A recent opinion piece in the New York Times gave some exposure to a Twitter subculture that enjoys open philosophical and theological discussions peppered with memes and dressed in a traditional aesthetic. “Weird Catholic Twitter,” as the article categorizes this group, is a collection of jaded millennials and Gen Zers who find authentic connections with God by stepping away from the contemporary showmanship of American evangelicalism and embracing instead older practices and lesser-known prayers. “Weird Catholics,” and “weird Christians” in general showcase, the article claims, that the future of the faith is “punk.”
Naturally, this article sparked discourse on Twitter. I’m not interested in critiquing it, but rather using its general ideas to talk about my own faith experiences.
I related deeply to many of the trends described–a jadedness with contemporary church culture that proved to replace good theology with cool styles and #relevant youth pastors. I now love many aspects of high church–hymns, pipe organs, candles, chants. I encountered these things in a church with a much, much more progressive theology than what I’d grown up with. This in addition to being a writer, and therefore connecting strongly to words, made me long for greater understanding of the tradition I claimed as my faith. Because my contemporary church rarely engaged with Christian tradition. I didn’t know that the Apostle’s Creed was called such until one of my Bible classes in college. The more I dove into an academic understanding of my faith, the more I resented my contemporary church for never teaching me about it. Furthermore, my contemporary church did not have the intentionality toward social justice that my professors at my Christian college were teaching me.
I remember one “teaching” at that church (they didn’t use the word “sermon”) where the pastor, with conviction, spoke about tithing the first ten percent of each paycheck as if that works for everyone in every situation. He had no awareness of and nothing to say to the person working a minimum wage job who gets paid on a Wednesday when their rent is due Friday. That was the first of many disconnections that led me away from evangelicalism and toward the United Church of Christ.
Traditional church had much more to say to me, and much less intention to impress me. When we met physically, I described my church as “high church, but low key.” We have an organ and candles, but you can show up wearing a fursuit and you’d still be served communion just the same as anyone else. I find traditional church to be less pretentious because rather than changing style to attempt to attract people, they focus on the substance of their message and practice.
In my time being an active member of the wider UCC and often the token millennial at board meetings, I’ve surprised many a boomer by expressing my love for the old stuff. They assume I’d rather have a praise band over chanting, but in fact I crave the old for the transcendent connection it provides to generations of Christians before me. So many Christians have such a cursory understanding of our faith, which is unfortunate at best and dangerous at worst. We should know where our scriptures and prayers come from–who made them and what agendas they had and how even despite those agendas, God is still speaking. We should know that seemingly immutable, eternal doctrines really came from some dudes and ladies who were trying to make sense of their profound experiences of God. We should contend with the realities and evils that centuries of Christendom produced. For me, a Christian tradition that does not know or engage with the faith’s history has nothing to say to me today.
At General Synod last year, there were a couple meditation rooms filled with hand-knitted prayer shawls that were free to take. I found a beautiful rainbow one that I wore during the discussion of Resolution 8. During prayers, I draped it over my head. Since then, I’ve worn that prayer shawl almost every week. It sits snuggly around my neck and when it’s time to pray, I cover my head with it. Assuming that I’ll be able to see mewithoutYou play their Brother/Sister tour this fall, I will also wear that shawl, in prayer, at that show.
So, when I read this article naming and characterizing “weird Christians” on Twitter, I simultaneously understood the concept completely and also felt outside of that description. I have friends who are friends with one of the people interviewed in that article, but I feel like I’m not strictly in that corner of Twitter for several reasons. As much as I enjoy theology, I barely know enough about it to keep up with the conversations. I’m a hobbyist lay person, not clergy or clergy-in-training like many of my friends. I also have a friend who had very bad experiences being targeted by a radically conservative segment of “Weird Christian Twitter” and I’m not interested in attracting their attention, since my primary purpose of being on Twitter is to build my platform as an author. I do not have the energy or knowledge for seriously theological or philosophical Twitter discussions, and if I’m going to engage with any community, I like knowing what I’m talking about.
Am I a “weird Christian”? If that New York Times article is positing a definition of “weird Christian,” then I don’t know. Is it “weird” to create blackout poetry from an old theology book like I did with Forgive Us Our Trespasses? Is it “weird” to use mewithoutYou songs in worship? Is it “weird” to listen to Showbread and not live like a Christian anarchist?
I don’t know. But what I do know is that I have a subset of friends, followers, and people I follow on Twitter who talk openly about their faith one way or another. We have fun. We help each other grow. And maybe whoever is watching gains something that makes them better.