A Not Too Distant Memory

Church Planting In A Secular Age

"Hey, are you a priest?"

"Yes," I said. "What's your name?"

"Michael," the young twenty-something responded. "What's your's Father?"

"My name is Michael as well."

"Right on!" he said, nearly missing to connect the high-five he w

as offering. Young Michael was definitely in a good mood, with a pint in hand and several more in his belly. "You're a Michael, just like me. Like the archangel, you know?"

"Yes, I know," I said with a grin.

"Yeah, like the archangel but I'm a little bit atheist as well Father. I hope that's okay?"

"It is. There's a little bit of atheist in everyone." We both enjoyed a laugh.

Within less than a minute of meeting young Michael outside a lively pub in Durham, England, he revealed his skepticism towards Christianity. He even confessed to his present state of disbelief. Yet, at the same time, the memory of having once been a Christian welled up within him.

During my brief stay in England, my fellow clergy members and I had several such encounters with men and women of various ages. Some were sober, others weren't. During an impromptu chat with a gentleman and his wife in a pub near York Minster Abbey, he commented, "I'm deeply protestant! But, I'm probably an atheist. I don't go for all the church stuff much anymore."

And yet, he knew the history of England's Christian heritage as well as any academic. He easily recalled (with pride) the stories of the English saints, its Reformation, the struggles with the Roman church, and how England was won for the Gospel. And... he was decidedly protestant! Yet, at the same time, openly agnostic. I suspect the friend I made that night in York is representative of many others. Nearly every encounter was instigated by them, not by me or the other clergy. People approached us on the street. People seated next to us introduced themselves. One lady saw ten of us gathered around a table in a pub, and she ran out of the street to tell us how "we had made her day!" before taking a group photo.

Through various encounters in England and Scotland, it became clear that the Christian faith remains vibrant and alive within many. It's not obscured or forgotten; rather, it lies just beneath the surface, close to the skin. The mere sight of priests in their cassocks was enough to evoke the memory of Christianity.

Now, I confess that the sight of fifteen or so cassocked clergy walking around is certainly a sight no matter where you are. But there was more to it, as if we were an icon of something vaguely familiar, evoking the haunting memory of having once believed, of a country that once embraced its Christian heritage and was different.

Throughout my two-week sojourn, we were the only clergy I saw. It was a poignant realization to witness the many parish churches—once beacons of faith—standing locked and abandoned, with only the grand cathedrals remaining open to the public. These historic sanctuaries, which once thrummed with life, now served merely as community centers or fair trade markets. They have become haunting monuments to a cherished past, overshadowed by the stark reality of a present devoid of their original power and purpose.

We often assume that the memory of Christianity has been relegated to the depths of the human psyche. But I found the exact opposite to be true. In my less-than-empirical study, it's right under the skin, waiting and wanting the opportunity to burst forth. What I learned is that it doesn't take much to bring it to the surface. I suspect this is true not only in the wastelands of post-Christian Europe but also right here at home.