Editor’s Note: This is the third of three responses to Roger Nelson’s post on Monday about adult children and faith.
My adult children have never sharply or categorically rejected Christianity. It’s more a case of slip-slidin’ away. I think they’d say they still have faith. They “believe in God” — whatever that means or is worth. It’s church that they’re less sure about.
My grandchildren, none of them baptized, know all the intricacies and backstories of Moana and Frozen, the way I knew Abraham and Sarah when I was their age. They do, however, seem to have a rough understanding of Jesus’ story. They certainly know of the importance of faith and church to their grandparents, sometimes willingly accompanying us to worship when we’re together. But in their families, Sundays are a day for rest, hikes, groceries, and getting ready for the week ahead.
Here’s some of my conjecture about the reasons for this.
They saw the sausage being made. As much as we tried to shield them, my children heard and saw our gripes and bruises as we pastored. Like almost everything else, the church is filled with the good, the bad, and the ugly. I wonder, or actually I fear, that they heard too much from us about the bad and ugly, and not enough about the good, the true, and the beautiful.
And maybe they have their own resentments — that we were preoccupied with work, that our moods were dependent on how things were going at church, that they lived with the PK label.
If my children are ever to become involved in a church, they won’t enter naively, expecting some idyllic, robust community. They’ll enter warily, knowing that disappointment and hypocrisy are an inevitable part of what it means to be church. They won’t want to be asked to serve on a committee or attend meetings. They’ll need some space and time.
In crude transactional terms, I don’t think they see church as a value-added to their lives. Their first thoughts are of obligations, constraints, conflict. More in their already hectic schedule. How do I point them to transcendence, vulnerability, beauty, hope, nourishing friendships, not to mention possible childcare and casseroles?
They have a good sniffer. My children are a bit of church connoisseurs, even snobs. When they’ve dabbled or visited churches, they can tell within about ten feet of the front door if “it’s a church for them.” This isn’t necessarily a good thing, of course. Sometimes first impressions aren’t completely correct.
Their sniffer is especially attuned to anything smacking of white, American evangelicalism. Certainly, they caught some of that aversion from Sophie and me. But I think it is also a generational thing. “Christianity” isn’t an especially attractive brand to most millennials. My kids are savvy enough to realize that there are many, many churches where they would be more at home. Still, the general taint of Christianity discolors everything.
I’ve been disappointed when my children and their families have tried to stick their toe back in the water. They’ve experienced a lot of awkward unwelcomeness, obliviousness, and general unpreparedness for guests and newcomers at the churches they visited.
In my years in the pastorate, I noticed that the adult children of pastors were frequently — but not always — brittle, prickly, defensive, and generally hard to please. Privately, I attributed this to “daddy issues” (and it was always a daddy). No one could ever measure up to daddy. No one else did things right. They had to keep his ways, guard his legacy. Maybe they also had “too good a sniffer,” always checking “would dad approve?” Maybe I inadvertently bequeathed this to my own kids too?
A good place to raise children–this is a description of the small town where my kids did a good portion of their growing up. And it’s true, to an extent. It’s safe and clean. People are kind and honest. A type of Christianity wafts in the air.
But many of the qualities that make a place wonderful for ten-year-olds might be less wonderful for seventeen-year-olds. Over the years, I noticed that the tidy Christianity of their hometown became a burden rather than a blessing for many of the children who grew up in our congregation. Like most adolescents, they probably went through a stage where they were too negative. They saw church as shallow and hopelessly entwined with nationalism and patriarchy, materialism and homophobia — even though our congregation tried to model something different. They headed into adulthood jaundiced against church in general, even if not in particular. It is difficult to pull them back.
I realize that here I’m casting blame on “them” — the environment, others, the town — rather than owning it personally. In reality, isn’t it always an inseprable mixture, a mystery?
I’d be overjoyed if my children and grandchildren became part of a church. I’m saddened, disappointed, hurt that they’re not. There’s a sense of failure about something I consider seriously significant. But there is so much that is wonderful and that I affirm and am extremely proud of in them. I suppose I focus on that. We do talk about these things — occasionally, rarely. They know how I feel. Being pushy is definitely not the way forward.
I could theologize about the “visible and invisible church,” although I’m never fully onboard with those ideas. I could try to wrestle with Cyprian’s “You cannot have God as your Father unless you have the Church as your Mother,” not to mention the Belgic Confession’s “apart from it [the church] there is no salvation” (Article 28).
But like so many of life’s conundrums, persistent prayer seems like the best option.
13 Responses
“But many of the qualities that make a place wonderful for 10 year-olds, might be less wonderful for 17 year-olds.” Wow! Pretty profound. We raise our kids with lots of authority and external control when they are young because they are not yet ready to discern, but then we change strategies so as to enable internal values development. Churches seem to have a harder time implementing this principle. Consequently, many adults are stuck with a 10 year-old’s theology and run the church accordingly.
One thing I notice from each recent blogger on this topic. They model a freely-chosen kind of faith, one that is humble, free from guilt and debt to parents and church. It is loving and it is unconditional. (Who does that sound like?) Perhaps their children like the feel of that and even take it to the next level. Churches do not always afford such freedom of choice and are not chosen by young adults as go-to places.
Another thing I wonder about is churches being the inevitable victims of their own success and prosperity. Only a prosperous and/or powerful church has the luxury of making “faith” so strictly defined. Persecuted and emerging churches must work with what they have. Buildings, budgets, and butts- in-seats are not (yet?) defining priorities.
Have been appreciating this series very much – as a millennial minister (though I’m in specialized ministry). The church I grew up in was a great place to be a kid but not a great place to be a teen / young adult who had questions, who wanted to explore and ask why. There were a lot of firm boundaries that you didn’t find out about until you crossed them. I got hurt, and saw my parents and siblings get hurt as well.
Having gone through an M.Div. program and CPE, I have come to understand much better why some people are uncomfortable without firm boundaries, and why some people are uncomfortable with them! And that process has challenged me also as someone who does not like firm boundaries, to more explicitly elucidate what I do believe and what values I believe are central to my life and faith, while keeping the humility and curiosity that push against hard boundaries.
Thank you for your honest, vulnerable post. Your kids’ and our kids’ relationship to the church are virtually parallel. We’re not worried about our kids’ eternal welfare. My sadness is for what our kids miss by not being connected to a church. Worship, particularly singing, means more to me at this point in my life than ever. Our kids don’t experience the awe and exhilaration that a great song evokes. They also don’t get the perspective on life that a good church gives. I need reminders, every week or so, that someone is holding all of this together and that that someone is love, that God has not asked me to worry about 99% of the things I worry about. I’m self-centered enough. Without church, my life would be even more self-centered and less other-centered. I miss all of this for my kids. Your title says it well: “The Kids are Alright. More or Less.” Thanks.
I have appreciated this series very much.
I’d also be curious to explore the other spiritual practices of these adult children. If they have given up on church but still believe in God, how is that expressed in their life? Do they read the Bible? Pray?
How could we encourage these practices (is that even possible) so that they continue to hear from and be connected to God in other ways? (Tangentially I wonder if we have made church more important than these other spiritual practices, and maybe church without these other practices can’t carry all the weight.)
Thanks for sharing your heart and life with us. I will join you all in that persistent prayer.
I so appreciate your words. No kids myself but nieces and nephews really don’t go to church. My nephew is getting married in a couple of weeks and not in a church. It will be interesting to see if there is anything spiritual in the ceremony.
Thank you! I’ve appreciated this series so much. This is the real conversation. Each one of these articles resonated with my own experience with young people in my life. God may be doing a new thing with the church (or with our particular version of the church) in the world. I’m open to it! This series makes me feel trusting and hopeful. Grateful.
Thanks, Steve, and you other bloggers on this subject. We have lessons to learn about God’s love. And we need to help our children learn them, too.
There seems to be two metrics by which we are measuring the spiritual health of the younger generations:
1. Church attendance. Of course, attending regularly is important for one’s spiritual life, but there can be any number of reasons ( laziness, business, prior hurt, etc) people don’t go.
2. Accepting Christ. This is the more important question. Can our children answer HC Lord’s Day Q1 in the affirmative?
Exceptional series. Discerning and actionable final article. Thank you. The Reformed Journal Blog is rocking it!
This series has hit home with me as my son and daughter do not attend church or desire any affiliation with organized religion. They appreciate the experiences they had in church as children and youth and remember people from our congregation fondly. They are raising their children to be kind, accepting, good world citizens. My biggest regret is that they don’t have the community of a church. Yes to the casseroles and child care!
I’ve also been interested in the posts on this topic. I have a similar experience. My 21 year old daughter does not go to church. She grew up in church as a missionary kid in a socially conservative country and a theologically orthodox reformed church. When we returned from overseas ministry after 7 years and re-joined our progressive UCC church, she found it boring. She’d say things like, “they don’t talk about God,”… “It’s not serious”…”it doesn’t feel like church.” She certainly believes and understands the gospel. But she is disappointed in the church, not because the church isn’t engaged in social concerns or “justice issues.” She appreciates that. She is a socially and politically progressive person. Rather her lack of interest is because of the paucity of serious theological content. Her sense is that progressive Christianity is just like any secular NGO or other community organization. I think she’s onto something!
Bright kid.