I’m Thankful for Church

The following is a modified excerpt from my book “Cancer is Not Evil,” for which I am seeking a publisher now.

Thanksgiving has arrived, and this year I want to take a moment to be thankful for the churches I’ve been fortunate enough to be a part of.

I’m thankful for the church I grew up attending, the only church I called home from the day I was born until I left town to go to college. Located in South Bend, Indiana, it was a rather academic church attended by a great many professors and (mostly graduate) students at the University of Notre Dame, Bethel, and Saint Mary’s colleges. This church wasn’t academic in the sense that it was impersonal or that the Christian faith was portrayed as some theoretical or speculative consideration, but it was an extremely intellectually vibrant community, one that I grew up thinking was normal. People like Alvin Plantinga went to my church, and it wasn’t until I was ten or twelve that I realized he was perhaps the preeminent Christian philosopher alive. As a kid, I knew him simply as “Al,” a really nice guy at church who talked to my Sunday School once about rock climbing.

Looking back I see now how such a church environment fostered in me a desire for a greater intellectual understanding of God as well as an appreciation for robust sermons. It is in so many ways because of my church in South Bend that I learned to grow from my doubts and ask the kinds of questions I find fascinating and faith-deepening. As far as I’m concerned you can’t grow up going to church with philosophers and not become keenly interested in the deeper, weirder questions of Christianity. This certainly held true for me at least, and I remain immensely grateful for ways this church fostered in me an abiding love for the intellectual side of Christianity that has saved me from a crisis of faith more than once.

I’m thankful too for the church I went to while in college and the one I attend now, for they have influenced me in important and helpful ways as well. Both in the Anabaptist tradition, these Brethren in Christ and Mennonite churches have helped me grow in my understanding of my citizenship in heaven and how to regard that first and foremost. I’ve never been a part of an overtly nationalistic or patriotic church so I’ve never been especially tempted to regard the United States as God’s chosen country or equate Christianity with patriotism or membership in any particular political party. But I have on occasion visited churches with American flags up front, and I’ve been friends with plenty of people who hold such views so I’m not ignorant about Christian Nationalism either. This emphasis of the Mennonite Church I attend now seems especially relevant today as Christian Nationalism in this country grows ever-stronger. What it means to regard citizenship in heaven above my citizenships in the US and Canada, and what it means to work for God’s kingdom rather than any political entity here on earth has really helped me as I process the current political landscape and the deepening mire we seem to be sinking into right now.

I’m also thankful for what these churches have taught me about living simply and what it means to balance living differently because of my faith without becoming irrelevant or absurd to the rest of the world. At these churches I’ve found that it’s not about visibly denying yourself the luxuries, comforts, and ways of the world in an effort to be set apart from it, as some insist. But neither is it about dismissing that idea altogether as many do and living no differently—except perhaps on Sunday morning—than anyone else. Living a simple, Christlike life isn’t about merely doing the opposite of whatever might be considered secular for the sake of holiness, but neither does it shrug off nor disregard the idea that following Jesus requires living in profoundly different ways from those who don’t. It isn’t about making a show of driving a cheaper car than you could afford or publicly boycotting this movie or that singer, but it isn’t embracing every facet of our deeply unhealthy consumer-driven capitalist society either.

Instead, it is the idea that we should try to live a life that runs counter to our materialistic culture in ways that don’t necessarily look different on the outside but feel different on the inside. It might mean making do with less, and it might mean buying ourselves the very best we can afford. It depends on the circumstances and the reasons we hold in our hearts for doing so. It means not judging others for the way we perceive their life choices and asking others to extend the same grace to us. It is only in the last few years that I feel I truly understand what it means to follow Christ with regards to the way I interact with the broader culture I’m a part of, and it’s a lesson that feels especially relevant as we approach Christmas, the most secularized and commercialized of the Christian holy days.

Finally, I’m thankful for criticism and critiques of Christianity and The Church as well. There’s plenty going around right now, and I implore you to check out #EmptyThePews or #ChurchToo if you don’t know what I’m talking about. Under these hashtags you’ll find harrowing reads, stories that need to be told so we can properly confront the issues pervading American Christianity today. So much dirt has been swept under the rugs in our churches that we’re finally tripping on the lumps, and it’s an ugly, necessary process that I’m glad is taking place.

I guess I’m really just thankful for The Church, that weird, wonderful, profoundly flawed community that, like us all, is worth saving, even and especially when it seems irredeemable.