I recently was reading Elton Trueblood’s Theologian of American Anguish, on the similarities between our time and that of President Abraham Lincoln. One of the interesting spiritual insights into Lincoln’s life was how he saw himself relying less and less on his own will and wisdom to carry him through. Life’s experiences have a way of doing that for us, don’t they?
With a depth that only increased with time, he believed that God had a divine purpose for his country, even in the midst of a divisive war. He accepted as his responsibility to try to remake his country after that divine purpose. “He loved his country devoutly; he believed it had been brought into existence for a purpose; he believed that this purpose had something to do with the ultimate welfare of mankind.”
Lincoln was never Utopian, but carried in his heart the idea of a ‘special destiny’ for America. He knew progress was never certain nor easy, yet believed that God would never cease calling America to serve at her best for herself, but also for the world. In his Second Inaugural Address on March 5, 1865, mere days from his assassination, he concluded the Address with an appeal, “Let us strive on to finish the work we are in.”
“He new the American experiment was incomplete,’’ says Trueblood. And “he was keenly aware of the appeal produced by any structure that is only partly finished and that, accordingly, cries out for completion.”
I think about what it means to ‘finish well.’ It’s a term we hear a good deal of these days. “He or she finished well,” has a nice ring to it. But do we ever truly finish well? And what about “any structure that is only partly finished, crying out for completion.” What does that mean? Did Mr. Lincoln finish well? He didn’t finish. He was cut off, the nation still in disarray, wounded deeply, bleeding and undone. When he left us, “one nation under God” seemed more than ever an impossible dream.
Still we look to this man, draw from his single-mindedness, his courage and fortitude, his commitment to an ideal that seemed unworkable, a futile fantasy. And we wish for more Lincolns today. Or to be more ‘Lincoln-like.’
I want to feel about the Church the way Lincoln felt about his country. The Church is in a revolution also—albeit a gentle one. No cannon fire, no blood spilled on pews or carpets. Instead a widening generation gap looms over churches and communities as something to avoid rather than bridge.
Sliding silently into apathy, quietly disconnecting, many in the Boomer and Builder generations send a message saying “We’re changing the world just by being here. Isn’t that enough? Let us alone already. We’ve done our part and we’re tired. It’s up to someone else. Besides, there’s a lot about my church I don’t even like anymore.”
After fifty years of ministry, I am painfully aware there is no ideal church. But the Lord reminds me that the Church is still my Country, my spiritual homeland away from home. Partially finished, it cries out for completion. There is a generation gap to bridge, not to avoid. There is a message of hope to offer, not to withhold. And there is wisdom to be shared. When I’m tempted to give in and give up, I wonder. Does God see history’s most resource rich generation excusing itself from a still incomplete Great Commission with a headache and no heartache?
Look around your church this Sunday. Check out your community this week. Mr. Lincoln was right, you know. My Church (pronoun carefully chosen) looks strikingly similar to the way his country did in 1865. Only partly finished, crying out for completion. Is that what you see, too?
“Let us strive on to finish the work we are in.”
Who is better suited to help build strong bridges across great chasms than seasoned saints like you and me?
Ward Tanneberg
CASA Network Executive Director
