Reading Francis

What do you say to someone who is one foot out the door?

Recently I was listening to some people who were worried about the kids today. (Yeah, I know, that’s an eternal and omnipresent sentiment among us Olds.) This was more specific, though. The worry wasn’t about general kids-being-kids stuff; it was that today’s young adults were turning away from the things that are core to who we are, here in America. For one person, it was free market capitalism. For another, it was American patriotism. For both, the general sense was that these foundational -isms were lost on today’s youth, and that we needed to make sure that they didn’t forget their value, lest they lose their way.

It got me thinking about what we do when someone drifts away from something we love. I think there are usually two responses (three if you count shoulder-shrugging surrender).  The first response is to puff up that thing you love. If you tell me, for instance, that you’re not that into Ted Lasso, my gut response is to say very loudly “WHAT DO YOU MEAN!?!?!?” and then regale you with all the reasons that it is a transformative work of 21st century art through the medium of streaming television, that the writing and acting are exceptional, that the themes of belonging and vulnerability and inclusion and forgiveness and hope are all so deftly articulated over a carefully crafted three-season arc that, if you just give it a chance, you’ll see what I see and it will change your life for the better. (OK, I may need an intervention from friends about the whole cult of Ted Lasso thing. Noted.)

Maybe that’s just an instinctive response to what feels like an attack on something you love, and therefore on you: to double down and try to convince the person with one foot out the door that they HAVE to come back and see it your way, because this thing you love is PERFECT. Maybe it’s an assumption that we are primarily rational creatures who can be convinced of things through the preponderance of evidence. Or maybe it stems from an assumption that the people who are one foot out the door are just distracted, wandering away because they aren’t paying attention to the awesomeness in the room. Shouting seems like the right response to regain and refocus their attention.

That was the sort of response I heard from the folks who were urging young people to come back to capitalism and patriotism. And it seems to me that that approach isn’t going to help; in fact, it will probably chase those folks farther out the door.

The kids who seem less enamored with capitalism seem to be leaving intentionally rather than wandering away. They have critiques of our economic system; maybe it’s the gap of inequality between rich and poor, the lack of stability and security for those at the bottom and (if we’re honest) middle rungs of the economic class ladder. Maybe it’s the way that a ruthless focus on quarterly earnings takes a toll on the common good or the rights of workers or the long-term environmental impact or something else.

The kids who are rejecting full-throated patriotism seem to have reasons, too. Maybe it’s America’s history of racism, or its practice of colonialism, or its support of morally suspect actors that benefit our interests, or its contribution to violence and suffering around the globe.

I think I have said this before, but there is something incredibly powerful and disarming about owning what you’ve done wrong upfront, proactively. When someone tells you what you did wrong, and you have the courage and cool to say, “You know, you’re right. And I’m sorry and want to do better,” you just gave the person you wronged a reason to give you another chance. At the very least, you’ve cut off their reason to push harder against you, to run farther out the door, because you’ve already surrendered the point. You are not perfect.

It seems to me that the best response to those who have a reason to have one foot out the door on something I love is to acknowledge where they’re right. I can still love capitalism and America and Ted and say, yeah, capitalism has some serious limitations and America has unatoned sins and Ted has a lot of swearing. My approach changes from arguing that this is perfect to inviting a discussion that this is the best of imperfect options. We can talk about whether American capitalism fares better or worse than other economic systems, or whether there are ways we can ameliorate the bad effects without undermining the good. We can consider how we can address America’s failings to make it a nation that is truer to its ideals. We can even contemplate whether Ted Lasso could be edited to a cleaner version (which, if I’m being honest, is the possibility I am least optimistic about). 

When we go the route of shouting “WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!?”, we act as if the thing we love is perfect, and our imperfect existence makes that so easy to refute that it’s easy to feel insulted by the very claim. 

Of course, this isn’t about capitalism or patriotism or, even, (deep sigh) about Ted Lasso. I also know people with one foot out the door of faith. For some, it really is that distracted wandering away brought on by a flashy culture and a busy life. I think the growing popularity of more traditional practices of Catholic ritual among young people might be explained in part by the fact that, for them, the separateness of the Latin and incense and all smacks people in the metaphorical face in a way that overcomes listless, bored distraction.

Most of the people I know with one foot out the door of religion aren’t wandering away, though. The people I know have either given up on God or God’s people or believe that God has given up on them, because of the way God’s self-proclaimed people have acted toward them. They have been hurt by scandals and alienated by gaps they see between what Jesus commands in the Gospel and what His current-day followers say and do instead. They see how we speak and act and structure ourselves, and they compare it to radical love, joy and mercy, and they don’t look the same at all.

Smells and bells won’t get those folks to turn around, I don’t think.

It’s funny, because Catholics in particular should be wired to own our brokenness. We literally say every week “I confess to almighty God and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have greatly sinned, through my thoughts and through my words, through what I have done and what I have left undone. Through my fault, my fault, my most grievous fault.” And then we ask for forgiveness so we can move forward.

You would think that, with that foundation, when someone says “You aren’t acting like Jesus told us to act,” it would be really hard to retort with WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!?! and really easy to say “That’s true in so many ways. Can you be more specific so I can try to do better.” Or even, “Yeah, I agree with you, and I’m working on it.”

My hope for the Church is that we would notice all the people with one or both feet out the door and call them back in. Not by shouting WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!?! but by owning our brokenness and imperfection and asking for forgiveness. It might not keep both feet from going out the door, but it would keep the door from slamming shut, and maybe allow us to make the case for being one of the better of imperfect options. 

And you never know. It might bring that foot back in.