APRIL 19TH

Theological reflection 

What Make a Heathy Spiritual Community 

The Harvard Study of Adult Development is one of the longest formalized studies of human life ever conducted. Beginning in 1938, “it has tracked the same individuals and their families, asking thousands of questions and taking hundreds of measurements—from brain scans to blood work—with the goal of discovering what really makes for a goodlife” (HSAD website).  Today, that study is still ongoing, now in its ninth decade, following more than 1,300 descendants of the original 724 male participants.

Last week, we watched a 2015 TED Talk from Dr. Robert Waldinger, the study's fourth director.  His conclusion, then as it still is today, is that after all these years of following these young men’s lives—and now the lives of their children and grandchildren—strong relationships have the greatest impact on physical health, mental health, and longevity.  In the TED talk, Waldinger boiled it down simply: “Good relationships keep us happier and healthier. Period.”

This study originally caught my eye because I have long argued that my greatest unearned advantage in life is not my skin color, gender, or sexual orientation, but the fact that I was born and raised in a healthy, well-adjusted home.  While we were not financially affluent by any means—and I grew up amidst the chaos of having four brothers and no sisters, which created its own brand of dysfunction—at the end of the day, there was an unwavering foundation of assurance that my parents loved one another and each of us.

Beyond that, and this is what I want to focus on tonight, I grew up in a healthy spiritual community.  The church my dad pastored here in Summerside was my second home, and its members were my extended family.  In so many ways, I was a lost child at school. Academically, I did poorly; emotionally, I was all over the place; and because I was the smallest kid, I was the target of relentless bullying.  But unlike many children who feel lonely and isolated in school, I had a supportive community outside those walls where I could find refuge and a sense of belonging.

What makes a healthy spiritual community, and why are they so hard to find today?

To answer the second question first, we can’t talk about community,or the lack thereof, and ignore the impact of social media.  In so many cases, offline communities have steadily moved online, including religious ones.  This migration from face-to-face interactions to living life in front of a screen has transformed how we communicate.

We are still being told that social media is part of the solution to the "loneliness epidemic."  It is, after all, designed for social connection.  Yet paradoxically, multiple studies show that the more time people spend interacting online, the more likely they are to experience increased loneliness and isolation.

The reason is not simply that social media directly causes loneliness; it is that people are choosing to spend hours on it, sacrificing time that would otherwise be spent engaging in the real world with friends and family.  Yes, it increases our ability to connect with others in both sheer numbers and across greater distances, but it reduces the quality of those interactions.

For me, when I message people online, it takes much longer to communicate through writing than it does to speak in person.  The reason is simple: it takes time and effort to choose the right words to convey the intended emotion and tone that would be obvious in a face-to-face interaction.  Fewer words are needed in person because anywhere from 65–93% of all communication is nonverbal.

Misunderstandings are more common online, and when they occur, they are rarely rectified in real time; the delay can be hours or even days before a response is given, if one is given at all.  You can be part of a thriving online community, spend hours engaging with that group, and still feel utterly lonely.

I get a lot of flak for this opinion, but I believe the communities that best mitigate loneliness and isolation are exclusively offline.  Whatever online components exist must be treated as a necessity rather than a convenience. To put it more bluntly: online engagement should never come at the expense of time spent together in person.

So tonight, I want to talk about the markers of a healthy spiritual community.

First, they are multi-generational.  Churches that cater exclusively to young people or the elderly tend to be unbalanced.  Each generation brings something crucial.  It is the blending of hope for change with the acceptance of what cannot be changed that gives a community perspective.  The passion of the young meets the wisdom of the old!  The lived experience of seniors finds new life in the energy of youth.  Sometimes people my age simply need to get out of the way and let this short but precious window of time, where the oldest and youngest bring out the best in one another, happen as it has throughout human history.

Second, they are multi-perspective.  In today’s culture, this may be the rarest and most difficult trait to navigate.  We live in a polarized world, shaped by online algorithms that divide us into ideological echo chambers where our beliefs are rarely challenged and those who disagree are demonized.

Communities that include different points of view inevitably create friction.  Yet, being able to first build relationships and bond over the 90% we share in common makes a world of difference when confronted with the areas where we disagree—especially compared to arguing with a stranger online.  A bit of friction within the foundation of real-life relationships is a good thing.  It tends to grind down the sharp edges of our political and theological dogmas.  Our beliefs become more nuanced, and we gain a greater appreciation for those who don’t share them.

Third, healthy spiritual communities are multi-focused. They are not sustained by rallying around a single idea or issue. This is another area where I get pushback.

The cause nearest to my heart for the past 25 years has been the Pride movement.  In that quarter-century, I have seen an unprecedented societal shift toward the embrace of LGBTQ rights.  Within the Christian community, while progress has been slower due to theological and biblical obstacles, the change is still impressive.

Yet, over the last few years, I have noticed that there are those within this movement—most often the "allies" rather than people who identify as LGBTQ—who are angrier and more intolerant of any divergence from full-hearted allegiance to the cause than ever before.  The original spirit of that movement, captured in the inclusive message of “love is love,” has often given way to a more combative stance.

Often, this is what happens when a community's identity, motivation, and energy become sustained through grievance rather progress and healing.  This is happening across an ever-fragmenting society, on both the left and the right.  As traditional marginalized communities are broken into smaller and smaller sub-groups, a competitive race for recognition now seems to be the norm.

This leads to the fourth point: healthy spiritual communities reduce fragmentation rather than highlighting it.  They celebrate unity in diversity rather than focusing solely on differences.  While uplifting our differences ensures each person’s identity is valued, going too far creates an imbalance that privileges the "fragment" above the "whole."  When communities find a balance between individualism and the collective, both benefit.  And when that balance also incorporates caring for the world outside of that community, it adds positive value to all three.

Fifth, healthy spiritual communities minimize the “us-versus-them” dynamic.  Communities whose identity is shaped by what or who they are against tend to be insular and offer little value to the outside world.  

Finally, healthy spiritual communities are welcoming even to those who bring negative energy and anger.  It has become "in vogue" to surround oneself only with positivity and shun anyone who might bring the mood down.  Like individuals, fragile communities often marginalize people who disrupt the "good vibes."  Healthy churches, however, can absorb a level of negativity and conflict that would unravel others.  They trust that the cohesion of the whole is more transformative than the disruption of the one.  They recognize that those who arrive with the most negativity are often the ones who need the protection of a loving community the most.

A poem by Edwin Markham captures this perfectly:

He drew a circle that shut me out

Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout. 

But love and I had the wit to win: 

We drew a circle and took him in!

CLOSING REMARKS

I didn’t have a chance to check, but I’m pretty sure this is the ninth-to-last service of the year that I have held.  When I began the Abbey close to a decade ago, the purpose was not to facilitate community.  My intention was simply to create a space where individuals felt free to come and go without being accosted by a greeter or feeling any pressure to be part of something more organized.  I saw it as a drop-in center for sacred space and theological reflection.

In many ways, this service was designed based on what I would want if I were to walk into a new church for the first time.  What never occurred to me is what I would want this place to be the 10th, the 15th, or the 25th time I walked through these doors.  Would I still desire to be a stranger in a sanctuary of other strangers?

One of the things that opened my eyes happened last fall when, due to a scheduling conflict with the church, I had to cancel our service.  Instead of taking the week off, I decided to invite anyone who was interested to our place for a potluck dinner. I expected maybe five or six people to show up, but to my surprise, everyone who could have made it was there.

After it was over, I received so many comments about how nice it was to finally have a real conversation with this person or that person—people who had previously been limited to a quick "hello" before or after the service.  It was this recognition for me, and probably for all of us, that we might have, over these years, accidentally become a community.

I won’t lie: this idea that the Abbey is a community fills me with some apprehension.  It means I’m not just invested in this service, but also in each of you—and to some degree, you in me, and you with one another.  Whatever that means, however long we have, I’m so glad to have you with me to share this journey.