Recently I met for coffee with a student in our college ministry. His attendance had grown increasingly spotty, and the rumblings indicated he was about to leave the church. People were worrying. I wanted to listen, and asked whether he would share his mind with me.

Frowning down at his cup, he took a deep breath and began. His litany of complaints was unsurprising—no concern for social justice! Look how we treat the LGBT community! You can’t even ask questions! And if you do, everyone gets worried and starts praying.

Then, more quietly, he said, “Don’t they know how easy it would be for me to leave? It is hard work staying here.”

We millennials are growing up in a time of profound and disorienting change. Everything seems up for revision, and once-solid institutions—churches, governments, gender roles, cultures—seem unstable, even oppressive.

Some are fleeing the wreckage. It’s no secret that eighteen-to thirty-five-year-olds are departing from the church in vast numbers. But others long to navigate the changes with our church communities.

As I ponder the situation, I wonder, is there a spirituality that can speak to both of these groups? What can the church say to millennials, to both those who stay and those who go? What honors our frustrations and fears, our longings and hopes, and still challenges us to follow Jesus?

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01.  Monks and Pilgrims

I would like to propose the image of pilgrim stability. I’m drawing on two ancient practices, neither of which is very familiar to Protestants today (though our Catholic and Orthodox friends never lost them).

The first practice is stability. About ten years ago I discovered the very old spirituality of Benedictine monasticism, with stability at its core. Staying put was and still is for many monastics a central practice for conversio, the ongoing transformation of character.

There are obvious reasons to suggest this spirituality to millennials. We grew up without much to root us. Our parents divorced in record numbers, our churches splintered, and our world became overwhelmingly global. Raised on individualism, my peers and I have a hard time seeing ourselves as integral parts of community.

If I had written this article a year ago, stability would have been all I would have mentioned. It was my core practice, and I was proud to be staying put, serving as a pastor at the same church for more than a decade.

But then God interrupted. It became increasingly clear that it was time for me to go without any clear indication of where I was headed. And so now, as I write, I am moving toward a hazy future with little more than the promise of God’s love.

This departure has pointed me to a second practice, as old as stability and equally unfamiliar: pilgrimage. Pilgrims lace up their boots, grab walking sticks and a few light essentials, and head out the door. Whether the path leads to Jerusalem, Mecca, or Santiago de Compostela, the going matters more than the arriving. Driven into the wilderness, these wayfarers enact physically what God is doing in them spiritually. They leave the familiar and seek out liminal, in-between spaces, feeling the turmoil of transition and expressing it with their feet.

As a millennial, I need both of these practices, held together in tension. I need to stay put in order to wander with God; I need to sally forth in order to root at home. Knowing myself as a stable pilgrim is an invitation to enter fully the complexity of life and to find God in all of it.

As I explored these practices, several guides pointed the way to understand and integrate them: a monk and a farmer, a Franciscan and a philosopher. These four voices are witnesses pointing toward a healthy millennial spirituality.

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02.  Stability: The Monk and the Farmer

The importance of stability became clear to me soon after I arrived at college. There was a conflict over doctrine among the students at my church, and a number left angrily for another congregation that matched their views. I remember imploring several of them to stay, pleading, “If everyone who thinks the way you do leaves, who will challenge the rest of us to think?”

For millennials, stability means remaining in a place and working for its good, and letting it work good in us. I’d like to introduce two voices I believe can help us engage stability fruitfully: St. Benedict and Wendell Berry.

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03.  The Monk

Toward the end of the fifth century, the once-eternal city of Rome and its dominion collapsed under waves of invasion, sending shockwaves throughout the known world. Out shockwaves throughout the known world. Out in the countryside, however, a monk called Benedict was shaping a new rhythm that would structure religious life through the Middle Ages and beyond.

Recently, Christians from all traditions have turned to the fifteen-hundred-year-old Rule of Benedict, seeking wisdom for life outside the monastery. Benedict’s generous and balanced voice speaking out of ancient turmoil connects with our unsettled lives. Among his teachings, none may be more necessary for us than the practice of stability.

For Benedict, one of the primary threats to growth in Christlikeness is that we may “be daunted immediately by fear and run away from the road that leads to salvation.”Benedict, The Rule of St. Benedict in English, Timothy Fry, trans. And ed. (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1982), 19. Because God lovingly leads us to face our wounds and weaknesses, there is always the danger we will cut and run at the moment we most need to stay and endure.

Benedict disdains the type of monk he calls “gyrovagues, who spend their entire lives drifting. . . . Always on the move, they never settle down, and are slaves to their own wills and gross appetites.”Benedict, 21. One foot always out the door, these people disappear before the daily trials of living in close quarters allow them to confront their own selfishness and pride.

Millennials need the voice of Benedict. We are more likely to be gyrovagues, and this means we lose a primary means of spiritual formation. Though we value community, often we hold romantic ideals about sharing life together. When proximity to others inevitably leads to awkward disagreement, we believe something has gone wrong and are likely to step away. Stability tells us, rather, to push in and embrace the tension. It is in staying put through conflict that we learn to submit our desire to be right and in control, and instead practice what Benedict teaches: “They should each try to be the first to show respect to the other, supporting with the greatest patience one another’s weakness of body or behavior, and earnestly competing in obedience to one another.”Benedict, 94–95.

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04.  The Farmer

Fifteen hundred years after Benedict, we can hear another call from the countryside urging stability, but this time the prophetic voice comes from a Kentucky farmer. Wendell Berry, an author, poet, social critic, and agrarian, made the conscious choice to root himself in a particular place, accepting its limits and possibilities and allowing them to dictate the shape of his life. Returning from New York City to his family’s farmland, Berry writes, “I began to see the real abundance and richness of it. . . . I walked over it, looking, listening, smelling, touching, alive to it as never before.”Wendell Berry, “A Native Hill,” in The Art of the Commonplace, Norman Wirzba, ed. (Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint, 2002), 7.

It was through Berry’s commitment to place that he discovered both peace and humility. Peace came from “being free of the suspicion that pursued me for most of my life, no matter where I was, that there was perhaps another place I should be, or would be happier or better in.”Berry, 22. And humility came from questions that became unavoidable to him, once having rooted: “What is this place? What is in it? What is its nature? How should men live in it? What must I do?”Berry.

Berry adds a crucial component to the practice of stability. Belonging to a local community—its people, economy, and ecology— disciplines our minds and bodies to work humbly within limits.

In a time when we are encouraged to voraciously consume experiences, possessions, and people, the call to pledge ourselves to the good of our place is one millennials sorely need to hear. Rootless persons, like Benedict’s gyrovague, will tend to think primarily in terms of their own desire.

But Berry argues that when we become members, our desires are redirected toward the good of the larger community. Given where we are, we ask, how should we live? What must we do? At that point, we are no longer thinking in terms of consumption but of stewardship.

The practice of stability must be central to millennial spirituality. It challenges us to consider: Might the blessing of God be waiting for me as I lean into the awkwardness and limitations of my present community? Could the very growth I long for be found by staying put and learning to love right where I am?

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05.  Pilgrimage: The Franciscan and the Philosopher

Beginning with stability was a blessing for me. The practice challenged me to lean into awkward situations, confront my wounds, and heal in significant ways. But at a certain point, I realized that there was another practice I needed to learn. I needed to go on a journey.

Pilgrimage is the practice of moving with God out of comfortable and certain limits into the wilds. The journey is circular; the pilgrim eventually returns. But neither destination nor return is the main point. Pilgrims discover God with them on every step of the journey—even the parts where the map is lost and they aren’t sure they’re heading anywhere.

Along the way, two guides have helped me stay on the path, and their voices are crucial for millennials: Richard Rohr and Hans Georg Gadamer.

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06.  The Franciscan

Today we are increasingly aware of how readily we become excessively confident in our own viewpoint. In our postmodern world, we are skeptical that any one vantage point can perceive the whole story. Millennials feel this acutely, even those of us who long to stay within the church.

Richard Rohr, a Franciscan contemplative in New Mexico, has developed language that can help us here. Rohr creates space for pilgrim spirituality by teaching about the two halves of life. In the first half of life, Rohr explains, we learn the codes, stories, and values of our family and culture. These are vital, but insufficient, for “what passes for morality or spirituality in the vast majority of people’s lives is the way everybody they grew up with thinks.”Richard Rohr, Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life (San Francisco: Wiley, 2011), 83. It is essential that our life with God be more than an external reflection of what those around us believe; we must, ourselves, take on the character of Christ within.

This is why, Rohr argues, at a certain point God will beckon each of us on a journey into the second half of life. This inevitably means stepping out of the bounds of our cultural and religious certainties, into the wilderness of pilgrimage with God. This is not a new idea, as Rohr points out. “Instead of our ‘Don’t leave home without it’ mentality, the spiritual greats’ motto seems to be ‘Leave home to find it!’”Rohr, 85.

We do not simply leave our past behind, Rohr insists. Instead, we leave “home” so to gain perspective and then return. By neither thoughtlessly mirroring our culture nor rejecting it outright in the second half of life, we are able to embrace our origin with grace. “Now home has a whole new meaning, never imagined before. As always, it transcends but includes one’s initial experience of home.”Rohr 87–88.

For millennials, pilgrim spirituality gives us permission to question and struggle with the institutions that surround us—family, church, government, and culture. Pilgrims are not fleeing; pilgrims return. But they step outside the monolithic certainties of our social settings; they find that God is bigger than they previously thought; and they return home with their own creative voice to encourage and, where necessary, critique.

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07.  The Philosopher

Pilgrimage need not involve long journeys, but since we are embodied beings, it should probably involve at least a walk or two. More essential than covering distance is encountering the Other. On the road we find the Other in people unlike ourselves and, eventually, we encounter the Other who is God.

Encountering the Other is central to finding the truth. This is where German philosopher Hans Georg Gadamer can be a deeply helpful voice for millennials.While Gadamer’s most important work, Truth and Method, is a long and difficult, Merold Westphal has helpfully summarized its crucial implications for Christianity in his very accessible book, Whose Community? Which Interpretation?: Philosophical Hermeneutics for the Church (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Publishing Group, 2009). For Gadamer, the most important image of humans seeking truth is the conversation.

“A genuine conversation,” Gadamer insists, “is never the one that we wanted to conduct.”Hans Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method, Joel Weinsheimer and Donald G. Marshall, trans. (New York: Continuum, 2012), 385. When you and I converse, we speak from within a horizon, i.e., our background knowledge and cultural assumptions. In genuine conversation, I do not merely hear you from the buffered walls of my horizon. Rather, I note that some of your ideas will not fit within my horizon and, if I am really listening, my horizon expands. The same will happen for you. And so by the conclusion of our time, we are “transformed into a communion in which we do not remain what we were.”Gadamer, 371.

To go on pilgrimage is to have a conversation. We find ourselves trekking alongside strange people with uncomfortable viewpoints. Conversing with them does not require us to abandon our beliefs, but we if we can release control, our dialogue may end up where we never expected to be, and we may be changed.

That this is the common experience of God’s people is beyond doubt. Abraham, Jacob, Moses, David, Elijah, and others all find themselves in the wilderness encountering God in ways that change them forever. And of course Jesus is driven into wild places and wanders for the rest of his ministry, inviting us to follow along.

For millennials, pilgrimage spirituality grants us permission to have genuine conversation. Because the normal shape of life with God includes wilderness journeys and strange, unexpected conversations, we have permission to listen for truth without jettisoning God along the way. In fact we can expect that on our journey we will encounter God in ways we did not anticipate.

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08.  Stable Christians

What, then, does pilgrim stability look like? What are some first steps to engage these practices?

• First, both stability and pilgrimage are images that prompt helpful questions about our motivations. For example, if you are considering a significant change, is it more like going on pilgrimage, or a midnight escape? If you are finding yourself struggling with doubts, questions, or frustrations, might there be an invitation to hold those questions while staying where you are? Or, is God inviting you to leave your comfort zone and experience something new? These are good questions to explore with a spiritual director or trusted friend because they help us uncover the dynamics at work in us whether we stay or go.
• Second, stable pilgrimage gives us permission to stay put without having to ignore our doubts and questions. For many millennials, staying in a church or community that does not match their convictions can feel inauthentic. But what if you are a gift to your community? Could it be that by remaining in place and loving those around you well, over time you may gain the trust and permission to ask questions that now seem impossible?
• Third, pilgrim stability allows us to leave without having to reject our background. When you do find yourself in a significant transition, can that journey be an expression of stability? For example, what if you were to maintain contact with members of your old community, writing them what you are discovering and asking for their input? This kind of gesture indicates that your departure is not a rejection, and might prompt you to integrate your past into your journey in a more healthy way. You are leaving the door open to discover God in the old as well as the new.

 

All of these questions and challenges are written for me as much as anyone else. As I prepare to depart my own community, I know I am being invited on a pilgrimage, but I also know that I am called to stability. As I hold these two images before me, the conclusion I reach is that God is in all of it. He is in the places I leave, and in the places I go.

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09.  Recommended Reading

Stability:

Berry, Wendell. The Art of the Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays of Wendell Berry, Norman Wirzba, ed. Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint, 2002.

Berry, Wendell. Jayber Crow: A Novel. Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint, 2001.

de Waal, Esther. Seeking God: The Way of St. Benedict. Collegeville, MN: The Liturgical Press, 2001.

Wilson-Hartgrove, Jonathan. The Wisdom of Stability: Rooting Faith in a Mobile Culture. Brewster, MA: Paraclete Press, 2010.

 

Pilgrimage:

Foster, Charles. The Sacred Journey: The Ancient Practices. Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson, 2010.

Rohr, Richard. Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life. San Francisco: Wiley, 2011.

Westphal, Merold. Whose Community? Which Interpretation?: Philosophical Hermeneutics for the Church. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Publishing Group, 2009