I Really Don’t Want to Want to Leave Evangelicalism

Obligatory “look at how smart I am” cover photo

This is not a justification for Evangelicalism as it stands. I’ll let you come to your own conclusions, I’m not qualified to discuss any part of that topic. This is a blog. This is me, attempting to systematize some thoughts into some form that my peers (and hopefully superiors) can interact with. If you don’t jive with this, tell me why (preferably without swearing or attacking me).

My presuppositions: As far as I’m concerned (whatever that’s worth coming from a Bible College Sophomore), the good and the potential for more good within the movement outweighs the bad.

I love the Church, I love scripture, I love God’s people. I can and must grow in love for the church, love for scripture, and love for God’s people.

I believe Evangelicals (we) love the Church, love scripture, and love God’s people. I believe Evangelicals (we) can and must grow in love for the Church, love for scripture, and love for God’s people.

I don’t want this to read like a whiny think piece, or an angsty open letter, or even as the singular proposed solution. I don’t think it is. It’s me, trying to lay this thought process out. Read it like that, please.

There are good parts, and there are bad parts.

The little bits about Orthodoxy, Catholicism, and even Anglicanism and Mainline Protestantism that I pick up from my classwork sound really, really good. Lucky for me, I have the opportunity to work with some Anglican friends over the summer. I look forward to the perspective that will come with my time spent interning.

Part of me is envious of those who have had the privilege of growing up in a church tradition much older than the past few centuries. There’s a rich, deep culture in the oldest branches (or trunks, I suppose) of the Church. It’s not something I participated in much growing up. I get jealous.

Worse yet, my social media timelines are full of rabid antipathy toward Evangelicals. People really don’t seem to like us. I get uncomfortable. Funny enough, a lot of times, I agree with what I read. There are a lot of legitimate criticisms. I get upset at my own movement. I also get upset at the dismissive tone of the critics.

I think my friends do too. So, we like to dunk on Evangelicals. It’s easy! Often, it comes out in caricatures where we blast the KJV-only backwater Fox News gun nuts who voted MAGA. We’re so enlightened.

More often, it’s subtle. We retweet the right people, read the right authors, reference the right podcasts — genuinely good things. We’re trying to learn what the Church should do, and it often doesn’t seem to fit with parts of what we grew up with.

Bear with me as I jump into an analogy (in hindsight, it’s very similar to one I’ve read by Pete Enns, albeit with a different application & focus):

We go to school. We start to interact with new ideas, practices, and voices. With genuinely good motives, we weave a bunch of good things we learn into the beginnings of a beautiful tapestry of what the Church is supposed to be.

At some point, we take the beginnings of that ideal tapestry, and we hold it up next to the tapestry of our home church. The old one doesn’t line up. We see where the stains are. We see where all the splits in the fabric are. The colors clash. We see where someone used a patch to cover up a tear. It’s threadbare, stretched too far. The pattern isn’t consistent. It’s warped, it smells funny. It looks gross — maybe even grotesque. We lose sight of the prettier parts.

We feel cheated.

We realize this, and we know that it can and should be better. Rightly so. We’re not content with the tapestry we were given, and we want to make it better. We’ve got to find new materials.

So we head out in search of better material for our ideal tapestry, all the while comparing it to the old. What better source than other tapestries? So we look. If some part of it matches the rest of the ideal, we keep it: new threads, bold patterns, and different dyes. We add it to the ideal. If it doesn’t match, we throw it out. Sometimes we scrap it all and start over. We always manage to find newer thread, bolder patterns, and better dyes.

As we gather all of this wonderful material for our ideal tapestry, eventually we’re faced with a choice: Is the old tapestry just too worn out, too threadbare, too drab to keep? Can it even handle the new material that we’ve found? Or do we have to throw it out, and use our material somewhere else? And where else would we go? Do we just make our own? Do we go to the other tapestries we borrowed material from?

Some of us stay, and we try to use our materials with the old tapestry. Some of us take our materials somewhere else, convinced another tapestry will be better. Some of us go away, we weave a “new” tapestry.

I grew up in a grab bag of suburbs above the Mason-Dixon line. I’m from what I’m pretty sure is the majority Evangelical demographic. Looking back on my Sunday School teachers, Youth Group leaders, Ministers, small group members, and the regular ‘ol church people around me, I am hard-pressed to find people from my church communities who were anything but loving, God-fearing people who gave the best that they had for my own sake.

I would not be who I am without my churches.

I try to remember. As I process through these new and exciting materials that I’m gathering, I’m learning to keep these things in mind:

1. I’m not that smart. I am 20. I have such a long way to go. What I think is ideal is probably not ideal. I don’t have all the answers.
2. They were giving me the best that they had. I highly doubt that the people in my churches who taught me different things than what I’m learning now were actively trying to mislead me. They were giving me the best information that they had, because they loved me. I may come to find out that I’m learning right now may not even be “correct”.
3. I’m reading the best of the best. N.T. Wright is probably smarter than most of my Sunday School teachers. I should cut them some slack. Not everybody can be a scholar.
4. People are people, no matter where I go. There will always be selfish motivations, uninformed decisions, and downright harmful practices. Full stop.
5. When I leave something behind, I can no longer help it develop. I am not condemning those who do leave. There are so many legitimate reasons to leave this movement behind. But for those of us who, like me, were given good experiences and are now learning even more, we need to pause and consider the effect of our absence. There are a lot of people who could use what we’re learning. Many of the things that we’re learning could help more people have good experiences — which, in the case of the Church, means knowing Jesus as Lord.
6. I want to help the people who helped me. I owe it to them. I’ve been given the opportunity to learn all this new information. How do I best use it? How do I humbly offer my gifts to my church?

So we have our new materials that we’ve worked hard to gather, and we’ve pieced together some idea of what we think it should look like as a finished product. Eventually, we refocus our effort. It all has to go somewhere, it can’t just stay together in a pile.

We’re faced with that question: Do we leave the old tapestry behind?

I think, for some people, the answer is definitely in the affirmative.

However, If we answer that question with a “yes”, and we do leave the old one behind, our main motivation cannot be how attractive the other tapestries look compared to the old one, or how much “easier” it would be to just go make our own. We will find that as we walk closer to those other tapestries, and as we interact with them down the road, we will start to see different tears. Different stains, patches, broken patterns, frays, and splits.

Because not a single one of the many, many tapestries out there can measure up to the ideal that we’ve pieced together in our heads. We’ve taken the best materials from so many tapestries — how could we expect one of them to depict something that all of them contributed to?

When we finally decide where to put it all, we have to remember: We don’t have all the materials. This tapestry isn’t just for us. We’re each one set of hands, adding what we each think is best. How do we do that well?

That probably sounds like a drawn out warning against believing that “the grass is always greener.” To some degree, it probably is. It may even sound like a vague, naive attempt at Ecumenism. To some degree, it probably is. It’s what I have to keep reminding myself as I encounter incredibly compelling new practices and ideas. In my studies, I’m interacting with the best bits of everything. I’m reading the smartest voices from a wide variety traditions,the very best that they all have to offer.

Trying to piece together what I believe is the best sometimes feels like putting together a puzzle with all corner pieces. They all seem to have a correct spot and a clear function, and I believe that they all work! But together? How do they all fit?

I can only hope and pray that I will be blessed with the wisdom to discern when I should stand up and speak, and when I should sit down and submit.

To my peers: Please, think through the decisions you make when you choose which expression of the Church is the one you will call home. You’ve been gifted with knowledge that not a lot of people have. Could that knowledge be helpful for your home church? Could it be helpful for Evangelicals? Don’t just pack up and leave without considering the effect of your absence. We are members of a body.

The materials that you and I have gathered could be a part of this renewed tapestry.