There are many reasons to expect that the Western church, at the least, is heading into an extended season of scarcity. Much of the European church is already there, and here within the States, we aren’t up to now behind: Attendance is down, though there’s reason to suspect this trend line could have plateaued. Giving to church ministries was up in recent times, however the group giving essentially the most is aging quickly, and it’s not yet clear that younger cohorts will fill the gap. Ministers, reporting more anxiety and fewer support, find themselves with fewer relationships and resources to support their work.
This abundance of scarcity may have a long-term impact on the character, health, and ministry of many congregations. Its effects are already familiar to smaller and more rural churches, but that is increasingly a reality shared by large and concrete congregations too.
That may seem to be a grim vision, but scarcity of time, energy, and resources is usually a mixed blessing. For, while long periods of abundance are to be appreciated, they will be deceiving: We anticipate that the great times is not going to end, and after they inevitably do, it shakes our very foundations. Churchgoing rates in America, for instance, have been discussed for years now as an indication of crisis. But these numbers are arguably nothing special in global and historical contexts. The downturn appears like a catastrophe only in light of 80 years of historically high membership.
So, what if we organized our church lives around an expectation of scarcity as a substitute of an assumption of plenty? Behavioral science researchers Sendhil Mullainathan and Eldar Shafir have examined how scarcity affects the way in which we make decisions. Summarized of their 2013 book Scarcity: Why Having Too Little Means So Much, their research provides helpful insights for congregations.
Mullainathan and Shafir discovered that study participants who were asked to take care of scarcity (like a shortage of time) could higher prioritize their most significant tasks. Scarcity produced not only negative results (like increased anxiety) but additionally positive ones (like increased focus and a spotlight).
We’ve all experienced something like this. If you’re working on a good deadline, you’ll be able to tune out phone calls, socializing, and even meals to present increased attention to the issue at hand. You might reach what researchers call a “flow state,” by which your mind and work simply click along, with hours feeling like minutes. For most of us, this isn’t a traditional working condition. It’s the results of scarcity.
Mullainathan and Shafir also found that folks who’d passed through particular sorts of scarcity prior to now were more prone to be attentive to those going through similar situations in the current. Those who had lost family members could read it within the faces of others in grief; those that had experienced economic downturns were more attuned to others in economic crisis. Traveling the valley of the shadow of death left participants more prone to know not only what others were going through but additionally how one can help them navigate that valley themselves.
No one wants to suffer scarcity, but this research suggests that scarcity brings advantages that may’t be acquired some other way. You don’t need scarcity to be efficient and empathetic, after all. But the prioritization scarcity forces and the sensible attention and specific care it teaches are unique.
For readers of Scripture, such a finding shouldn’t be surprising. It’s harking back to how Moses, having spent years within the wilderness, could help lead the kids of Abraham through the desert. It explains God’s chastisement of Jonah who, after being rescued from death, was unhappy that Nineveh was spared God’s judgment. It gives depth to Paul’s letter to Philemon, by which the apostle sympathizes with the plight of Onesimus after having lost his own freedom.
Or consider the Beatitudes. Those who’re poor—suffering material scarcity—are given the gifts that only God can provide, capable of welcome a latest lifestyle within the midst of precarity (Luke 6:20). Those who’ve had their hearts purified are capable of see God (Matt. 5:8), and those that suffer loss and persecution can receive God’s kingdom (Matt. 5:10–12). But herein lies the issue: To cultivate that type of attentiveness, that type of wisdom, you may have to undergo that type of scarcity first.
This invites us to have a look at our situation again—on the scarcity vexing churches within the United States.
A number of congregations may give you the chance to avoid this scarcity altogether, to boost funds and endowments to the purpose that no financial downturn will affect them. For most churches (and Christian nonprofits and faith-based universities), nonetheless, this won’t be an option. Yet given the blessings of scarcity, perhaps that’s for the very best. Perhaps the best response is just not to construct greater barns but to learn to be reliant on and wealthy toward God (Luke 12:16–34).
Other churches may simply ignore the connection between unearned suffering, God’s provision, and virtue, emphasizing as a substitute that God’s presence can mean an abundance of resources. This is the bread and butter of the prosperity gospel, and it places the fault of getting few resources squarely on the shoulders of those without. But Jesus didn’t draw such a good connection between faithfulness and abundance; quite the opposite, he taught that God “causes his sun to rise on the evil and the great, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous” (Matt. 5:45).
Still other churches may reply to scarcity by closing down. In some cases, this path is the one option; for others, chronically having too little exhausts goodwill. Calls to resilience turn out to be a burden of shame, and when the doors finally close, it appears like relief.
Scripture doesn’t shame those that grow drained (Matt. 11:28–30), nor are Christians called to search out scarcity and other suffering or endure abuse. But before we decide one among these responses—and particularly before the prospect of disbanding a congregation begins to appeal—allow us to keep in mind that though scarcity will come for us in a single form or one other, it could not only bring hardship. It also can bring unexpected gifts—gifts that may come to us in few other ways.
The full barns is not going to last. In many cases, they’re already emptying. And in all of this, God might be present. This is a story that Scripture tells repeatedly. It is the story of manna appearing within the desert (Ex. 16), water pouring from rocks (Ex. 17), provisions being supplied by ravens and widows’ jars (1 Kings 17:2–16), poor Christians providing for one another’s needs (Acts 2:44–46). Consider that lean times can offer something greater for congregations than sheer survival.
To the primary possibility—of simply outlasting lean times—Scripture counsels us to embrace dangerous generosity, to present to those that ask, and to keep in mind that God is the one through whom provision comes (Luke 12:32–34). Generosity amid scarcity teaches us be grateful, to present despite difficulty, and to trust in God’s provision in all circumstances. To pull back from generosity is to miss a chance to grow in gratitude and learn that abundance is just not our right.
To the second possibility—of ignoring scarcity entirely—Scripture counsels us against assuming that lean times signal God’s absence and calls us as a substitute to be faithful with what has been given (Matt. 25:14–30). Learning to mourn what we’ve lost without despairing for the long run is critical to being a people of hope (Jer. 29:11). Likewise, learning to make do with what we’ve received fosters in us virtues of creativity, thrift, and prudence, knowing what we are able to do without.
To the third possibility—of simply stopping—Scripture gives a word of comfort: We aren’t alone in times of scarce resources (Ps. 40:16–17), and the way in which forward could also be to affix hands and institutions with believers around us. As Paul instructs the Corinthian church (2 Cor. 9:1–5), the duty for a church in scarce circumstances is to keep in mind that we’re certain together by Christ. That may mean merging congregations or, following the church in Acts 2, selling our buildings to raised share our resources, efforts, and space for the sake of the gospel.
Scarcity of resources is a comparatively latest situation to the American church, which for a long time has enjoyed high attendance, abundant giving, and the luxurious of ample volunteer hours. Yet scarcity too has its gifts to supply—strange, hard invitations to an unexpected future, but ones that could possibly be abundant in virtue and love.
Myles Werntz is the writer of From Isolation to Community: A Renewed Vision of Christian Life Together. He writes at Christian Ethics within the Wild and teaches at Abilene Christian University.
