesus. I try to see my immediate neighbors in my apartment complex as God sees them, not as they are labelled by culture or economics. I cannot pass the homeless pushing their grocery carts up Folsom Boulevard without hearing Jesus quietly saying, When I was naked...when I was hungry...when I was in prison...I know we need to do something. I try to find beautiful imagination of God at play as I walk the woods, or stroll along the river, or am simply stopped short by the sudden clarity of the Sierra Nevadas on a cloudless, humidity free morning.
All of that combines to give me more than enough reason to get up in the morning. There is something meaningful to do. There is someone present to connect with. There is something to say. There is something to be.
But, geez, it sure is quiet on a Sunday morning around here. On my way to visit a congregation, I could well drive right down the middle of the freeway, with the lane stripes going right down the center of my Honda. Shoot, I could weave all over the entire span of five or six lanes with no worries of hitting anyone because no one's there to hit. I know, of course, that does not mean no one else is saying quiet prayers or meeting God. My whole apartment village may be sunk deep in private communion, but the research says otherwise. Observer after observer explains that this section of the country really is sleeping late on Sunday just to sleep late before another work week rises. They go on to say that God is not cursed or rebelled against or denied, but rather simply ignored, not even thought about, and, for all intents and purposes, non-existent--why ponder a blue sun when blue suns don't exist? So, we don't ponder them, and, frankly, don't even think such thoughts.
So where does meaning come from? How does anyone answer the basic what's-the-point question all human beings ask at some point? What leads folks to decide to find a life partner and have a family? What informs the values, worth, and mores passed on to children? What are we working for? What is the reason to rise from bed each morning?
I do not believe it is as crass as simply making money, gathering wealth, or collecting the toys. Nor do I believe that bliss is the goal, either through sex, chemicals, or yoga. I watch my immediate neighbors head out for work each day. They are good, decent people, working really hard if I read the parking lot right--empty by 900 AM, not really full again until 730 or 800 at night. Why? What leads them? What's at center? It can't be as base as it's-just-what-people-do. It certainly is not true that there is nothing there at all like some religious observers want to curse them. No, as a species, we need reasons to do what we do, except when we choose to act unreasonably just because (the knucklehead paddling a kayak over a twenty foot waterfall). But even then, we will say it's to let off the steam of doing what needs to be done, of serving whatever it is that drives us.
Moreover, I see acts of deep compassion done. I watch folks openly practice radical hospitality. I see mercy done. Why? If God is not the reason, what is?
So, what is it? What's core?
Sadly, as soon as someone finds out what I do for a living, the conversation shuts down. I can silence a checkout line at Target in seconds flat. Recently, a bubbly, bright young barber was suddenly struck dumb as soon as she asked me what I did, and I chose to tell her. That was the quietest haircut I ever got, and it took six minutes from start to sweeping the floor.
But I want to know. I want to know what folks are centering themselves upon. I want to know where meaning comes from, meaning that quiets the 300 AM angst that comes.
Let's talk.
Please.
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