c. 2008 Religion News Service

(UNDATED) I was a mere sophomore in the chorus when I watched two seniors make magic on the stage at Shortridge High School in Indianapolis.

Two tenors, Kyle Pruett in front and Doug Perry behind, sang the heartbreaking duet “Hey There” from “Pajama Game.” It was an otherwise undistinguished musical, yet it fired my adolescent imagination with raptures of tragic romance and the surpassing value of song and beauty, even though, as they sang, love could “make a fool” of us.

I observe my 16-year-old son making the same discoveries, in his case the blissful violin playing of his heroes Joshua Bell and Gil Shahan and the love-centered music of the 1960s.

The young heart cries out to be moved by love and beauty, especially by the pathos of lost love, unrequited love, painful love. The young heart senses that pain isn’t the enemy, but rather numbness, dullness, overcompensating parents and adult rituals of conformity.

The young heart wants to walk home from school with friends and lovers and to talk deeply, dream eagerly, see the beauty in everything and risk heartbreak. “Am I a fool to wait for you the way I do, after school?” I sure am, and I’ll wait again tomorrow.

Somehow we learn to manage our adolescent yearnings and to protect ourselves from predators, relentless marketers and merchants of anger and escape. Yet the youthful heart stays alive within us. Well-defended, scarred, tentative, often the merest flicker of hope, and yet still daring to yearn.

This is what I see in church life. I don’t see any appetite for doctrine, liturgy as such or splendid facilities. I hear people yearning to dream, wanting God to be “all in all,” wanting to approach a deep river, even if it is scary and fast-flowing, wanting to believe that there is something beyond job, mortgage, aging and illness, something real and worthy.

That yearning takes form in a thousand small ways: the mere fact that people keep putting up with organized religion, for one thing, and showing up for worship, hoping that this Sunday it will be magical. Whenever I talk with newcomers (of all ages), I hear an aching for love and hope. They’re not looking for a place to go on Sunday, but want to satisfy a complex hunger for a community that will love them and point beyond itself.

The anger that church people express comes across as vexation from not getting their way. Deep down, though, I think it’s the betrayal of having one’s dreams ignored, manipulated or trespassed on.

That’s why sexual misconduct by a church leader does such lasting damage. It’s why greeting newcomers on Sunday is an ultimate expression of love honoring risk and desire. It’s why complainers should stop their public complaining, lest they kill another’s dream.

Faith is about relationships. People will put up with budget meetings, classes hawking right-opinion, even dull worship, as long as they believe someone cares and there is a chance they can, in effect, “walk home” with a friend.

I am convinced that we church leaders need to put our best efforts into building community, providing table fellowship (real eating, not stylized liturgies), drawing people out, listening to them, daring to touch the youthful heart, daring to sing the fool’s song of love.

(Tom Ehrich is a writer, church consultant and Episcopal priest based in New York. He is the author of “Just Wondering, Jesus,” and the founder of the Church Wellness Project, http://www.churchwellness.com. His Web site is http://www.morningwalkmedia.com.)

KRE/RB END EHRICH575 words

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