My wife will probably go out of her way to read this newsletter. She’s been obsessed with the number 51 since childhood.
Everything stinks. Or at least, one would think so from listening to a wide cross-section of cultural and political news and commentary.
Southwest Airlines, which I flew with twice recently and maybe a half dozen times in 2022, had some, ahem, troubles recently.
In a recent football game, a player’s heart stopped following a tackle and he had to be resuscitated on the field.
The recent election for Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives went to a 15th ballot.
Pope Benedict XVI died.
Barbara Walters died.
President Biden finally announced plans to visit the southern border.
In no way am I attempting to dispute the premise that each of these happenings, on some level or another, reflects something unfortunate, problematic, or less-than-ideal. What I want to explore, however, is the preponderance of cultural decline narratives. Such narratives aren’t new, but they surge in prominence and prevalence from time to time. I feel we’re living in one of those times.
I spent about 10 days traveling out of town for the holidays. I consumed what I suppose to be an average amount of news via television, email, social media, and print news. But I also had many conversations with people.
As I interacted with family, friends, and strangers, I heard oodles of observations (full-on complaints in most cases) about the economy, the weather, the state of college sports, the state of professional sports, the state of American politics, infrastructure planning, the number of openly homosexual characters in film and television, and maybe a half dozen other assorted things.
I report these experiences not as a holier-than-thou bystander who is above the fray. I associate myself with some, if not many, of these complaints. I also don’t want to give readers the impression that people in the Carolinas, where I spent most of my time, are especially cynical or angry. I do reckon that my recent experiences are indicative of the power and pull of a good cultural decline narrative.
What Are We Really Claiming?
The idea of cultural decline is a fascinating one. More than one book has been written exploring this idea, but it need not be viewed as an academic matter. It’s a deeply existential, street-level reality. We regularly have a sense that things aren’t as good as they used to be. But are we correct in this sense? A “sense” isn’t particularly objective or comprehensive. It’s often a gut-level response to disappointments and frustrations. Nevertheless, we put a great deal of stock in them.
We really think that sports aren’t as good as they used to be. But which sport? Professional or amateur? Which league? In what way are they not as good? Which standard would one use to make such a claim about quality? And perhaps my favorite, when is the cut-off period? In other words, when exactly were they great (or better), and when did they begin being worse? Years and dates, please.
Once you force people to be more concrete about their gut-level intuitions about the relative superiority of a given era of anything—economic stability, sports quality, temperate weather—most of them grasp for words.
A Wider Perspective?
I was recently chatting with a friend about Al Mohler’s The Briefing. It’s a daily program where the long-time President of Southern Seminary summarizes and reflects on some of the major news items of the moment. I’ve been an on-and-off listener of it through the years, primarily because Mohler tends to fixate on the same three or four topics (regardless of what’s in the news). But my friend and I shared a second reason for not listening more regularly: everything is always negative.
I know, I know. This complaint isn’t original. It’s the same one every average Joe has made forever about the evening news. I’m not complaining about the facts of the day—which are predictably filled with sad and tragic tales given the fallen condition of our world. I’m concerned about the tendency to only see the gross and not the gracious. I’m concerned about the possibilities for renewal that go overlooked. I’m concerned about a purportedly Christian view of the world that is incapable of seeing what the folks at Comment call “cracks in the secular.” I’m concerned about Christians who are simply dishonest or inconsistent in their evaluation of cultural phenomena.
The type of shortsightedness I’m describing suffers from at least three main defects: ingratitude, ignorance, and dishonesty. When we lament decline in various areas of life, we tend to lack a countervailing force that ought to balance the equation for spiritual people: gratitude.
For all the problems with air travel, for example, it’s truly a modern miracle. It makes so much possible in the experience of families, companies, ministries, and more. But how often do we take time to acknowledge that? At best, we assume it. But let the airlines fail to deliver and it’s all we talk about.
I’m certainly not excusing incompetence or malfeasance in corporate America. I’m simply pointing to the way ingratitude manifests itself as we lament the decline of everything.
Additionally, our lamentations often reflect an ignorance of the reality of things. A general observation will perhaps suffice here. If you lived in a world where there wasn’t a 24/7 media loop, do you think you’d know more or less about some kind of problem or negative condition in a particular arena of society? Probably less. Conversely, if you did live in a 24/7 media loop (and you do), do you think it’s possible that extreme, pervasive coverage of exceptional situations might lead you to think they were more common than they were?
I contend that our perception of the prevalence of officer-initiated shootings, helmet-helmet collisions, and countless other disconcerting happenings is skewed daily by the way such things are covered by various news media. Thus, decline narratives are only fueled, not scrutinized.
The other side to this ignorance is dishonesty. It’s one thing to not know the true state of affairs in an area of concern; it’s another to just spout off without any effort to get to the truth of the matter. Let’s face it: it’s easier just to say, “Everything isn’t as good as it used to be” than “Some things aren’t as good in some ways as they used to be, while other things are better in some respects.” Which of these is more black-and-white, and therefore less complexity for us to deal with?
I haven’t even begun to touch on how this shortsightedness affects ministries, bringing discouragement to leaders and members alike. “Hey, your experience of the church will never measure up to how good things used to be 40 years ago.” What a discouraging and unconstructive sentiment! We can do better, and we must.
Year Two
This week my son turns one year old. He begins a second full year of life. It’s a joyous but dreamlike affair. I suppose some of it stems from him being born in the depths of winter, and us spending so many of those early weeks indoors. The holidays, then, inevitably serve as a gentle reminder that another year with little Amos has come and gone.
But among the other factors that cause these days to fly by is how consuming parenting is. Admittedly, we were warned about this: “You won’t believe how quickly the time will fly by! The days are long, but the years are short.” Never was there a truer cliché. Try as we may to savor the moments, attending to his every step of growth. But the constant demands of domestic life, work, ministry, and social life send time hurdling forward at an unspeakable pace. Along with that are our days with “A.J.”
I have a lot on my mind these days as I reflect over the last year—which I intend to write more about, even if only in my journal. But for now, observe a connection between the concerns above and parenting this child. If I believe everything stinks, or my wife and I choose to raise my son in an environment where he is surrounded by that message for large portions of his days, how will that shape his experience in the world? How might that predispose him to think about life, self, and most importantly, God?
One could make a compelling case that my son must grasp the true condition of the world and the self in order that he might see his need of Christ. I couldn’t agree more. We need not shelter him from the harshness and horrors of the human condition in a way that would hinder him from developing a properly Christian worldview.
But there is another side to this. This child needs to know something of the grandeur of creation. He needs to know about God’s common grace. He needs to know that total depravity doesn’t mean that things are as bad as they could be. And he needs to know that loving your neighbor sometimes may mean that you don’t spend your days tearing down entire industries, professions, or cultural arenas, even when your flight is delayed, the wait at the doctor is longer than normal, or a politician behaves badly. Everything will not be perfect. Otherwise, we’d already be in heaven.
Follow-Up:
Robert Picirilli, long-time Free Will Baptist professor, author, and denominational leader, has been recognized by Christianity Today for God in Eternity and Time: A New Case for Human Freedom (B&H Academic). It was a finalist for the top academic theology book in 2022. This is related to some recent reflections I’ve offered on developing a good reading list for 2023. Perhaps adding Picirilli’s two 2022 publications to your 2023 list is a good start!
Currently Reading:
Luke Timothy Johnson, The Mind in Another Place: My Life as a Scholar.
I ended the year trying to finish 4 or 5 books (yes, unrealistic!), and I continue to work through that stack, having just lately finished Paul Miller’s compelling critique of Christian nationalism, The Religion of American Greatness.
Quote of the Week:
I have mixed feelings about New Year's, with its resolutions and new commitments that so often turn out to be a setup for disappointment. You probably have mixed feelings too. But I'm grateful for a holiday that reminds us that one of the things that makes us human is the ability to begin and begin again.
So, yes, it's completely arbitrary to treat January 1 as the day to begin a new habit or to begin working toward a new goal or to begin a new commitment. And it's possible that today, on January 3, you already feel your resolve slipping. But if January 1 is an arbitrary date for new beginnings, that means you can just as easily begin again in February or March or August in the event that this beginning goes off the rails.
Jonathan Rogers in The Habit Weekly
Bonus Quote for the Week:
In view of the passing of Pope Benedict XVI, one of the most conservative popes in modern times, here is an excerpt from some of his very provocative writing:
“Are we not perhaps all afraid in some way? If we let Christ enter fully into our lives, if we open ourselves totally to him, are we not afraid that He might take something away from us? Are we not perhaps afraid to give up something significant, something unique, something that makes life so beautiful? Do we not then risk ending up diminished and deprived of our freedom? . . . No! If we let Christ into our lives, we lose nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing of what makes life free, beautiful and great. No! Only in this friendship are the doors of life opened wide. Only in this friendship is the great potential of human existence truly revealed. Only in this friendship do we experience beauty and liberation. And so, today, with great strength and great conviction, on the basis of long personal experience of life, I say to you, dear young people: Do not be afraid of Christ! He takes nothing away, and he gives you everything. When we give ourselves to him, we receive a hundredfold in return. Yes, open, open wide the doors to Christ – and you will find true life. Amen.”