Episode 2.2: what the world needs now

I started this blogging thing just before the election. And with all that has been going on in the U.S. and the world, I ask myself every week, what am I up to here? Shouldn’t I be…marching in the streets or helping refugees or something? Maybe. Probably. But I think this is important too, and I want to talk about why.

The readings for this trimester's class jumped right in to a discussion of the second Vatican Council and its aftermath in Switzerland. “Vatican II,” as we super hip types in the Church refer to it, was (very very briefly) a years-long meeting of the worldwide Church starting in 1962, during which it was decided, among other things, that Mass should take place in local languages and that the priest should face the congregation.

If this does not seem particularly earth shattering it may well mean that you, like me, are not old enough to remember the change itself. For progressives, Vatican II represented hope: the church finally emerging from a self-imposed exile from the rest of the world and updating its services for the first time in 400 years (the Enlightenment! it happened!). But for those who had grown up relying on a Church that hadn’t changed in 400 years to be a bulwark of stability in a time of rapid change, it was a betrayal. And the Church today is still dealing with the deep divide between those who want to a church that is open and modern, and those who feel that to capitulate to "progress" is to lose sight of ancient truths. And as much as I don’t belong to the latter group (perhaps not least because I'm not old enough to know what it was like before we capitulated), I know that their desire for belonging and Truth is real and powerful and not satisfied by facile statements about progress and inclusiveness.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the parallels between this and what’s going on right now in the U.S. Liberals saw a lot of progress under the Obama administration. But social progress can’t be accomplished by an entirely top-down approach. No matter how good and necessary the changes you make and the regulations you put in place, they alone can't change people's values and attitudes.

I read a post this week from a mother in a small town who was fighting for a special swing on the town's swing set for her disabled child. I don’t remember the exact details but the story went something like this: she argued with the school district, she argued with the city council, she tried to convince those who said “why should 25% of the swings in the playground be changed to accommodate 0.5% of our children?” She ended up threatening an ADA lawsuit, and eventually the town bought the special swing and now her child can play alongside the others – but at a cost she didn’t sound entirely comfortable with. What will happen next? Will the leaders of the town, remembering that they were shamed and made to back down, push back even harder next time? Or will the town embrace this kid as one of their own, and willingly provide the other accommodations she needs? The difference between these two outcomes isn’t more laws, it’s love. As noble and virtuous as we all like to think we are, the truth is that we will always be more willing to make an effort for those we know personally.

A sign of hope I see in my church is that if you take away the large majority of the congregation that is old and Swiss (and I am not suggesting we actually do this! this is a thought experiment!), those you have left are a motley crew – families and single people, Africans and Asians and Europeans, conservatives and liberals. This is the Church of the future: those who don’t “belong” but keep showing up anyway. I want to get to know these people and I want them to know me, so we can find our way forward together.

Which brings me to what I’ve wanted to say all week. This is a frightening time. Be worried, speak up, protest, get involved, call your representatives. But also. Don’t let the drama at the top distract you from what’s ultimately going to heal the rift in our country: reaching across the chasm and having a conversation with someone on the other side. At the lowest levels, we have to listen to each other. Not persuade or sell or educate or protest or shame. Listen.

I think that church has a role to play in this. And not primarily as a keeper of tradition and disseminator of moral values, but as a safe environment where neighbors can get to know each other. 

More on this (with some scheduling luck and writing inspiration) tomorrow.