Two Cities

It doesn’t seem so long ago that our children were young and Martha and I were taking them on long summer trips to visit our parents. Now, most of our summer travel is spent visiting our children.

In the last couple of weeks, we’ve been to two great American cities – Philadelphia and Chicago. In Philly, our son Alex occupies the bottom floor of a three-story shotgun house right in Center City. In Chicago, our son Aaron lives in a studio apartment on the 21^st floor of a high-rise building located one block from the Chicago River.

These two cities are quite different. Philadelphia still retains visible features from the 17^th century. In the shadows of its skyscrapers are crowded, narrow streets where one still senses the ghosts of Ben Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, John Hancock and others who gathered to plot the American Revolution and later to carve out our nation’s system of government. You don’t have to gaze at the Liberty Bell or tour Independence Hall to feel like you’re connected to those fabled beginnings. The newer, taller buildings respectfully share the space with sidewalks and brickwork that retain the ambiance of the old city.

Chicago, on the other hand, retains not a trace of anything older than 1871, the year Mrs. O’Leary’s cow started a fire that destroyed the entire city. Following the inferno, a new city with a carefully planned grid emerged on the shores of Lake Michigan. Today, Chicago’s impressive skyline is a gleaming display of architectural wonder. Beaux Artes, Art Deco, modern and post-modern skyscrapers artistically intermingle along wide streets lined with spacious sidewalks. Chicago is called “the Second City” because it got a “second chance” and made the most of it. Carl Sandburg wrote of it, “Come and show me a city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive.”

Today, both cities are bustling with an influx of

young professionals and their families who fill streets and parks with youthful vigor, as well as music, visual arts and the scents of local cuisine. In both, bicyclists and walkers share space with cars and robust public transportation systems. Both are experiencing their own kind of renaissance following post-industrial decline. But each retains its unique character, one rooted in colonial American history, the other defined by its literal return from the ashes and embrace of the future.

As I fondly remember our visits to these two cities, I see in them an illustration of two different kinds of Christian spirituality. One is the slowly but steadily evolving spirituality that is described in Psalm 1. It is “like trees planted by streams of water, which yield their fruit in its season, and their leaves do not whither,” and demonstrated by the apostle Peter, whose own struggle to understand Jesus led to the unassuming and matter-of-fact declaration, “You are the Christ.” The other results from dramatic conversion – an explosion of conviction following a spiritual (or even literal) near-death experience. The prototypical example of this type of spirituality is the apostle Paul, who never tired of recalling that he was a persecutor of Christ’s church before he was Christ’s devoted servant. It would be an oversimplification to say that all Christians fall neatly into one of these two categories, yet it seems to me that together, they cover a broad range of expressions of the Christian faith.

Both types of spirituality evidence death and resurrection – but one experiences this transformation more cyclically and gradually, while the other knows it as a sudden and never-repeated life-altering moment. Each has something to teach the other. Together, they provide a balance between steadiness and spontaneity. And just as Chicago and Philadelphia each contributes vitally to American culture, so both kinds of spirituality provide an important weave in the fabric of Christian faith.

Unfortunately, the diversity of spiritual experiences is rarely celebrated. Too often, we Christians gather into enclaves with people who are just like us, and with greater or lesser degrees of subtlety deride those who are different from us. This kind of spiritual balkanization not only deprives us of opportunities for enrichment, but also weakens our witness by confusing the world with our arguments over who represents the “true” faith. Of course, there are forms of Christian spirituality that really should not be accepted uncritically – especially those that seem rooted more in hatred and intolerance than in scripture and Christian tradition, or that cling so doggedly to a particular past that they refuse to recognize the movement of the Holy Spirit. And it only makes sense that we would choose to worship with people whose sensibilities are similar to our own. But within the broad scope of those who are sincerely seeking to serve the risen Christ there exists a spiritual diversity as rich as the many urban centers that help define American culture. Even in the time of the New Testament, the earliest churches evidenced very different ways of experiencing and embodying Christ. That’s why we have four gospels instead of one. It’s also why the Christian scriptures hold together creative tensions rather than provide one monolithic perspective.

Christ does not make us uniform, but unified in our diversity. At Pentecost, those gathered in Jerusalem heard the gospel “in the native languages of each.” The Christian faith is not limited to one language – spoken or spiritual.

©2015 by J. Mark Lawson

Comments

[jason A boyce]

Mark,
thanks so much for the thoughts posted here. Your perspective on the mode of Christian spirituality, presented in your 8/26/15 blog, is very consistent with my own. As I grow older I find myself contemplating the spirituality of religion and of Christianity in particular. Faith and spirituality, for me, is intensely personal. However the fellowship of church is wonderful, largely due to the variety of individuals who come together. But more enlightening is the connection I have made with a, now far away, friend who is Muslim…or the friend who is born Jewish but claims to be lapsed. In both circumstances we have found in one another a shared spirituality that was unexpected and yet very fulfilling. We each had our own spin on belief, but the sense of being connected to entities other than ourselves was equally shared and reciprocated.
The challenge is internal…to search out the unknown, and make it known; as opposed to gravitating to safe associations assumed to be consistent with our own. The challenge is to reach people on a deep enough level to understand what it is that is mutually shared. Being open and indulging in diversity, ironically may just draw individuals together, often though spirituality.
Thanks again.