Can institutions be virtuous? It was the question
that launched a robust discussion among members
of our staff leadership team a few weeks ago. Can
institutions be virtuous? As a result of that discussion,
it’s a question I’ve been pondering ever since.
It is, I think, not unfair to say that we live in an age
of anti-institutionalism. And, in many cases, for good
reason. Once-venerated establishments built to serve
the common good have too often been co-opted,
exposed, worn down by decades of justified criticism.
Meanwhile, an expanding emphasis on individualism
has eroded our appreciation for what institutions
should do. That is, shape and mold our personal and
communal character. Many of us have a negative,
visceral reaction to such shaping. Don’t tell me what
to do! But what if this is what we need?
Can institutions be virtuous? In the words of a
colleague, I sure hope so. Because here’s the truth:
we will be shaped by something. The choice is not
whether but what will form our character. What kinds
of messages and messengers will we allow to have
that influence on our lives, the lives of our children
and families, the spaces and stories and communities
we share?
This Lent at Second Church, we’re going to engage
intentionally the virtues that shape character.
Let’s start here: becoming a follower of Jesus is not
a singular event or an isolated decision. Disciples
are formed by regular practices of spiritual discipline
in community. Or, to paraphrase Aristotle’s great
insight: we are what we repeatedly do.
I am trying to be a runner. I say “trying” because it’s
the most accurate description of an ongoing and often
uneven process. Last summer, as my fortieth birthday
approached, I became increasingly aware of a
physical and spiritual need to reengage the discipline
of running. And so, I set a goal to run a half marathon
in Zionsville in November. It seemed preposterous
given the shape I was in at the time. But I needed
to name it. I needed to set the intention, to mark the
calendar. That was six months ago this week. The half
marathon goal was met. I set another one. But here
is a discovery that has been most humbling for me in
the process: running has not become easier in those
months. I think I always imagined that a day would
come when lacing up my shoes or hopping on the
treadmill would be pure unmitigated joy. That has not
happened, at least not for me. I am still trying. The
decision is daily. It’s a discipline.
Virtues chart a similar course. That is, our character
is formed through determination, repetition,
and accountability. Character is shaped by the
communities to which we choose to belong—the
ones we allow to hold us accountable and speak
hard truth to us (more on that next week). Our habits
form us. We are what we repeatedly do, especially
what we repeatedly do together. And so, in this
season of holy preparation, we take up the virtues
that make life meaningful.
I want to start on the playground of an elementary
school, an uncompromising training field for the
brutal realities of life in community. The place where
friendships and alliances take shape and then break
apart in a matter of minutes. Where peer pressure
and groupthink can lead to bullying and isolation.
The place where physical prowess is rewarded and
weakness is not tolerated. These dramatic dynamics
were on my mind last fall when our family showed
up with our boys for the annual back-to-school night
at Clay Center Elementary School. It was one of
those impossibly gorgeous late summer evenings,
and after exploring their classrooms and meeting
their teachers, Sam and Ben wanted to play on the
playground behind the school. Ben was on the verge
of day one of kindergarten, and I was on the verge
of tears at any moment. The boys ran ahead, and I
tried to inconspicuously watch over them. OK, maybe
I was hovering. But good thing, because a moment
later, Ben called to me, “Dad!”
I took off. Don’t worry son, I’m coming to protect you
from them! No need. What Ben wanted me to see
was a collection of painted rocks. The rocks were
mostly decorated in bold and bright colors, but there
in the center was one with a simple message that
brought those tears I’d been trying to hold back.
The rock was painted purple and, in carefully drawn
small black letters, read: “Kind is the New Cool.” I
took a picture and have had it as the background
on my devices ever since. Kind is the new cool. A
hope. A promise. The word of the Lord written on a
playground rock.
The words we read in scripture were shaped by their
setting, and our understanding of them is shaped
by ours. We live in a moment defined by a decency
deficit disorder. We are suffering from a lack of basic
kindness in our public and even private discourse—a
concern for the wellbeing of others and a tenderness
in our interpersonal interactions. I have shared my
conviction from this pulpit before that the decline
in embodied encounters has exacerbated this
reality. Indeed, we need more playgrounds because
communication mediated through screens has the
effect of separating us from the impact of our words
and our actions. Echo chambers of likemindedness
drive us more deeply into self-righteous judgment
and more distant from other points of view.
The letter to the Colossians was written to an early
Christian community struggling to maintain a unique
identity in a hostile context. The expectation set forth
for disciples of Jesus is this: Be strange. Be different.
Live in ways that confound and confuse those captive
to a culture of contempt. In other words, be kind
when it’s the last thing anyone would expect.
We begin this series with kindness because the virtue
is often poorly understood and cheapened by misuse.
My teacher Stanley Hauerwas writes, “The great
enemy of kindness…is sentimentality…Sentimentality
mocks kindness by confusing grand public displays
of concern with genuine, heartfelt tenderness.” He
is on to something. The sentimentality that often
parades as kindness serves to undermine the virtue’s
power. Kindness is not weak. Indeed, it often displays
the kind of strength that can take our breath away.
Taylor Mali is an English teacher, a writer, and a poet.
His poem, “What Teachers Make” is a moving answer
to the question posed by the title. What do teachers
make anyway? Mali writes:
“I make parents tremble in fear when I call home at
suppertime:
Hi. This is Mr. Mali. I hope I haven’t called at a bad time,
I just wanted to talk to you about something your son
said today.
To the biggest bully in the grade, he said,
‘Leave that kid alone. I still cry sometimes, don’t you?
It’s no big deal.’
And it was the noblest act of courage I have ever seen.”
Listen to this: Kindness is not fragile; it is not to be
confused with vapid niceness or preening politeness.
Kindness looks like courage in a world where
meanness is the model. Be strange. Be different.
We begin this series with kindness because
kindness is the character of God. In Jesus Christ,
we are given a permanent picture of God’s heart.
And in Jesus, we see the power of kindness. Jesus,
who became our kind in order to redeem humanity,
models the way of kindness. Jesus was not cruel,
but neither was he sentimental. The kindness he
lived was displayed in words and acts of deliberate
welcome, radical inclusion, unconditional grace, and
unmerited compassion. His life provides the pattern
for our life together.
I spend a lot of my time thinking about how the
Church is perceived by those beyond these walls.
Many have left us behind because of experiences
of judgment and cruelty in a place that should
be defined by the kindness of God. Some see
communities of faith as relics of an era long past.
Some distrust institutions beset by hypocrisy whose
loudest voices spew hatred rather than love.
But it doesn’t have to be this way. We don’t have to
live this way in the Church. The Apostle Paul spoke
of kindness as a fruit of the Spirit. Fruit grown with
intention and discipline. We are what we repeatedly
do. Practices of kindness will make us kind. What if
our church grew kindness? What if we were a place
where lives—all lives—were shaped by a genuine
tenderness intentionally enacted? What if everyone
knew that this was one institution where kindness
was the default setting no matter the challenges
faced or the differences discovered? What if together
we said, “We will not be cruel. We will not give in to
weak sentimentality. We will look to the cross, where
the courageous kindness of God shatters the callous
cruelty of human judgment. We will practice kindness
and so become like the One we seek to follow.
It was the Presbyterian saint Mr. Rogers who said,
“There are three ways to ultimate success. The first
is to be kind. The second is to be kind. The third is to
be kind.”
Let us be kind as the world watches in wonder.