I have had the suspicion for some years now that things are getting worse instead of better. At least by certain measures. By worse, I mostly mean that the U.S. will quite possibly not be the world's superpower before the end of my lifetime. And that the world will run out of oil. (There are many other ways in which life is getting better, mostly as measured by liberation movements around the world and rising literacy rates.)
Now, I don't actually have that much invested, psychically, in the U.S. being number one in the world. But I am also pretty sure that it will have countless effects on my day-to-day life and that of everyone I work with.
I am, after all, part of that generation that, for the first time ever in history, is supposed to be less well-off than our parents. This recent column by Bob Herbert talks about some why all this will be the case.
What's weird about this is that I don't usually consider myself a pessimist. I am an optimistic realist. I believe in these dire predictions about the state of our country and the world, and yet, I can be optimistic about them.
Why? Because human beings are resilient. So rather than being fearful about the future, I am curious.
How will we deal with the slow decline of our nation and its era in history? Will our faith help us? What would a constructive theology for an era of decline look like? How can we start creating it now, when so many are still so invested in denying the decline?
I've wondered what my generations of theologians would have to do to sustain faith through what will inevitably be a world-changing shift, akin the the demise of the Roman Empire. I fear that the world of faith trends is so pre-occupied with how technologies like twitter and webinars are affecting the media of faith that we're missing the real story we should be preparing for, the one that's really about content.
How do you prepare a people who are so used to being on top for being on the bottom, or even just in the middle? We have told people for years that their worth comes not from their bank account, but from their status as beloved children of God. But do they believe us? How convincing can we be when we're not entirely convinced ourselves?
How do you prepare a people to find ways to sustain societies and culture and community when resources become truly scarce, when their primary influences have told them to look out for number one. When the bottom line, even for clergy has been "you can't take care of others if you haven't first take care of yourself"?
Where will Christ be present in an age of decline? How can we know if we haven't even begun to ask the question.
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4 comments:
I think this is utterly brilliant. I need to think about it, a lot.
Thanks, Mary Beth!
I've since read a very long article in the Atlantic that may have tempered by view a little. But it's also true that a theology developed for dealing with decline could be helpful for a variety of other reasons.
Aye, thought-provoking stuff. We've been hearing/reading/praying/thinking a lot about these issues here, too. We recently started a book group at our farm-- a chance to gather some folks and discuss not the HOW of farming, but the WHY and WHEREFOR. We're asking ourselves how to create and maintain communities of care in an area that very much prides itself on isolation, independence, and unbridled resource consumption. We're asking ourselves how best to prepare for whatever changes may be coming. It's hard, confusing, challenging, muddy, but strangely satisfying work. It feels more real than a lot of other things I've done.
Would you mind linking to the Atlantic article? I've been writing, thinking and talking about contemporary uses of God lately and wonder if it might help.
Thanks!
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