“The church is
a whore but she is my mother.” That
statement which may be familiar to some, new to others, and just plain shocking to
many, is often attributed to Augustine.
Augustine said a lot of memorable things but this may not have been one
of them. A search of his writings doesn’t reveal it. Others believe Martin Luther said it; Luther
had that somewhat ribald bent but he probably didn’t say it either. Richard Beck believes it derives from a
statement by Dorothy Day: “As to the
Church, where else shall we go, except to the Bride of Christ, one flesh with
Christ? Though she is a harlot at times, she is our Mother.” (http://experimentaltheology.blogspot.com/2013/05/the-church-is-whore-but-she-is-our.html
Accessed 30 June 2016.) That’s probably
as good a guess as any.
As far as
quips go, the line is a good way to explain why the church, like Gomer (from Hosea, not Mayberry), sells-out occasionally.
In fact, it may serve as an especially
appropriate caveat during an election year.
In this year’s American presidential election the two major candidates
are among the most secular-minded to ever run; yet few would be surprised if
one or both candidates attempted to buy the church’s favors (endorsement) by
quoting a few Bible verses or heading off to church a Sunday or two,
journalistic entourage in tow. This
might be a good time for American Evangelicals to nurture their cynicism and
keep their sham sensors set on high.
Still, though I’ve
used the line to explain why Christ’s People sometimes behave in ways that
belie that title, I really prefer another metaphor: Amnesia.
In 1985, I
participated in a partnership mission jointly sponsored by the Baptist General
Convention of Texas and the Baptist Union of New South Wales. Our team was assigned to a church in Tumut,
NSW, about 250 miles west of Sydney and located in the foothills of the Snowy
Mountains. One of the church members
operated a small Christian bookstore where I bought a little book by Michael
Griffiths called Cinderella with
Amnesia: Practical Discussion of the
Relevance of the Church. Griffiths,
at the time an Australian evangelist, argues that the church sometimes forgets
who she is.
I prefer the
amnesia metaphor over the whore metaphor because it suggests the condition can
be reversed and is not necessarily a permanent flaw in the church’s character.
I was so
impressed with the notion that years later, when I composed what I call “Axioms
for Understanding Church History,” I made the first axiom: “The church suffers
recurring bouts of amnesia.”
Any analogy
has its flaws as this one does. We
cannot use a clinical description of amnesia as a checklist for diagnosing when
the church is suffering from amnesia.
Still, the fact a traumatic event can trigger amnesia may find parallels
in the life of the church. For example, the
trauma of public ridicule associated with the Scope’s trial caused some
conservative Christians to retreat from engagement with the culture. Some Christians became suspicious of higher
education to the point they warned young people against going to most colleges
and universities, especially urging them to avoid careers in the sciences. Forgetting that Christian scholars were once
at the forefront of academics, they helped foster the impression that
proponents of biblical Christianity are anti-intellectual. Roughly speaking, this bout of amnesia lasted
from about 1920 to the mid-1940s when the neo-Evangelical movement emerged.[1]
The retreat may have been a facet of what has been called “the great reversal,”
that period in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries when
Evangelicals forgot their obligation to be positive change-agents in the
culture.
In the end,
this amnesia manifests in many ways.
When the
church stresses judgment rather than grace, it is experiencing amnesia.
When the
church retreats in fear from a fallen culture, it is experiencing amnesia.
When the
church feels abandoned and lost in a hostile world, it is experiencing amnesia.
When the
church believes the headlines about its demise, it is experiencing amnesia.
When the
church questions the efficacy of its message, it is experiencing amnesia.
When the
church believes its best days are past, it is experiencing amnesia.
When the
church relies on human power rather than Divine power, it is experiencing
amnesia.
When the
church fails to balance the inward look and the outward look, it is
experiencing amnesia.
When the
church becomes provincial, it is experiencing amnesia.
Allow me to
expand on just one example, the last.
Here in America (and perhaps the West, in general), some Christians are
so focused on declining conversions, poor attendance, and weakening influence
they conclude the whole church is dying, that Christianity is terminally
ill. Their amnesia causes them to forget
that their congregations, their denominations, and even the American church do
not comprise the whole church. This
amnesia may have such a grip on their minds that even when told of
Christianity’s growth in the global south, told how Christianity will soon be
the dominant religion in sub-Saharan Africa, told of the persecuted church’s
growth in China, and told about churches in many nations—such as the
Philippines—sending missionaries to the US and elsewhere, they will scarcely
believe it. They can be tough cases.
At the risk of
sounding simplistic, the cure for such amnesia is remembering.
Occasionally,
a dramatic event such as a spiritual awakening impacting many may lead to
recovery within a relatively brief period.
While we often think of such revivals as times of ingathering for the
church, times when thousands repent and trust Christ, they usually have other
important aftereffects as well.
When revived
Christians remember the beauty of the gospel and the joy of salvation they
break out in song; explaining, perhaps, why awakenings are often accompanied by
the creation of new hymns and Christian music.
Such music might range in style and character from the thought-provoking
hymns of Charles Wesley to the more emotional gospel songs of Ira Sankey. But all of them involve Christians
remembering what Christ has done for them.
Revived Christians often remember their fundamental kinship
with other Christians. In a world where
so many of our spiritual brothers and sisters are persecuted, this means we
American Christians should “weep with those who weep;” at the same time, doing
what we can to support them and relieve their suffering. But it also means we may “rejoice with those
who rejoice.” We can, for example,
celebrate the growth of Brazilian Pentecostal churches, while allowing that
growth to inspire hope that our churches—Baptist, Methodist, Presbyterian,
whatever—might see such growth in God’s time.
Revived Christians
often remember their responsibility to share the gospel beyond the narrow
confines of their homeland. Several
revivals in modern church history have inspired new bursts of missionary
activity. The Second Great Awakening in
America not only saw the rapid growth of churches on the nation’s new frontier,
it saw the formation of several denominational boards dedicated to sending
missionaries to foreign lands.
Of course,
while we may yearn for an awakening to overcome the church’s amnesia, God doesn’t
always choose that course. Overcoming
the church’s amnesia may occur at a slower pace. In the mid-1940s, many Christians committed
to Biblical orthodoxy saw liberalism as a threat. Some of those Christians believed the typical
fundamentalist response to the threat was counter-productive. They believed that
response created Christians who were insular and distrustful of one another,
incapable of working together to advance the Kingdom. With a fresh vision, these
“neo-evangelicals,” as they called themselves, remembered a time when
Christians were confident in the gospel and competent in presenting its claims
to the world. The fundamentalists,
despite their pulpit bravado, seemed more ready to retreat than advance.
Though
originally few in number, these neo-evangelicals, under the leadership of men
like Harold John Ockenga, gradually convinced other like-minded Christians to
shake off their amnesia and remember who they were. They stood in the line of
those like Edwards, Wesley, More, Newton, Wilberforce, and believers who
faithfully proclaimed the gospel and changed the world. Ockenga called Christians to focus on core
beliefs and work together to advance God’s Kingdom. Eventually, those who responded became a
force to be reckoned with in the world; all because they remembered who they
were, “Evangelicals,” people of the gospel.
While I was
writing this essay I saw a trailer for yet another Jason Bourne movie, this one
promising to be the last. Honest. I saw the first installment but refused to
see any of the others (because of a plot twist I found unacceptable); still,
many people eagerly joined Bourne in his quest to overcome his amnesia and
discover his past. Action movies, like
the Bourne trilogy, and comedies, like Fifty
First Dates, have found amnesia a useful device in telling a story.
I suspect
experiencing amnesia is hardly entertaining.
It’s likely to paralyze the victim, making them distrustful of strangers
claiming to know them and fearful of what they may discover about themselves. Churches and individual Christians
experiencing spiritual amnesia live tragic lives, not entertaining lives.
Think of
Christians you know whose faith was once contagious but who now suffer amnesia
to the degree they have abandoned their joyful confidence and now quake at
every news story that seems to suggest a secular society can overrule God.
Think of
churches you know that were born when a band of believers joined together to show
Christ’s love to their community but, now, suffer amnesia to the degree that the
once united band of believers expend more energy debating landscaping than they
expend reaching out to the community.
Think of
denominations you know that were formed to make proclamation, nurture, and
service more efficient but now suffer amnesia to such a degree that differences
of opinion must be quashed and the lives of individual believers must be
micromanaged even at the cost of no longer fulfilling the founders’ vision.
No, spiritual
amnesia isn’t entertaining.
Mark tells of
an occasion when the disciples became anxious because they had not brought
enough provisions for a journey (8:14-21).
Jesus rebuked them by reminding them of how he had fed 5,000 with five
rolls and then 4,000 with just seven rolls.
The Weymouth translation has Jesus asking the disciples, “Have you no
memory?”
Our amnesia
may prompt us to forget Jesus’ promise, “I will build my church, and the power
of hell will not be able to defeat it” and his pledge, “I will be with you, day
after day, to the end of the age.” At such times, I wonder if Jesus asks us,
“Have you no memory?”
[1]
I have painted the period in broad strokes. There were young fundamentalists earning
advanced degrees but a milieu suspicious of higher education still pervaded
many churches and provided fodder for many sermons. Though I was born after the period, I can
recall evangelists speaking of those going off to college to earn their “PhOol
degrees.” (Pronounce it.)
