Sunday, October 4, 2009

A Reflection on the (Possible) Predecessors of the "Emerging" Church

I recently began reading yet another book on the history of monasticism (monks and nuns and canons, oh my) - C.H. Lawrence's Medieval Monasticism. The book begins, as do most histories of monasticism with the first Christians who withdrew from the world in order to seek a deeper understanding of and walk with Christ. Lawrence, though, makes one thing clear that the other books I have read often seem to pass over - these earliest of monks, the "Desert Fathers" as they are known - were lay men and women. The earliest hermits who withdrew to the deserts of Egypt - men such as Antony and Pachomius - were simply lay people who sought more of God.

Perhaps it doesn't for you, but for me that came as a little bit of a surprise. After all, often monks and nuns and others who are seeking the monastic life are lumped together under the term "religious." That title would seem to link them with the established church. The fact that by the Middle Ages, most were connected through doctrine and organization to the Roman Catholic church only adds to the idea that these men and women were "super-Christians." They weren't priests, they were better and holier than priests. They have even garnered the reputation of a kind of Christian holy-man or holy-woman hero - as though their prayers were somehow more effective than the prayers of an average person.

But in the beginning, it wasn't like that. Antony didn't set out to create a movement - he went to the desert seeking Christ in solitude. Yet others were drawn to him in an effort to find that very same thing. Similarly, Pachomius - considered by many to be the founder of the "communal" monaster - never intended to create such. It happened when others were drawn to his desire to know Christ. Though neither intended to do so, when faced with groups of other Christians seeking to find Christ through solitude, neither could deny them and so a movement began that led to the formation of literally hundreds of monasteries and convents across Europe and in England.

As I was thinking on this, it occurred to me that, in many ways, people like Antony and Pachomius belong in the same category as many of those who are a part of today's phenomenon frequently called "the emerging church." This movement did not start out seeking to become a movement - it started out as individuals and groups seeking to know Christ better and deeper through shared experience and community life, through sensory worship and a welcoming spirit. I doubt that the earliest members of the movement were thinking to themselves, "In 10-15 years, we'll have all kinds of groups and publish all kinds of books." Rather, a movement grew up around them like a movement grew up around Antony and Pachomius.

People were drawn to Antony and Pachomius and their sisters and brothers in the desert not because these Desert Fathers and Mothers were somehow calling them, but because the people saw in them something lacking in themselves. A piety, a holiness, a strength, a courage - whatever it was, people saw it in Antony and in Pachomius and began to ask them, "How can I get this kind of faith?" Faced with such questions, the Desert Fathers and Mothers could hardly fail to respond.

Similarly, people are not drawn to the "emerging" church necessarily because the emerging church is calling out to them. Rather, they are drawn to a group of Christians who have something that other incarnations of the church seem to lack. A sense of community, a healthy understanding of the environment or the like. And people came (and continue to come) to the emerging church and ask, "How can I experience this kind of faith?"

While it would be a stretch to call the emerging church a "new kind of monasticism," there is no doubt in my mind that it stands in a grand tradition of those who step out of the popular church simply to seek Christ...and I am glad for that.