Don’t you know that a little leaven leavens the whole batch of dough?
1 Corinthians 5:6
A recent conversation with a close friend left me grieved and freshly bewildered. We were catching up one evening and our friend made mention of a mutual acquaintance who I had seen a few times in the last year at social gatherings. This acquaintance was a person who had some shared history with all of us in that we all once attended the same [abusive] church. We had discussed this more than once together and this person stated they were glad to no longer be affiliated with the community. We were too.
“They’re going to _______ Church now,” our friend informed me and my wife.
“What!” we immediately replied.
Turns out the acquaintance had decided to attend another deeply abusive church even though they had directly asked us about it. Sadly, we knew far too many people from that congregation too—former pastors, interns, leaders, longtime members—who left or were fired due to a years-long cycle of domineering and ongoing deception. We had strongly dissuaded the person from considering this church because we knew (without speculation) the persisting patterns had not changed.
“I know. I couldn’t believe it,” our friend explained. “They said they decided to attend because they had friends there.”
And that’s when my heart sunk all over again.
Rationalizing the Rewards
I have not seen this acquaintance in several months so I don’t know how they might nuance their position. Regardless, their first rationale for attending another church harboring abuse was their basic need for belonging. I have a lot of compassion for this because belonging is such an essential part of human flourishing. Perhaps the line of thinking went something like: I need community. No church is perfect. I have friends that go here. They love it. Maybe I will too.
To a Corinthian church harboring all kinds of destruction and depravity, Paul invokes a familiar metaphor about corruption. “Don’t you know that a little leaven leavens the whole batch of dough?” (1 Cor. 5:6) He contrasts the ‘leavened bread’ of malice and evil with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth (1 Cor. 5:8). I find myself wanting to offer similar pleas every time I hear of decisions made by people who I thought understood the perils.
Don’t you know we can’t engage in communities that harbor violence and deception without being injured or corrupted ourselves?
Don’t you know the short-term rewards of having some needs met in a corrupt environment will only briefly delay the long-term heartache?
Don’t you know that in the end, we are what we tolerate?
Don’t you know by now??
I lament that in the past I also warmly embraced a culture of “sleepwalking satisfaction” in the church, where we so easily abdicate our discernment by remaining in faith settings so long as we feel they’re providing what we need. A Sunday service I enjoy? Check. A small group or circle of friends I can share life with? Check.
Who needs to know how the ingredients are made as long as I feel nourished?
You’ve probably heard a faith leader decry ‘consumerism’ and its impact on the body of Christ. I agree that it’s a major concern, but not primarily for the reasons they offer. I’m concerned about the number of people consumed by domineering and coercive faith systems—those awake and reeling from injury or asleep and ingesting the toxins.
Renovation of Longing
Rather than invalidate critical needs such as belonging or edification in worship for people of faith, I want to acknowledge another need that too often fades to the background due to presumption: the need for congruence. Congruence is another word for integrity. It’s having the same basic substance all the way through. We desire congruence for ourselves. But we also need congruence reflected back to us in the people and places we belong to. Otherwise, how do we know what is real? Is there sincerity and truth (1 Cor. 5:8) at the core? And where is the divine power we profess can change not just us but the whole world?
In light of the pervasiveness of abuse and corruption in faith contexts today, here are two interrelated questions I’m asking:
How we can we learn to cherish the congruence of faith leaders as much as we cherish the benefits we receive from their gifts?
Can we learn to long for the integrity of systems as much as we long for the rewards those systems may provide?
With respect to civility in a pluralistic society, tolerance is noble. With respect to abuse in the context of the church, tolerance is grievous. Until we learn to long for better, we’ll continue to rationalize our imperiled choices. Until we can scrutinize the short-term rewards, we’ll continue to suffer the long-term grief.
When Basic Needs Betray Our Better Judgment
I can relate to your distress :(