A Fourth Church Sermon by John A. Cairns

July 6, 2003 | 9:30 and 11:00 a.m.

The Downside

John A. Cairns
Dean, Academy for Faith and Life,
Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 26
Hosea 11:1–9
Mark 6:1–13

I was reading an article this week about Barcelona, Spain. I had picked up the article because I’m thinking about a trip, and next summer Barcelona will be the host city for a Parliament of the World’s Religions—an idea birthed here in Chicago in connection with the World’s Fair of 1893. So next summer representatives from more than a thousand religious groups and faith expressions will gather in Barcelona for workshops and discussions designed to increase understanding and mutuality; designed to open pathways to peace. But back to the article.

This is what it said about the upcoming Parliament’s host city “[Several] developments have contributed to the marked process of secularization that has taken place here over the last 30 years. Now we have a society in which the majority of opinion leaders identify themselves either as non-believers or as ‘cultural Christians’” (“A Rite of Passage” by Francesco Rovira). So, one may wonder, why is Barcelona hosting the 2004 Parliament of the World’s Religions?”

Yes indeed, we might wonder, except our instincts tell us that Barcelona is probably a fairly typical twenty-first-century city, that the attitudes displayed there are not significantly different from the ones you and I would find in Chicago. Actually, the writer of the article suggested that Barcelona was an appropriate choice for this Parliament gathering because it could use a fresh dose of religious faith. I quote, “Many people are actually looking for better-grounded approaches to life.”

Does it strike you, as it does me, that even when we are talking about religious faith we don’t talk about religious faith? We talk about “better-grounded approaches to life.” Whether it is because of discomfort or uncertainty or a desire not to offend or because, as the writer of the article has said, “we are in the process of secularization,” our vocabulary has become vague and euphemistic. It is lacking the clear specifics that spell out the compelling aspects of our faith. Perhaps that no longer matters. Perhaps in Barcelona and Chicago, details and particularities just aren’t that important to us anymore. Perhaps Charlie Brown had it right: “It doesn’t matter what you believe, as long as you believe something.”

The Vatican is currently at a point of confrontation with the leaders of the new European Union over a similar matter. It seems the drafters of the European Union constitution have made no reference to God or Christianity in the draft document, despite the lobbying efforts of the church. The writers have argued that such references could undermine the secular nature of the bloc. The church argues that polls reveal that the vast majority of the European people “believe in God.” My guess is that few of those people care what the E.U. puts in the constitution! What are we seeing? Where are we going?

This phenomenon is not limited to Europe. It touches each one of us. We would be among those who would tell an inquiring pollster that we believe in God—and yet we seem to have no desire to broadcast that fact or to argue that cause. It is probably true that we take some comfort in the way Christianity has been acculturated, has been blurred into the patterns of American life. That blurring allows us to float free, to be generally, rather than specifically, Christian.

To be fair, this disconnect with specifics is nothing new. Our scripture lesson for today recounts a time when Jesus returned to Nazareth, to his hometown, to preach. Here was a community of solidly religious people, good and faithful Jews who would all have checked the “I believe in God” box on the most recent Gallup Poll. But now they were confronted with a particular person—a particular person whom they knew, a particular person who had grown up among them, whose family was still living nearby. A particular person who claimed to be God’s word to them. Now the general was being made specific. Now the “Do you believe in God?” question was being changed to “Do you believe that God is active in your here-and-now world?” And the good people of Nazareth became most uncomfortable.

They challenged Jesus—challenged his pedigree, challenged his authority; challenged his words. The very people who should have been sympathetic, who should have been in his corner, became such a negative force that they disrupted Jesus’ ministry and message. So rather than stay and argue with his own people or try to convince them by some mighty work, Jesus moved on.

The consistent word throughout the New Testament is that Jesus was rejected by the in-crowd, by his own people. They were willing to deal with him—to reference him—as the carpenter or as the son of Mary or as brother or neighbor, but when he said he had come to proclaim the word of God to them, as one translation puts it, “they found him too much for them.” “His own people” were more comfortable with the old generalities than the new specifics.

Now it becomes quickly evident that the biblical reference to Jesus’ “own people” finds its equivalent today in the church—and thus with you and me. “He came to his own people.” Then what happens? What happens today? Are we willing to engage Jesus as a carpenter, a wise teacher, a “good guy,” but are upset by the idea that he is to be regarded as the Son of God? A fine man—that’s easy; but the One sent from God—the One who has changed our life—well . . .

I remember a time when I was convening a group of church officers, and as a way of getting acquainted, I suggested that we each share something of the spiritual journey that had brought us to where we are today. With hardly an exception, everyone in the group responded to that question by recounting their geographic history—where they had lived and what churches, if any, they had attended. They scrupulously avoided any word about the way their faith had begun, had grown, had changed, or been challenged. No one used any religious vocabulary nor articulated any specific belief; although there was no doubt that everyone in the room would have checked the “I believe in God” box.

The quote on your bulletin cover offers us a new word that may be the most accurate way to describe our current cultural situation vis-á-vis the Christian faith. We are a generation of “apatheists.” Here is more of what Jonathan Rauch says about his newly coined term: “Apatheism is—a disinclination to care all that much about one’s own religion, and an even stronger disinclination to care about other people’s. It may or may not be something new in the world, but its modern flowering, particularly in ostensibly religious America, is worth [noting]” (The Atlantic, May 2003).

He goes on to say, “Apatheism concerns not what you believe, but how. . . . Most [agnostics] are apatheists, but most apatheists are not agnostics. Because—and this is an essential point—many apatheists are believers.” Apatheism concerns not what you believe, but how. So how do we believe?

On this weekend when we focus our attention on the history and heritage of our nation, on this 227th anniversary of our nation’s birth, we can point to some modest accomplishments in the area of our religious tolerance and understanding, and we can applaud emerging efforts to that end, efforts such as the upcoming Parliament of the World’s Religions in Barcelona. But tolerance of others addresses only half of the “How do we believe?” question. We must be equally aware of what is happening to our own faith expression. The downside of a broad tolerance of everything is often a lack of passion about anything. There is a vast difference between learning to understand what others believe and caring about what you believe. Jesus came to his own people and found he had walked into an assembly of “apatheists,” disinclined to take him—or anything he said—seriously. He may have had some specific understandings to share, but the people were happy with what they already knew. He may have had some power to heal the brokenness of their lives and their community, but they were not sure they wanted to go down that road. Without their interested investment, there was little Jesus could do, so he gathered up his disciples and left town. And then, as he sent the disciples on to other towns, he offered a word of instruction probably shaped by his own Nazareth experience: “If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.”

Apatheism may be a new word for this new decade. Apatheism may be the most accurate way to describe how we handle religious faith these days. We may think we are well served if we keep everything on general terms, if we allow specific religious language to disappear from our conversation. We may be content to check the “I believe in God” box on the next survey and go on to be decent, moral people. But the downside of a broad tolerance of everything is often a lack of passion about anything. I can tell you that as appealing, acceptable, and free-of-risk as religious generalities may be, they will not begin to touch the reason you have come here and settled yourself in a pew this morning.

Life consists not in the “ho-hums” or the “whatevers” but in the specifics. No one was ever well fed on euphemisms and generalities. Apatheism may sound like an appropriate description of what’s happening today, it may even sound like a comfortable place for you to stand, but it will not produce satisfaction. It will not deliver the goods. It will not touch that empty spot within, will not scratch that “Who am I?” itch, will not satisfy the hunger that gnaws at you when you stop and think about your life. It will not move you. The downside of broad tolerance of everything is often a lack of passion about anything.

Jesus came to his own people. Jesus comes to his own people and waits to see what will happen. Those who do not welcome his overt presence, his specific words, do not engage his passion, will still be able to blend into the world around them. And they will no doubt still be very comfortable checking the “I believe in God box” on next year’s survey. But here is the downside:

You—I—we—are left alone with questions but no answers. We are on a journey with no traveling companions. All we have is ourselves. Even our dust has been given back to us by the extraordinary One whom we keep trying to define as ordinary. Faith—our Christian faith—requires the passion and presence of Jesus Christ. The spiritual journey we are on is about more than finding a better-grounded approach to life. It is an engagement with the Christ who stands among us. It is as passionate and specific as the love he offers. It is as bold and faithful as the love he shares. It is always both private and public, both treasured and shared. It stands up. It matters. It changes us and the world we live in. It sings; it hopes; it is full of life—and it has no place for apatheists.

Amen.