They will be called oaks of righteousness,
the planting of the Lord, to display his glory.
They shall build up the ancient ruins;
they shall raise up the former devastations;
they shall repair the ruined cities,
the devastations of many generations. – Isaiah 61:3b-4 (NRSVUE)
I was picking green beans one afternoon last week. This is not unusual. We have a farm share, where once a week for twenty weeks each year we go to the farm to collect vegetables for that week. What we get depends on what is ripe that week. Usually there are two or three crops that are “pick your own,” meaning that instead of taking what the farmers had harvested you go into the field and pick for yourself. At the moment the fall crop of beans is plentiful, so I was picking two quarts of beans from the field. Usually this is a quiet and calm experience. There may be a handful of other people in the field and chatting with one another, but it is not a boisterous activity.
This week was different. There was a man who was talking loudly and without ceasing. I did my best to ignore the conversation, but there was no way to avoid it. It seemed like it was his first time there. That is common enough; often when people who have a share are away they offer their week to someone else. The man was probably in his thirties, and was there with a woman. From the conversation I am guessing it was his sister. Mostly he was rattling on about which beans to pick. Eventually they starting talking about an event they had been invited to that was at a church. I didn’t take in many details, as I was doing my best to ignore him. What I do remember clearly was his response: “As long as they don’t do anything religious I’m fine with it. I mean, everyone’s entitled to their own opinion, but I can’t stand the idea of someone saying they know something about God and then asking for money because they don’t have any other real job.” At that point I moved on to the cherry tomatoes, but unfortunately they soon followed. I hurried along, making sure to bite my tongue.
As you might imagine, there’s quite a bit to critique in that statement. The assumptions behind it, the narrow-minded thinking disguised as openness, and the materialist construction of what constitutes real work could all be picked apart in fine detail. Rather than getting worked up about the irrationally strong half-thought convictions of someone who seemed much more interested in hearing himself talk than in thinking about the depths of ultimate meaning, it is more helpful in my estimation to recognize how many people think this way. If much of your time is spent with church people specifically or people over the age of 45 more generally, this man’s statement may seem surprising. The reality, though, is that it is a fairly common viewpoint within younger generations. Religion is seen as pompous, self-serving, division, and shallow. This is a far cry from wading into the depths of God called for in a life of faith.
For those of us in the church, how do we communicate across this gap? Dismissing is easy but unproductive. Criticizing only serves to underline the sense of the religion as unnecessarily divisive; beyond that it is not possible to argue with someone who is completely uninterested in a topic. Yet failing to engage allows this viewpoint to proliferate. As people of faith we need to be able to first live our commitment to love clearly, and then back it up with a gentle and calm steadiness. This provides a counterpoint to the stereotype of a religious person. It may not be noticed. Others may be uninterested, or they may in fact be the ones too pompous and self-serving to notice the steady calmness of faith. We cannot control the response of others, but we can witness. We can drink deeply of the wellspring of life found in the Holy Spirit, and that Spirit can empower us to grow into great oaks of righteousness that witness to the loving goodness of God who slowly brings healing to a hurting world.