When I read Emergent writers like Brian McLaren and Rob Bell, I find myself nodding and agreeing with so much of what they say. I find the emergent conversation compelling enough that I actually sought out the church that McLaren founded, and that’s where my wife and I go every Sunday these days.
There’s a lot about the emergent conversation that I really like. But I also have some problems with it that I would like to discuss. These problems are interrelated and difficult to make really distinct, so they don’t really lend themselves to a bullet-point list in order of importance or something like that. Instead, I’ll just pretty much tackle the whole thing at once, starting wherever and typing until I feel like I’ve said all I have to say.
One problem I have is that I see, for the most part, the emergent conversation/emerging church is really a child of evangelical Christianity as opposed to Christianity as a whole. In a way, it seems like a kind of mini-Protestantism, emerging from fundamentalism and evangelicalism the way Protestant Christianity emerged from Catholicism. The thing was, in the fifteenth century, Catholicism is all there was, so the Reformation was a big thing- its adherents were birthed from the entirety of western Christianity.
By contrast, the emerging church is mostly just the product of evangelicalism, which is only a small slice of current Christianity. Thus, I feel like it rests on many evangelical assumptions, despite trying its best to be ecumenical and “generous” in its theology and outlook.
In short, I feel like emergent Christianity (and I knowingly use the terms “emerging” and “emergent” interchangeably, Mark Driscoll’s opinions notwithstanding) begins by making evangelical assumptions, finds problems there, and simply assumes that the answers can’t be found anywhere else in Christianity. Even in McLaren’s Generous Orthodoxy, which is a great book, and you should read it, the hat-tip he gives to the rest of Christianity is largely superficial, and betrays his deel evangelical/fundamentalist roots.
Why do I care about this? Well, for one thing, I have some concerns about evangelical Christianity that the emerging church doesn’t really resolve. Second, recent things I’ve read make me wonder if the emerging church isn’t really just trying to reinvent the wheel, while rejecting the possibility that the wheel has actually already been invented and refined if not perfected.
I just finished reading Rowan Williams’s book Where God Happens. Rowan Williams is the Archbishop of Canterbury, the spiritual leader of the Anglican Communion. I plan on posting something lengthy about Anglicanism in the near future, but suffice to say for the moment that Anglicanism is one of the paths I am seriously considering in my journey towards Jesus Christ, but I also have very serious doubts and reservations.
Where God Happens is a short book about the Desert Fathers and the relevance for people today of their teachings, sayings, and way of life. Interestingly enough, the concepts that Dr. Williams pulls out of the sayings and practices of the Desert Fathers are in many ways extremely similar to the theological ideas and concepts of the emergent church.
This was an extraordinary discovery for me. Until that point, the emergent conversation had been my oasis, the shining example of what it seemed like Christianity should really be about. But here is the Archbishop of Canterbury invoking the fourth-century Desert Fathers (and Mothers; let’s not leave out Amma Syncletica) and the result is basically the same message! In particular, the ideas about community and relationship and Christian discipleship are startlingly similar to the theological ideas of McLaren et al. But more importantly, this same message is in a context that lends it so much more authority- or at least that makes it so much more authoritative– than the hemming and hawing we’re-just-regular-guys McLaren and Bell even come close to. This is completely steeped in the fullness of Christian history and tradition.
The result is that I start to wonder about putting too many of my eggs in the emergent basket. If they’re just reinventing the wheel, they’re doing it in a humble but arrogant way, assuming that the wheel hasn’t already been invented and highly refined just because they don’t find the wheel in their narrow evangelical and fundamentalist backgrounds.
If all of the things that I like about emergent theology are there for the discovering in historic orthodox Christianity, then maybe emergent Christianity isn’t as great asI thought it was, especially considering my other concerns with evangelicalism that are carried over into the emergent conversation.
Another concern I have with the emergent conversation is in terms of the practice of worship. While one stream of the emergent conversation is concerned with reworking and refining theology, there’s another, maybe more major stream that is concerned with new and relevant ways of worship. I am not as excited about this stream, although it is generally seen by the rest of the evangelical world as the more acceptable facet of emergent Christianity.
These new ways of worship often involve pairing religious innovation with recovered ancient Christian traditions. Once again, my problem is that this is completely from an evangelical standpoint. The ancient traditions of worship and spirituality are not lost; they have merely been abandoned by evangelical Protestantism. They are still easy to find and access in many Eastern Orthodox, Roman Catholic, and even traditional Protestant churches and communities. And when the emergent church “recaptures” these traditions, they always seem so much more… superficial than they do when seen in practice in their traditional context, in something like an Eastern Orthodox Liturgy.
Furthermore, I’m not necessarily always excited about innovative worship. To me, it assumes that the traditional ways have been fully mined for meaning and there’s none left, so we need to make up something new. And I challenge that assertion. I think part of the problem is a media-soaked culture that has forgotten how to be still and reflective, how to take time, to be thoughtful, and to let spiritual things penetrate deeply. I think if we could recover contemplation, then the traditional ways of worship, the ones that have proven themselves relevant to human beings for up to twenty centuries, will still be just as relevant as they have always been.
I think there is room for thoughtful innovation in worship, but I think it is a thing that should be done carefully and deliberately, not recklessly.
My final criticism of the emerging church is its concern with being relevant to the postmodern person, and its general marriage to postmodernism. As a postmodern person, it seems great, but at the same time, I long for a faith that stands outside of and independent of philosophical trends and momentary (compared to the continuity of human history) ways of thinking. Christianity existed before modernism, and I think embracing modernism was the worst thing that could have happened to Christianity (I’ll post more about this later, but in my opinion, embracing modernism means either taking the path of theological liberalism or the path of theological fundamentalism, both of which make Christianity look foolish). At the same time, I have no real confidence that people won’t say the same thing about postmodernism in a few hundred years. Postmodernism may be a new way of thinking and a refreshing alternative to modernism, but that doesn’t mean that we’ve “finally gotten it right.” Down the road, postmodernism will be outdated and will be junked with all of the other antiquated philosophical frameworks that humanity has consigned to the collective cognitive dusty attic.
I think Christianity should be able to stand outside of passing waves of philosophy- it should be something that endures apart from and independent of “the way people think.” It should be an alternative to the current philosophical trend, not just one more manifestation of it. It might make Christianity difficult to the individual who is hesitant to set aside his conventional philosophical framework, but I don’t think that’s such a bad thing. I believe that there are ways in which Christianity should be difficult. When Jesus Christ said his yoke was easy and his burden was light, I really don’t think he meant that his way meant not having to change the way we live and think. In fact, I’m fairly convinced that he meant the opposite.
Sailing to Byzantium 