am sure to anger some with this editorial. But I cannot be silent any longer. I am sick, sick, sick of the namby-pamby narratives that make up portions of my Adventist world. And I am tired of listening to people—mostly those my age—drone on and on about how bad our church is. I am tired of people “dissing” a church they don’t really know. A church in which they haven’t really ever claimed ownership.

A few months ago I asked a friend of mine to tell me what he thought about the Review. His assessment: “It’s too old-fashioned . . . it’s been around, what, 150 years? It’s not relevant to me.”

Basically, with minor alterations, my friend was saying things I’d heard about the church for years—and things I too have said some time or another. Same primordial comments—was he reading from a script handed down through the ages? Was he subscribing to these prosaic narratives instead of consciously making his own decisions? It seemed so.

My friend’s comments about a particular cover article went like this: “With the word Graceland in the title, I think of Elvis. Why would I read this? I know it’s not going to be about Elvis.” I didn’t say anything at first, but inside me, frustration churned.

Now, I wasn’t upset because my friend didn’t adore the Review. I was glad he was pointing out things that did not appeal to him. No, my irritation was triggered because he hadn’t even bothered to read one sentence of that article, yet talked like an expert as he poured out his disdain.

Anger wasn’t a solution, so I gave him some good-natured ribbing. “Hello,” I said. “If you would have read the first couple lines of the article you would have known that the author did indeed write about Elvis and makes a parallel between Elvis’s mansion in Tennessee and God’s gift for us.”

On a more serious note I added, “You’re judging this article without really knowing it. And you’ve dismissed this magazine from having value because it happens to have been around for 150 years, and because it was boring to you in the past, you’ve given up on it without ever having claimed ownership of it.”

It’s the same with church. Why do we use the same old tired lines? How often will we make such statements as “The church doesn’t care about me”; “It’s too old fashioned”; “All we do is follow rules”; “The church is just a bunch of hypocrites”? Do these sound familiar? They should. They’ve been making the rounds since my mom was in diapers (and probably before).

Why do we hide behind the known scripts? Because it is easier than actually getting involved? Because we’ve opened up before and been stabbed right through our vulnerable hearts? Because . . . in the eternal scheme of things, does it really matter?

Enough already! Peers, let’s claim ownership. If you want to critique the church, be an active part of it first. Don’t dismiss it because it appears as “the church of the old.”

On the flip side, the matriarchs and patriarchs who have guided us in the past need to relinquish the spoon they’ve been using. You can’t expect young people to fall in love with God and His church if you continue the spoon-fed religion that has pushed them away.

At its root, spoon feeding is a good thing—it’s what we do for babies who depend on us for nourishment. And in the church, when we are infants in faith we need a hand to feed us. To teach us. But just as children grow up and need to learn independence, Christians must be able to ask questions, choose, and act as an able-minded, rational-thinking, and decision-making people with personal relationships with Jesus. Given the tools, they must now be given room to grow.

In “Story From Bear Country,” Native American writer and poet Leslie Marmon Silko pens some chilling words about remaining in the past: “You will remain with them locked forever inside yourself, your eyes will see you dark, shaggy and thick . . . go ahead, turn around, see the shape of your footprints in the sand.”

My prayer is that we break away from old perceptions and ancient ideas. That we open our eyes to the possibilities through Christ’s awesome love—and not stay locked in the patterns of decades. My prayer is that we make prints in our own shapes and sizes—and that we claim ownership.

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Kimberly Luste Maran, is an assistant editor of the Adventist Review