Today’s rapid pace of technological advance has changed life in the parsonage just as radically as it has changed the secular workplace. And, as in the secular world, the most profound changes in the nature of parochial work have been wrought by the computer, the cell telephone, and the automobile.
Computers have radically changed the way we communicate—by no means always for the better. Sure, it’s much easier to publish parish newsletters and the like, but e-mail enables people to send ill-considered and uncharitable messages even more swiftly than by the fax machine.
Cell phones, theoretically at least, ensure we are never out of touch with our parishes. It means that usually we can be reached quite easily in an emergency, but it also means we can be reached equally easily by colleagues who just want to gossip. As a consequence, time to think is a shrinking commodity.
But, of all things, the car has produced the most far-reaching change in the parson’s life. Anglican parsons frequently drive a very high annual mileage. It reflects the radical changes that late 20th/early 21st Century life styles have imposed on our parishes. Indeed, in the years before our assistants arrived, I frequently notched up more than 25,000 miles annually.
Parishes today mirror the styles and personal tastes of their members to a far greater degree than they ever have before, thanks largely to the automobile and urban flight.
When folks lived in cities and could walk to the corner store without getting mugged, they attended their local church and accepted without much complaint whatever was offered. In this way, families who were frequently on the move experienced the whole gamut of Anglican expression: “High and crazy, Low and lazy, Broad and hazy.”
Nowadays things are vastly different. For all we complain about our road system, on the average Sunday half-an-hour’s travel takes us from one side of the city to the other. And this remarkable mobility, coupled with attitudes molded in the crucible of modern consumerism, have radically changed the face of church–going.
Today people are less likely to put up with things that are not to their taste—whether in the realms of fashion, food, or religion. Today people tend to look for a church to join in much the same way they would go about buying a car or a house, or even the weekend’s groceries: They shop around for the best deal.
Aesthetic considerations rank high on some folks’ shopping lists. There are liturgical connoisseurs who seek a certain flamboyance—colorful vestments, smells and bells, armies of acolytes. Others, by contrast, are into stark austerity. For them, the Geneva gown and unadorned Holy Table reign supreme.
That’s cool, as my children used to say. Tastes vary. But it is worth remembering that it is God we are trying to please in our acts of worship. Thus, it is his taste that counts—not our own. Shopping for liturgical satisfaction is one thing. Shopping for convenience of belief, however, is quite another. Even so it is what large numbers of people are doing.
It might be reasonable enough if the “belief shoppers” were actually seeking enlightenment—a clearer understanding of the Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Faith. A few probably are engaged in such a quest. But experience tends to show that many of them are doing nothing of the sort.
Many, in fact, are hunting around for the best deal on sin. Clergy can usually recognize them by their first question: “Do you believe adultery/sexism/lying to a federal grand jury/eating tofu/membership in PETA/cruelty to animals/gun ownership, etc., etc., is a sin?”
It is important to note that these people don’t actually want to know what the Scriptures have to say on the matter. They aren’t seeking enlightenment. They have made up their minds already.
What they’re looking for is a parson who will agree with what ever they deem to be “sinful” or “non-sinful.” Come up with the wrong answer, that’s the last you’ll see of them. They are off once again on the eternal quest for an obliging pastor who thinks the way they do.
This consumer-oriented approach to the faith offers rich fields of endeavor for clergymen with none too many scruples. Sadly, however, honest parsons have a much tougher time.
The problem is that defining sin isn’t the clergy’s job at all. It is God who defines sin—and he did that many thousands of years ago. You’ll find his ideas on the subject in a handy little consumers’ guide called The Bible.
The truth is that it doesn’t matter a hang what I, or any other human being, thinks about sin. The only opinion we need to worry about is God’s.
If God approves of something, there’s no need to ponder any further. But if he says that something is sinful, believe me, there is nothing that I or anybody else can say—or do—to change the situation.
There are, however, basic facts about sins and sinners that Christians need to bear constantly in mind. First and foremost, we are all, without exception, sinners. Indeed, the more saintly we become, the more painfully we become aware of it.
No less important, in considering the matter, we need to remember that sins of spirit—not least uncharity and unkindness—are generally much more serious than sins of the flesh. The corollary of this rule is that there is no merit to be gained from resisting sins to which one is not tempted.
The fact of the matter is that it isn’t the Church’s job to define sin. The Church’s business is the forgiveness of sins—and that’s a horse of an entirely different color. GPH✠