The Danger of Church Nostalgia

I’m increasingly convinced that ecclesiastical nostalgia is the greatest threat to church growth.

When we treat faith like a decorative Precious Moments figurine, rather than as a life-transforming force, we domesticate its power. And a tamed faith, is really no faith at all.

Now, there are different types of nostalgia that arise in churches. Take the classic question, “Why don’t we have a children’s choir anymore?” There’s nostalgia for a time before social media, before the over-scheduling of children, before the rise of helicopter parenting. 

But if you dig deep enough, every church has parishioners who want a return to the 1950s church model. Still! Even if they never experienced it themselves! A place where the sheer number of post-war births had every parish scrambling to build a new Sunday School wing. And for some reason put large stages in their parish halls. 

Of course, nostalgia also papers over reality. It’s selective memory, bathed in what we hope to remember and not necessarily that which actually happened. 

In the case of the church, things weren’t necessarily better “back then.” First of all, the church’s glory days may not actually have been as glorious as we imagine — check the attendance figures in the old parish registers. But beyond that, lots of people went to church not because they took seriously the teachings of Jesus Christ but because…everyone else was going. It’s just what you did. 

The truth is that this stubborn question, "Why don’t we have a children’s choir anymore?” can also be used as a not-so-subtle dig at current church leadership: “Why aren’t you bringing in more young families? Why aren’t the pews full every Sunday? Why aren’t the collection plates overflowing? You must be doing this wrong. And by the way, what ever happened to mite boxes?!” 

The rosy, if unrealistic, memories of how things used to be hold up a bar that present-day congregations can't possibly measure up to. And that's not good for anyone.

Which leads us to a more personal nostalgia in the form of childhood memories rooted in experiences at church, but not necessarily connected to faith. I get a lot of people who proudly tell me, "I was baptized at this church! This church means so much to me!" And I love that. But often when I ask about their faith or their ongoing spiritual life, I get blank stares or mumbled responses about how they should really start going again. 

Look, people exist on a wide continuum of faith. This isn't to judge anyone's spiritual journey. But I'm always sad when I meet someone whose faith never really left the realm of ecclesiastical nostalgia.

Again, this isn’t to denigrate anyone’s fond memories of going to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve with their late father and falling asleep in the back of the Chevy station wagon on the ride home. Sometimes sweet memories do lead one down the path of a vibrant and engaged faith. After all, with God all things are possible.

But here's the reality:

A nostalgic faith is a comfortable faith. It doesn’t challenge us or push us to change. 

A nostalgic faith is a contented faith. It doesn’t invite us to seek a deeper relationship with Jesus. 

A nostalgic faith is a conservative faith — not in the political sense — but in the sense that it conserves and turns the past into an idol.

I guess all of this is to invite the question, is nostalgia informing your faith in a way that crowds out the possibility of personal and ecclesiastical transformation? We all bring a degree of religious nostalgia to the eucharistic table. But are there layers we might shed to foster growth in our parishes and in ourselves?

Ready or not, God is leading us into the future. The good news is that it's a future brimming with hope and possibility.