Downstream

“There are only two creatures of value on the face of the earth. Those with commitment … and those who require the commitment of others.”

John Adams

I’m frequently privy to an ongoing debate, at the Christian law firm where I work, as to whether law is downstream or upstream of the culture. Do our laws reflect changes in the attitudes of society … or does society turn to embrace what the law imposes on it?

Civil rights, for instance. Did Americans come to accept equal treatment for blacks because the changing laws of the early 60s demanded that they do so? Or did whites across the country, seeing the horrific footage of the protests in Mississippi and Alabama – the children being hit with firehoses and police dogs, the Freedom Riders being clubbed down by rednecks – demand that legislators move to put an end to that brutal violence?

The same could be asked about where our nation is going now with abortion, and with special rights for those who “identify” as transgender … are the laws changing because the culture is increasingly blasé about biblical morality, or are the passing of new laws at the local, state, and federal level gradually convincing Americans that anything goes? That killing babies doesn’t matter, that reality is up for grabs?

A similar question might well be asked about the relationship of evangelical churches to our fast-deteriorating culture. Across the country, attendance is trending steadily downward, and contempt is growing, deepening, not only for Christian ideals, but for those who embrace them.

Why are so many abandoning God and the Bible? What’s fueling the hostility? Are the faithful being seduced, or is society just increasingly persuaded that Christians are really no different from anyone else – no more interested in pure living, no more serious about God?

You can see where they might get that idea. Time was that going to church was a somewhat sobering prospect. You dressed up a little. You sang and listened to music that was somehow different from what you heard everywhere else. You expected to sit on a firm wooden pew and to have to give serious thought to some serious issues. No one brought their coffee in to sip on.

Walking into a quiet auditorium, you carried yourself with whatever dignity you could muster, spoke minimally, and even then, in a somewhat hushed tone. The general atmosphere (as 10-year-old Virginia Cary Hudson wrote in her delightful 1904 memoir, O Ye Jigs & Julips!) was along the lines of: “God is in His holy temple. Sit down and shut up!”

In the words of a different Virginia (Slims), “We’ve come a long way, baby.” We dress now for church the same way we dress for pickle ball. Our music sounds as much like Top 40 as we can manage, and auditoriums are suffused in a dull conversational roar until the lights dim and the smoke machines kick in. The atmosphere is more like, “The audience is ready! Tell God he can come in now.”

Time was when school and club athletic programs didn’t hold games on Sundays or Wednesday evenings – too many families had their children in church. But church leaders and parents decided that their kids needed competitive sports more than they needed the Word of God, and services were cancelled, in the name of giving families more time together. (Time together at church didn’t count.)

Weekly visitation – where church members went out to follow up in person with those who had come to a service or program – was eventually deemed too threatening and invasive. A lot of people had come to know the Lord during those visits, but church folk eventually realized that even Christians have better things to do than seek out lost souls and lead them to Christ.

And, by the same token, pastors came to see that inviting people to make a public decision for Christ was intrusive. No one wants to follow Christ publicly, anymore, so it’s best to let them keep their faith to themselves. Besides, that leaves the rest of us more time to get out to the restaurants and home to the ballgames.

Church, in other words, became so much more enjoyable once we took all the sacrifices and commitment out of it. And the rest of the world found us much more tolerable when we quit holding people to a higher moral standard. And God Himself became better company once we stopped making it easy for Him to confront us with our sins.

Yes, being a disciple is much more enjoyable these days. Trouble is, enjoying something isn’t necessarily the same as taking it seriously.

“These things I have spoken to you,” Jesus said, “that My joy may remain in you, and that your joy may be full.” Curiously, one of those “things I have spoken” was:

“Whoever desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me. For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake and the gospel’s will save it.”

Submission. Self-denial. Self-sacrifice. These are not attractive prospects to me.

But, now, back to that part about “your joy may be full.” That is an alluring prospect, indeed.

Only, somehow, with God ... these two prospects are inseparable, one from the other.

The point is not that everything in our churches today needs to go back to 1956. The point is that, for all its enhanced entertainment value – for all its minimal personal investment – for all its tireless efforts to embrace the current cultural trends – “church” today isn’t as fulfilling as it used to be. Somehow, the more we’ve added comfort, the more we’ve lost the joy.

The more we’ve dispensed with the old-fashioned commitments, the more we’ve misplaced the deeper fulfillments that came with more serious worship and selfless service and personal evangelism.

It’s almost as if we’ve forgotten Who exactly we believe in. And – watching us become more and more like themselves – a lost world has forgotten, too.

Easter Sunday, and the service is underway. I say “service,” rather than “morning service,” because our church, like most others, doesn’t want the celebration of the Resurrection to intrude on the rest of the day and evening’s activities. Eternal life is great, of course, but it’s nothing to make a big fuss over.

One of our pastors greets visitors with the assurance that he understands they’re probably only here because Mom or Grandma nagged them, begged them, or dragged them along. (Laughter from the congregation.)

Not to worry, he says – he’s often felt the same way. But the service will be short, and donuts are available for everybody afterward. (Appreciative clapping.)

Another staff member, making announcements, makes the same mention of how much we all get that our visitors probably don’t want to be here. (More laughter.) The donuts are mentioned again, as an incentive to stick it out for a few more minutes.

Then comes a third pastor – the one offering the sermon – to again assure visitors that he always hated coming to church on Easter himself, but he promises the sermon will be less than half-an-hour, and if it isn’t, they’re free to walk out and get their donut. (Softer chuckles, murmurs of appreciation.)

Good to his word, he brought the sermon in in under 30 minutes, then invited anyone interested in making a decision not to feel any pressure, or to feel like they have to come forward or hold up a hand or signal during prayer – just scan the bar code on the back of the pew before them, and they can get all the info they need without having to talk to or tell anybody.

At which point my wife leaned over and whispered, “Why are we apologizing?”

We’re apologizing, I suppose, because many of us are convinced that “buddying up” to those who despise our God is somehow going to endear Him – and more particularly, us – to His / our enemies. That we can win over the world downstream of us if we’re nice enough, fun enough, innocuous enough. If we don’t bother them, surely they won’t bother us.

It won’t work. The very fact that we exist bothers them … enough that they’re coming after us, and our ideals, with everything they’ve got. (Check your local listings.)

But more than that – collusion and collaboration and complacency are not what we’re called to do. The Word of God refers to Jesus as “a stumbling stone and rock of offense,” and He says of Himself that, “I did not come to bring peace but a sword.” That doesn’t sound very alluring.

Worse, He adds: “You will be hated by all for My name’s sake.” Somehow, we expect a world that loathed our Lord to find us cuddly and adorable … even if we speak His words and follow His example.

But, unfortunately, we’re not called to be cuddled.

Much is made among sociologists of the current generation’s lack of enthusiasm for commitment. Today’s young couples don’t want to own cars or houses – property just weighs them down. They don’t want to leave home, don’t want to marry, don’t want to have children. Responsibility is anathema. No cost is worth all that counting.

Mostly, they just don’t like the idea of making promises they can’t keep. So, the rare sight of commitment – real commitment – sacrificial, selfless, pay-the-price commitment – astonishes them. Intrigues them. And, curiously, in many cases, attracts them.

They are drawn – they can only be drawn – to the seriousness of our faith. To our unswerving commitment to the truth. Our tough determination to extend compassion and forgiveness, even to our enemies. And our stubborn courage in confronting lost souls with the unswerving, eternal Realities of life.

Conversion comes out of confrontation. But how can we confront a culture that can't tell itself from us?

By choosing to swim ... upstream. Taking the risks. And facing the consequences.