I can remember at work a while back sitting in chairs in a conference room having many discussions about “the millennials” coming into the workplace. Like this new species was entering into our company. They were often categorized as “lazy,” or “entitled,” not wanting to work long days. They were selfish and demanded an environment that suited THEIR needs, verse the needs of the company (yes, younger folks, this was the conversation—yeesh).
There we sat, me and my generation. Children of the 80s, or earlier. Old people. We sat in our chairs and looked at “those people,” talking about them, stuck within our category of context. As it is with most of life, we live from the context of “our chairs.” It drives our voice, our behavior, our motives, our attitude, our choices. And from this position, we dissect the voices, behaviors, motives, attitudes, and choices of others.
I wrote about contextual chairs a few years ago in a blogpost, but the metaphor is spot on. We often stay seated in these chairs of our context. But what if we got out of them? What if we opened our ears, eyes, and ideas? What can we learn when we listen to the voices, and participate in the lives of other generations?
At the very least, if we seek to understand we might realize that we may not actually have completed our education, know all the answers, and have all of life down pat.
One of the chairs I sit in is that of a father, raising two sons. Both remarkably different people.
My oldest son is that—my oldest. He has the blessing and curse (well, probably more curse) of parents who are learning as they go. Things have been hard at times for him as a result of parental trial and error. He is our household's attorney—argumentative and vocal. But he has taught me so much about listening—the practice of it. I’ve had to hone the skill of stepping out of myself and learning to listen to a viewpoint from a different person within a different generational context. Many times there is disagreement and discussion. But on the occasions when I am hearing his voice participating in a conversation with another adult, I enjoy his perspective and the beauty that comes from his context. I continue to learn from his argument and his voice.
My second son is quiet and introverted. Often my wife and I are curious as to what is rattling around in his brain. But his introversion obscures a discerning and courageous compassion. He speaks loudly through social platforms using eloquent, well-thought, well-crafted written points of view about all that is going on in our world. Particularly in the political and cultural spaces. I went with him to the March for Our Lives earlier this year. Throngs of people showed up with placards and bullhorns to let their voices be heard regarding their response to the frequency of school shootings, the lives lost, the impact of financial, political and policy influence, the people that held the guns, and the guns that held the bullets. We drank it in. We had some beautiful and challenging conversations. When we left he said “Thanks for taking me, Dad.”, and I said, “I didn’t take you. I came WITH you.” I continue to learn from his quiet and just heart.
But that’s just my little family—what about within Christian culture today?
The chairs (pews?) within churches, Christian institutions, culture and theology, often are places that keep our behinds warm and comfy. And we rarely want to step up from those chairs. The comfort of our faith, understanding the bible, and knowing so much about living the Christian life can lead us to become a bit of a know-it-all. We hear a lot of people like this, don't we? We may actually be one of them.
While I acknowledge that a tenured life of faith produces perspective that is essential and life-giving to ourselves and others, we need to recognize that a contextual position in the pew has become ineffective. It has produced books, programs, how-tos, and quite frankly so much immobility and negativity that we’ve lost our ability to actually BE our faith. We’ve become reliant on what we know and what we’ve been told to guide our lives—and in turn, we’ve lost the glorious dynamic of steps and leaps of faith.
And as was the case within the conference room full of old people in an office, as well-meaning people of the Christian faith, when we stay in the chairs of our “Christian position" or generational understanding, we become benign. It lessens the enrichment of faith in our own lives and its expression into the lives of others.
Our chairs can turn us into rulers and rule-followers.
I think Jesus spoke of people who sat in certain chairs of the church—those who had a deep knowledge and behavioral understanding of the scriptures of the day—calling them a bunch of snakes. I wouldn’t want to be called a snake by anyone. Especially Jesus.
Bob Goff said something cool in his book Everybody Always where he wrote “We’re told by someone what God wants us to do and not do. … After long enough, what looks like faith isn’t really faith anymore. It’s just compliance.” I wonder if Jesus thinks we are like snakes too when we are compliantly seated in the chairs of our faith.
So let’s recognize the chairs we sit in and the responsibility that is required when we put our butts in them. But let’s also realize that our butts can fall asleep in them if we stay there too long.