Buyer's remorse

We’ve all heard the hackneyed adage that the grass is always greener on the other side. The little known is frequently more appealing than the well-known. The better we know something or someone, the better we know what’s wrong with it. So there’s a natural tendency to be more critical of what you grew up with.

Any alternative may seem to be an improvement. This is especially the case since there’s often a discrepancy between the public image which the alternative promotes, and the day-to-day operations.

This is why dating has more charm than marriage. In dating, we’re on our best behavior. We’re trying to attract a mate. It’s only after marriage that we wake up to the horrid realization that our spouse squeezes the toothpaste from the middle of the tube, or washes white clothes with colorful clothes, or leaves a pair of dirty socks on the bedroom floor. Instead of the beggar turning out to be a storybook prince or princess under the rags, the prince or princess turns out to be a beggar under the silk and satin.

So you have some folks who never settle down. They lurch from one boyfriend or girlfriend to another, from one husband or wife to another. At first, what’s new is wonderful, because it’s such an unknown quantity. But once the pretty wrappings are off the box and they peer inside, the personal quirks and tics and foibles and blind spots can become grating. Then it’s off to the next prospect.

As a result, many star-struck converts from one theological tradition to another come to experience a pang of buyer’s regret. And yet, having trumpeted their deliverance from all that’s awful in their former tradition to all that’s swell in their adopted tradition, they would lose face if they retraced their steps.

I’m not going to discuss all the criteria for choosing a church or leaving a church. John Frame has written some sage guidelines on the general subject:

http://www.frame-poythress.org/frame_books/Evangelical_Reunion/Chapter15.html

http://www.frame-poythress.org/frame_books/Evangelical_Reunion/Chapter17.html

I merely wish to make just one additional point. There are two extremes we need to avoid.

On the one hand, you have what a pastor I knew used to call steeplechasers. They hopscotch from one church to another and another, in search of the heavenly Jerusalem on earth. At first, every new church they attend is wonderful. And they are zealous to trumpet their newfound discovery too all their benighted friends. But after they settle in, they begin to notice all the deficiencies that escaped their preliminary inspection.

So, like a womanizer or socialite, they dump one church for a new church, ad infinitum—in search of their ecclesiastical soul-mate. They are romantic and idealistic to a fault.

On the other hand, you have the company man. His church is the only true church. His bishop may be a serial ax-killer, but that’s the bishop which God has personally ordained, so there’s nothing to be done except to hire a custodian to discreetly dispose of the dismembered body parts and get that stubborn red stain out of the carpet.

The company man will be the first to admit that there’s no such thing as a perfect church. Indeed, he uses that as an all-purpose excuse to be indifferent and apathetic no better how bad things get. They are cynical and fanatical to a fault.

So where do we draw the line? What’s the mean between the extremes of cynicism and utopianism? Beyond what Frame has said, I’d draw a simple distinction:

Are the failings that you observe in your church or denomination the generic result of human sin? Or are they systemic to the particular belief-system?

Some deficiencies are due to the fact that every church or denomination is comprised of sinners. And their sins are portable. They would bring their sins along with them to whatever church they happen to join. Typhoid Mary.

On the other hand, some deficiencies are either caused or magnified by the doctrinal distinctives of given theological tradition. To take a couple of examples:

In fundamentalism, salvation is reducible to a one-time decision for Christ. This is a recipe for packing the pews with nominal believers.

Or take the Catholic sex-abuse scandal. There’s nothing unique about sodomy. But, in this case, the sin is magnified by the system. By mandatory clerical celibacy. By an authoritarian polity, in which the clergy are not accountable to the laity. And by the general belief that this is the one true church on earth, so there’s nowhere else to go.

Hence, we need to clarify and classify our dissatisfactions. If the failings we observe are the logical outgrowth of faulty doctrine, then we should feel free to leave that church or denomination. The problem is incurable because the problem is symptomatic of a chronic pathology.

You might ask why I merely say we should feel “free” to leave. Aren’t we *obliged* to leave?

And, indeed, there are situations in which we have an obligation to leave. But people come in packages. Families. Friends. Sometimes we stick around for their benefit.

When you’re single and unattached, you have more freedom of mobility. But over time, social commitments may nail your feet to the ground.

Even so, there are occasions when a Christian must reprise the role of Abraham to his family and friends. He must leave Ur of the Chaldees regardless of who will follow his lead.

If, on the other hand, the failings we observe are a generic trait of our fallen condition, then there’s no reason to leave—for we will bump into the same sort of foibles and failings around every corner. Better to tough it out and muddle through the challenges as best we can—like a marriage that’s passing through a dry season.