Father Richard Rohr summarizes a pattern of five stages of change that have taken place in religious and cultural institutions. He calls these stages the “Five M’s”: human, movement, machine, monument, and memory.
It seems that many great things in history start with a single human being. If a person says something full of life that names reality well, the message often moves to the second stage of becoming a movement. That’s the period of greatest energy. The church is at its greatest vitality as the “Jesus Movement,” and the institution is merely the vehicle for that movement. No single person can ever control the movement itself through any theology, doctrine, or dogma. We cannot control the blowing of the Spirit. The movement stage is always very exciting, creative, and also risky.
It’s risky because God’s movement in history is larger than any denomination, any culture, or any tradition’s ability to verbalize it. We feel out of control in this stage, and yet why would anybody want it to be anything less? Would we respect and love a God that we could control? Would we really respect a church that presumed it could predict and contain God’s actions? I don’t think so, yet that’s what so much immature religion seems to want—control over God by worshiping and talking about God “correctly.” So, we move rather quickly out and beyond the risky movement stage to the machine stage. This is predictable and understandable, even if unfortunate in some ways.
The institutional or machine stage of a movement will necessarily be a less-alive manifestation. This isn’t bad, although it’s always surprising for those who see church as an end in itself instead of merely a vehicle for the original vision. When we don’t realize a machine’s limited capacities, we try to make it into something more than it is. We make it a monument, a closed system operating inside of its own, often self-serving, logic. By then, it’s very hard to take risks for God or for gospel values.
Eventually this monument and its maintenance and self-preservation become ends in themselves. It’s easy just to step on board and worship at a monument without ever knowing why or longing for God ourselves. There’s no hint of knowing that we are chosen and beloved by God, who invites us to an inner journey. In this state, religion is merely an excuse to remain unconscious, holding on to a memory of something that must once have been a great adventure. I’m afraid that Christianity is no longer life itself, but actually a substitute for life or, worse, an avoidance of life. The secret is to know how to keep in touch with the human and movement stages without being naïve about the necessity of some machines and the inevitability of those who love monuments. We must also be honest; all of us love monuments when they are monuments to our human, our movement, or our machine.
Reference:
Adapted from Richard Rohr, The Wisdom Pattern: Order, Disorder, Reorder (Franciscan Media, 2001, 2020), 92–95.
Image credit and inspiration: Earl Wilcox, Untitled (detail), 2021, photo, Unsplash. Click here to enlarge image. Like a potter creating a bowl out of clay, this moment shapes us.
Story from Our Community:
I was inspired by Barbara Holmes’ description of God dancing. It takes me back to the lively and supportive relationship I had with my mother. Before going to school, my mother would “wind me up” by cranking an imaginary key in the middle of my back, as if she were winding up a huge dancing toy. Energized and laughing, I would sing as loud as I could, “All things bright and beautiful! All creatures great and small! All things wise and wonderful, The Lord, God, made them all!” I remember leaving with a full heart and my belly aching from laughter—ready to face the world.
—Karen J.
