Millennials Become the Church

Reluctantly, I must admit something to you, dearest reader. It’s not something I’m entirely proud of, but rather something I was born into: I am a millennial. There, I said it. My generation is at times both the root of madness and an agent for change. We mean well. We are idealistic and unrealistic—dreamers with our heads in the clouds. We value art and artists, and we listen to music that makes our parents and grandparents plug their ears.

Now approaching our late thirties and early forties, we are aligned to be actual change-makers. So, what have we been doing with that agency, that power? Mostly just complaining about boomers—or whatever this new generation is called. We’re stuck in history’s middle. At least, that’s what it looks like for me.

Many of us have walked away from the churches of our youth. Some have resigned from their previous faith altogether. Some are deconstructing—some positively, some negatively. Others are simply angry at the church. A good many no longer possess any measurable faith in the religion of their childhood.

I guess I find myself in the no man’s land between both worlds. I am a former minister who left the church industrial system not to escape my faith, but to save it. I still have that “fire shut up in my bones” Jeremiah spoke of, and often have to bite hard on my tongue when I see people being led astray. I resonate with John the Baptist and his wilderness existence. I’ve often felt that the life I live, and the call I know I have, looks crazy to most.

It doesn’t help that I also spend a good deal of time in the literal wilderness with animals maligned by most. Spiritually, I am wandering the in-between, trying to provide a flickering light for those—like myself—who have become disillusioned. That is, when I’m not running full speed from any sort of ministry like Jonah. Many are called; some just don’t want to admit it, like me.

No man’s land is an apt description for where I find myself in the faith landscape. Wilfred Owen, a World War I veteran (and one of my favorite poets), described no man’s land in a 1917 letter to his mother as “chaotic, crater-ridden, uninhabitable, awful, the abode of madness.” This is often where I find myself spiritually.

I’m maddened by the perception of Christianity in culture—and even madder when the bad apples prove the skeptics right. It’s awful that we proclaim Jesus in one breath and espouse hatred toward opposing political parties or lifestyles in another. My brain is chaos as I try to navigate this liminal space. Yet, in the most literal of ways, I’m trying to stand in the gap and serve as a bridge between both sides.

I firmly believe in the teachings of Jesus, but I abhor the things we do more in the name of tradition and culture than in the name of Christ. The pomp and circumstance—light shows, fog machines, slick worship leaders, and pop-psychology sermons that only sprinkle in scripture if it fits the theme of “their” message—feel hollow. It’s no surprise congregations are thinning every week.

The people are starving for truth yet being force-fed the spiritual equivalent of sugar water. Many churches have become political tax shelters where rich white people espouse views on sin and the condition of the world, while love is absent from their hearts. Jesus’ name may be on the building, but he doesn’t reside there. Their foundations have rotted to the core. It’s no wonder people are leaving.

John the Baptist must have felt a similar dissonance as he proclaimed the glories of God outside the status quo of Jerusalem. His lifestyle and ministry were an affront to the opulence of the religious leaders of his day. He wore a garment of camel hair as an ode to the prophets of old—and as a visual rebuke to the fancy dress of the Pharisees.

When the religious elite approached him for baptism—not out of zeal but out of fear of missing out—John called them a brood of vipers. Just as snakes would escape the flames of a farmer’s burning field before planting season, the Pharisees fled the wrath of hell by attempting to be baptized by John. But in the pure nature of a viper, their intentions were hidden in plain sight. At the proper time, they would strike. They often used the word of God as a weapon to subjugate and extort the people of the day. Their hearts were wicked, and their god was power. When truth is spoken without love, it can be as caustic as venom.

That brood of vipers, backstabbers, and men of “importance” saw only a spectacle, not a move of God. They focused on John’s appearance and wild message of a coming Messiah, but their hearts weren’t changed. They had all the right words, but a rotten heart.

It seems eerily similar to the modern American church. Many can quote book and verse but can’t find the love of Christ that bleeds on every page. They’ve accepted the grace of God but can’t be bothered to love their neighbors who live differently.

The church is often more afraid of guilt by association than it is about loving the lost. It’s as if having community with people who sin differently will cause their shortcomings to rub off on us. Instead of being a beacon of hope, we’ve become a bastion of bigotry and hate—while quoting extrabiblical tropes like “love the sinner, not the sin,” but loving neither.

The truth is simple: we are all sinners. Every single one of us. We all fall short of the glory of God. We all fail. It’s the dirty truth none of us want to believe, despite quoting it to others. We rail against the addict for a sinful lifestyle, then give a pass to racist politicians who exploit Jesus’ name for votes. They have the appearance of godliness but only care for power.

We only seem concerned about the sins of those not on our team. The good news is… there is good news through the Gospel of Jesus. Even though I know it’s true, it still feels cheesy to write. I’m not here to sell you anything. I gain nothing from you believing in Jesus. Call me zealot, heretic, or whatever you like. I just want you to know you’re loved.

We have a communication problem, and I aim to fix that. Maybe you’ve heard “Jesus loves you” from someone who didn’t. They were wrong, not the statement. Jesus does love you. He loves us all. The method of communicating that love got twisted along the way.

Jesus came in full humanity and godliness to sacrifice himself for us—not because he had to, but because he loved us so much. He didn’t just die for lily-white Baptists who don’t smoke or chew or go with girls who do. He died for all of us: the drug addict, the alcoholic, the straight-edge kid, the gangster, the gossip, the politician, the LGBTQIA+, the straight, the broken, the proud. All of us.

Stop making the gift freely given by Jesus so exclusive that people can’t even access it. The world is hurting. We don’t need to be browbeaten about our sinfulness—we know we’re flawed. We don’t need fancy church services; we need the love of Christ. Period.

Perhaps it’s time, as millennials, that we stop walking away from the church and start to become it. This doesn’t mean you must run to the nearest First Church of Whatever down the road. But it does mean finding believers you trust and forming real community. Ask questions. Actually read the Bible instead of cherry-picking it.

The tenets of Jesus, though diluted and politicized, are still solid. His word is solid. The red letters don’t condemn. They say love your neighbor, take care of the Samaritan, cast stones only if you’re sinless, and remove the plank from your own eye before lamenting someone else’s speck. None of this means we should deliberately do wrong, but the beauty is that when we mess up, there’s grace.

Maybe it’s time we stop walking out and start standing up. It’s not our job to change people—that’s the work of the Holy Spirit. Our job is to lead them to God’s grace and live out Christ’s nature on Earth to the best of our ability. We are to be light in dark places.

Personally, I’m not sure exactly what that looks like, because the culture of “church” in most congregations turns my stomach. Perhaps that’s just it—maybe we start something new. Something more in line with the early church in Acts. Or maybe it means going back to those buildings and being the change we want to see in the pews.

It just takes one tiny ember to spark real revival. It can be both/and. I’m not here to tell you how to be the church—do what God puts on your heart. But it’s time we reclaim our place in the kingdom and stop blaming those who hurt us in God’s name. I bet you’ll do the right thing if your intentions are right. People are hungry for something real. You were put here for such a time as this. Stop running and start loving people where they are. We’ve got this.

Even though I don’t know exactly what this should look like, I know where to begin. If I continue to pray for my enemies, love like Jesus did, admit my sinfulness, and swallow the ocean of pride within me—maybe then I can serve the kingdom of God.

It starts with each of us making tiny changes. We don’t need more churches. We need more people transformed by Jesus’ love. We need to become the church. The rest will sort itself out. Millennials, it’s time to come home. We have the light—it’s time to show others the way, the truth, and the life. The torch has passed to us. It’s time to show the world the real Jesus.

_________________________________

Stan Lake is a writer, photographer, and filmmaker currently living in Bethania, North Carolina with his wife Jess and their house full of animals. He split his time growing up between chasing wildlife and screaming on stages in hardcore bands you’ve never heard of. He has been published by Dead Reckoning Collective, The Havok Journal, Reptiles Magazine, Lethal Minds Journal, and many others. He filmed and directed a documentary called “Hammer Down” about his 2005 deployment in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom in with Alpha Battery 5-113^th of the NC Army National Guard. You can find his books, collected works, and social media accounts at www.stanlakecreates.com

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.