Obsessing Over What’s Wrong with White American Evangelicalism Isn’t Healthy
For the past decade, I’ve been obsessed with what’s wrong with white American evangelicalism. The obsession began in my thirties when I started to learn more about the history of the Charismatic parachurch ministry I was involved in. It continued with recognizing the authoritarianism inherent in both that movement and in the leaders (and their churches) that critiqued it. More recently, as story after story emerges of pastoral abuses of power, I’ve obsessed over church polity and the absence of healthy accountability systems in evangelicalism, from large denominations to small, independent churches. The increase in blogs, podcasts, books, and twitter accounts that address these topics have all served to add fuel to the fire.
Something is very wrong with white American evangelicalism. I’d summarize the problem in two words: collective narcissism. It’s the dynamic described in the letter to the Laodicean church: a church which thinks it is one thing when actually it is another. We’ve embraced authoritarianism, misogyny, and racism believing they are freedom, biblical gender roles, and color-blindness. Sadly, there does not appear to be much of a move toward widespread repentance. Institutions and individuals will grudgingly admit “mistakes were made” but will also lash out in defensive rage when confronted with the weight of these “mistakes”.
Yet, reaching this conclusion hasn’t been satisfying, despite how helpful it is to have language to describe the problem. I’ve found that the well of evangelical narcissism is deep and even if I have some understanding of it, there are always depths to plumb. Swimming through that muck is soul-destroying.
What has proved even worse is fueling this obsession with an unhealthy artifact of evangelical thinking: an Us vs. Them mentality. Whenever I’d uncover the dysfunction, deception, or narcissism within the ministry or church in which I was a member, I’d leave and demonize it. I was “Us” and they were “Them”. It has taken me decades to understand there isn’t an “Us” or a “Them”, there is only a “We”. I was a product, participant, and beneficiary of these systems even as I was being harmed by them. As Dan Stringer points out in “Struggling with Evangelicalism”, the white American evangelical church is my mother, whether I want her to be or not.
But coming to this realization has taken a long time, and during that time I have spent incredible amounts of energy keeping myself in the “Us” category. Attention had to be focused outward on the threats of “Them”, resulting in a perpetual state of fear and anger. So much of that anger helps silence the small, inner voice of conscience that reminds me I have neglected some basic Christian responsibilities of my own, and the consequences of that neglect are real and meaningful. Some of the energy spent on reading, listening, and responding to instances of religious abuse should have been spent on my own relationship with Jesus, and my relationships with family, friends, and strangers — even my own physical health. One of the devastating effects of collective narcissism is that critiquing it sometimes follows the same obsessive playbook as participating in it.
I’m incredibly grateful for the men and women who shine a light on harmful evangelical institutions and leaders. God commands his followers to expose the “fruitless deeds of darkness”. However, my mistake is to think a little understanding of my own culture places me above it. Evangelicalism doesn’t leave a person that easily. The unhealthy controls set on my behavior, thoughts, and emotions all continue to exist inside me, even when I read about them in others on the Roys Report.
My responsibilities lay in much smaller spheres than collective evangelical repentance and reimagining. I have no power to bring about cultural change. Evangelicalism instilled in me the delusion that I would be a “history maker”, but I’d much rather my family experience me as loving and present. In looking at destruction, at some point there comes a time when one needs to turn toward wholeness and begin putting the pieces back together. That’s something the aftermath of religious abuse tries so hard to prevent. You figure if you remain hyper-vigilant, with your eyes fixed on the danger, you’ll always be safe. You may be, in a sense, but you won’t be able to turn and run to new pastures. You won’t have the habits and energy to do the things that health and wholeness require.
Paul finishes his letter to the Phillipians by encouraging the church to find peace by focusing on those things which are true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, and praiseworthy. In focusing on what’s true, one also sees what’s false, but the false isn’t as overwhelming as it once was because it’s in light of the truth. One day in the future, when another scandal erupts in evangelicalism and I’m asked if I’ve heard about it, I hope my answer is, “No”. Not because my head’s buried in the sand, but because it’s looking up to the light.
