What I Love About the Church

I participated in a mediation training in my young 30’s, in which one of our exercises was to tell another person what we hated about the institution we worked for.  I surprised myself by my visceral reaction to all the flaws I so readily identified in the church, and the venom with which I expressed my disgust.  Obviously, even as a young pastor, I had witnessed enough of the dark side of the church to be disgusted.

However, that was not the end of the exercise.  Our leader then told us to share what we loved - what I loved about the church.  Again, I was surprised, and delighted, by the depth of warm feeling I was able to find for the institution I had excoriated only moments before: proof that hate is not the opposite of love, but rather an expression of disappointment or discouragement in that love.

So, while there is much that disappoints me about the church, there is also much that I love.  My critique of the institution comes mostly from my observation of how far the church falls short of what it could be.  But then, I also fall short of what I could be on a daily basis, so some grace and forgiveness is necessary.

What is there to love?

We can begin with hymnody and music.  From Bach to Fanny Crosby and everything in between.  As we look back over the last 2000 years of Western Civilization one can’t help but see that some of the greatest music has been inspired by devotion to God.  Handel’s “Messiah” to Rutter’s “Requiem.”  And lest we forget Methodism’s contribution to hymnody we have the genius of Charles Wesley to thank for many of the greatest hymns in Christianity.  “O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing,” will be sung by Christians for millennia to come.  How about the gospel spirituals coming out of the African-American tradition?  I can barely sing “Give Me Jesus,” without weeping.  Even some (definitely not all) of the more contemporary “praise music” may last beyond a few decades.  While much of it is rather insipid, with weak and often individualistic theology, once in a while there is a tune and lyric that strikes a true, and maybe, lasting chord.  Getty and Townend, while unfortunately too fixed on substitutionary atonement theology, have nonetheless written a host of contemporary hymns which will likely be around for generations.  And as simple a song as “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” will always bind human hearts in need of consolation and belonging.

Then there is art.  Again, some of the greatest art is religious in nature, and likely spiritual in theme.  Michelangelo one the one hand, and eastern iconography on the other.  Stained glass, sculpture, architecture, all provide ample testimony to the all-encompassing nature of Christian devotion (and occasionally, hubris).  Admittedly, since the Age of Enlightenment, art has sought to break free of religion’s hold.  Nevertheless, the history of art is a story about divine inspiration, from wall drawings in the catacombs of the Roman Empire to Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia cathedral in Barcelona (still under construction after centuries).  Even when art is iconoclastic it often addresses spiritual themes even as the artist attempts to be secular.   

And then there are the saints:  quirky, idiosyncratic, eccentric, mystical, unique, (emotionally/mentally imbalanced?), but so many shining lights against the darkness of the world, and the improprieties/errors of the institution.  Early church ascetics could see the handwriting on the wall as the church became wedded to the empire under Constantine, so they went off into the desert and lived in caves seeking divine enlightenment.  Disciples came to glean wisdom from Saint Anthony who offered a different path than that of the institution, a necessary contrast to the lure of power.  The church became even more enthralled with power and riches entering into the Middle Ages, leading some, like the Benedictines, to renounce both, forming monastic communities devoted to prayer, poverty, simplicity, and service to the surrounding towns and villages.  And for all its faults, the institutional church came to bless the monastics, seeing in them not a threat but a needed alternative to what the “mother” church provided.

In modern times, Dietrich Bonhoeffer of the Confessing Movement offered a needed antidote to the obsequious, Nazi-blessing, institutional church in Germany.  Mother Teresa served the poor in India, inspiring the world with her compassion and humility.  And Martin Luther King, Jr., called the church to account for its racism, setting out a vision for justice that was even broader than the civil rights movement.

The church with all its flaws still produces such saints that show the world the Way.  Religious art can often reveal Truth in a way that words cannot.  Church music can still be magnificent, lifting us out of the ordinary into the realm of mystery.  These are but a few of the examples of transcendence we may still discover in association with the church.  There is much to criticize, but there is also much to love.  The love makes the rest easier to bear.  As Jesus said, “The light shines in darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”