Dear Church: Letters from a Disillusioned Generation is Sarah Cunningham’s painfully honest expression of disappointment with the church. At times, her criticisms are so cutting that one assumes she will end her book by declaring her complete rejection of the church. However, halfway through the book her tone changes in a surprising way.

A Disillusioned Generation

Sarah begins by describing the general disillusionment of twentysomethings toward the church – the age group least likely to attend church. She notes that the questions that consumed the church’s attention in the past – questions concerning the literal interpretation of the Creation narrative, the relationship of predestination and free will, and the timing of the rapture – are no longer significant topics among twentysomethings. The reason:

We twenty-something Christians can’t focus too much energy on analyzing intricate church doctrines because, quite honestly, our peers aren’t even close enough to the church to know what the doctrines in question are.

Unlike some previous generations, our peers are not delaying their salvation based on unresolved questions about Creationism. More times than not, they are delaying their salvation based on unresolved questions, anger, or misperceptions about the church itself. (22-23)

Getting the attention of twentysomethings will not involve focusing on these “irrelevant” topics. However, the answer is not to emphasize “contemporary worship” or throw technology at twentysomethings. Contrary to conventional wisdom, twentysomethings are not as inebriated with these things as we assume:

I should let you in on a secret: while twentysomethings appreciate and are familiar with multilayered technology, we are actually very skeptical of our media-driven, advertising-crazed world.

Quite the opposite, twentysomethings want our God and our faith to be different from and more real than special effects and airbrushed images on our TV screens. We don’t want to feel like we worship on an American Idol set. We don’t want the offering spiel to come off like a host introducing the next phase of a reality TV show. And we don’t want the morning message to rival infomercials with quick promises to improve our lives overnight. (38)

Twentysomethings are not disillusioned with religion or spirituality; they are disillusioned with the church. Covering our problems with “contemporary” expressions of church or reliance upon mass media is no substitute for an authentic encounter with genuine – but flawed – people. This includes church leaders. Sarah laments the “churchification” of leaders that congregations often demand: “churches want their leaders to trade in their identities for a ‘churchier’ version of themselves (please note: I am not protesting churches aiming at a more Christlike version of ourselves)” (97).

Sarah is by no means the first person to express disillusionment with the church. Nor is it the case that only twentysomethings experience this – disillusionment is not age specific. But Sarah does a great job of describing her disappointment in a way that is not mean-spirited. Instead, her disillusionment arises from her love for the church. She wants it to be so much more than it is, and she is saddened to discover that it can’t quite live up to its ideals.

Sarah recognizes that the answer is not to come up with a new name. Obviously, the word “Christian” is misunderstood, but its alternatives fare no better. “People of the way” sounds like a cult group. For many, “evangelical” is just another word for a right-wing “conservative”. To be “religious” sounds archaic or spooky. “Jesus freak” sounds too, well, freakish. “Spiritual” is practically empty of meaning, representing anything or nothing. “Emergent” or “Christ-follower” may work for now, but in time, even these words will carry negative baggage.

The Emptiness of Disillusionment

In light of such disillusionment, what can one do? One option is to wallow in disappointment, but his helps no one. Indeed, one of the great qualities of this book is that Sarah sees this solution for the dead end that it is. Not only does it separate us from “the larger community of believers,” it also can become a type of false god. She writes, “Sometimes I get so caught up in being disappointed with how the church falls short of God’s ideals, that disillusionment almost becomes my god” (119).

Halfway through the book, Sarah begins to break free from the bondage of disillusionment: “I’m getting sick of my own disillusionment… my cynicism isn’t righting the world any faster than my ideals” (117). She discovers that an overemphasis on disappointment leads to a loss of hope: “But when it gets to the point where I’m spending more of my life being disgruntled than I spend living in hope, I think it’s safe to say I’ve lost track of my center” (119). She continues,

When disillusionment begins to monopolize my head time or prevents me from seeing or acting in hope, it consumes too much of my energy. The sheer minutes I spend journaling my negativism, complaining with my peers, or even relentlessly complaining to God start to take away from the minutes I could spend living toward solutions to my concerns. (119)

Her conclusion: “Maybe I have to realize that if I want disillusionment to change, the first person who has to change is me” (113).

Unlike many young believers (and some old ones as well) who spend most of their time complaining about the church, Sarah discovers that our complaints must lead to personal transformation. “In other words, stages of disappointment with the church are most valuable when they inspire us to get off our religiously-bogged-down booties and actually do something to help better represent God’s purposes to our world” (118).

In order to escape disillusionment, Sarah must completely reject the illusion she has maintained about the church. Her expectations have been far too unrealistic, preventing her from loving the real church.

We expect flaws from other groups of people, like used car salesmen, politicians, or celebrities, but when it comes to the church, we’re complete suckers…

I don’t know why I think that just because people all lump together and buy their own building in the name of Christ, that they will always – without fail – act like true representatives of Christ.

Could I get any more unrealistic? (122)

Our love for the church – just like our love for people – must arise from a commitment that transcends consequences. If we only love the church when it is at its best, we do not love the church that really exists – we love an illusion.

In order to call us to this level of love, Sarah invites us to consider what we would do if every program in the church were to fail us. What would we do if the worship left us empty? If the pastor’s sermons no longer seemed to “hit home”? She asks us to consider, “Do you love your church enough to love them even when the emotions run low and the feelings of excitement have worn off?... Are you in this for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health?” (126)

The truth is that “[i]t’s frighteningly easy to criticize everything about the church… It’s admittedly even a bit fun” (170). But, eventually, if we are to mature we must “move beyond disillusionment and engage the mission of the church” (171).

From Disillusionment to Hope

Sarah’s embrace of the church – in all its glory and its shame – leads her to embrace the church with newfound hope. Sarah’s new perspective is better nuanced in light of her disillusionment. She recognizes that “the church is not the hope of the world. Jesus is” (198).

Jesus is the matrix that makes it possible to see my world, and even my flawed religious institutions, in light of hope.

We Christians were never the hope. Yes, we were and are carriers of hope. But we ourselves are only reflections – often dim reflections – of the hope we internalize: Jesus Christ. (199)

Sarah no longer naively assumes that the church is perfect: “Thanks to the imperfect nature of its participants, every kind of local church we imagine or bring to expression is marked by human flaws, missed expectations, and disillusionment” (108).

Furthermore, she realizes that the church can’t possibly live up to its ideals but it can strive to continue forward with hope that no matter what troubles arise – within or without – the church will survive, for Jesus himself promised that the “gates of hell will not prevail” against the church.

Working through her disillusionment, Sarah confidently announces,

I have not given up… I have been and continue to be frustrated… However, my belief in the ideal of church – in God’s design for those who align themselves with him – is uncompromised. And my sense of hope, a hope that is sourced in the Creator and his Son, is unquestionably intact. (13)

Because the church is “a carrier of hope” Sarah argues that we will never regret giving our all to the church. With this in mind, she concludes, “So I write you, Church, because despite your flaws and despite my affair with disillusionment, I love you” (206).

Unlike Spencer Burke’s recent sophomoric tirade against the church, Sarah shows great wisdom and maturity. Even more, she offers hope. I get the sense that Sarah has a deep love for the church – a love that is willing to bear with disappointment in order to love the reality.

Can we, like Sarah, remain positive toward the church while still acknowledging its flaws? Will we love the church for better or for worse? Can we allow our disillusionment to lead to a deeper commitment to its divine mission? Or, will our disappointment with the church lead us to give up on it entirely? In answering these questions, we do well to remember Sarah’s conclusion: “There is something powerful about realizing that someone or something is not perfect and loving them anyway” (209).

Quotes excerpted from Dear Church: Letters from a Disillusioned Generation by Sarah Cunningham
© Richard J. Vincent, 2006