Looking for Significance

Living Like Tantalus

In Greek mythology there is the story of Tantalus, also known as King Phrygian. Tantalus was a favored son of Zeus, and so Zeus invited Tantalus to Mount Olympus to dine with the gods and learn their secrets. This was truly a privilege to be cherished.

Unfortunately, Tantalus, wanting to enhance his position with the mortals below, would steal the favored food of the gods. He brought it back to the people to share with them while revealing the secrets of the gods. Obviously the people loved him for this, but the gods were not impressed. For this, as well as some other immoral acts, he was sent to the deepest pit of Hades for all of eternity.

The gods constructed a special kind of hell for Tantalus. He was placed in a pool of water with branches of luscious fruit hanging overhead. It doesn't sound bad, but here's the catch. Whenever he would bend down to get a drink from the pool of water, it would recede just beyond his reach. And whenever he would reach up to grab a piece of the lush fruit, the branch would raise just beyond his reach. His hell was to be constantly tempted by things that will always be just beyond his reach.

The word "tantalize" originates from the story of Tantalus. To be tantalized means that our expectations are stirred for something that can never be obtained. It is the hell of constantly being tempted by the allure of possessions or status that can never be ours.

The story of Tantalus is about a way of life that we can all find ourselves living — always grasping for something that we can never reach. This constant reaching is about our search for significance. Some of us try to acquire the accoutrements of success to show we have arrived. Others try to garner attention, appreciation, and accolades to show that we are somebody of value, proving our lives have significance. Sadly, all too often whatever we achieve, whatever praise we receive, is never quite enough.

Most of us think we have the self-awareness to wise up and realize that we need to redirect our focus. But because the allure of what we're pursuing is so great and always seems within reach, we keep stretching ourselves a little farther. Without realizing it, we are living like Tantalus. And living like Tantalus takes its toll.

The pastor has been invited over to speak with Jill, a bright but struggling teenager. Her parents are concerned because she is becoming distant at home and her grades are slipping at school. At first they thought it was typical teenage behavior, a phase that she was going through. But as time passes, she doesn't seem to be moving through a phase, just deeper into it. Not knowing where to turn, they call the pastor hoping that she can help.

As the conversation unfolds, Jill recalls her earlier, happy years, when the budget was tight but so was her family. Now her parents barely speak, and when they do, it is mostly nagging, bickering, and arguing. It becomes clear very quickly that for Jill the house feels more like a Frigidaire than a home, because of the coldness her mom and dad are showing toward one another.

Jill's parents have done well in their professions. They're esteemed, well paid, and have a home and cars that are like stripes on a military uniform showing their rank. But to achieve and maintain this status takes considerable time and energy. They don't have much time to spend with Jill, so they give her about anything she asks for. Jill makes clear that she isn't complaining about having the latest iPhone and a credit card covered by her parents, but the pastor senses that she's grieving the loss of her family, even though technically it remains "intact."

For years her parents have said that soon they will be able to slow down and spend more time with her, but it never seems to happen. There is always just a little more to do and a little more to achieve before they can redirect their priorities.

Before leaving, Jill points to the family portrait on the wall. It shows a family all snuggled together with smiling faces. While staring at the portrait, Jill says, "That's the family we wish we were, not who we really are."

It's not only a matter of strained relations in families with teenagers. The same parents who bicker and leave Jill sad likely have aging parents of their own, perhaps already widowed, likely living in a nursing home. Nearly ninety years old, Elizabeth sits primly in a rocking chair in her small room. She greets visitors warmly but a note of sorrow enters her words. "Once in a while my son phones, but he rarely visits," she says. "My granddaughter will call but she only talks about herself. They're so busy. I suppose I was when I was young." Elizabeth shares an odd and sad empathy with Jill, who is not the distracted granddaughter. There is little Elizabeth wants for care and comfort. But she wishes her family was more than related. Despite brief bursts of conversation that are distantly warm, something essential is missing.

Living like Tantalus is taking its toll on many of us. We feel the stress and emptiness, but we continue with the belief that if we reach just a little farther, we will finally get what we need to feel whole and complete. What we don't realize is that living like Tantalus is like walking on a treadmill: you're moving but you're going nowhere!

Seeking Significance in Generational Ways

We all seek significance. It is a fundamental human need. However, if we seek it in the wrong places, it will never be ours. It is here that faith and spirituality speak to this search by directing us toward that which truly leads to lives of significance. We know that by saying this, many will think that faith and religion can't possibly be the answer. We agree ... sort of.

Culture is changing and younger generations are raising perspectives and questions to which the church has been unable to respond. Actually, it has responded, but often in ways that don't have any resonance. As we observed in A Church Beyond Belief, in the face of these challenges, congregations have tried to make beliefs more pronounced rather than the spiritual quest more profound. And they have yet to realize that faith is not static belief but a dynamic journey. There is a great need to reframe faith for a new generation — a generation that isn't quite like those who came before them.

In doing this we must recognize that though we all seek significance, we don't all see it or seek it in the same way. It isn't only that we have individual differences. We have generational differences.

This is a relatively new phenomenon. It used to be that "generations" referred to parents and grandparents. To say that we're from a different generation was to say that twenty-five-year-old Alison is different from her seventy-five-year-old grandmother because they are at a different phase in their life cycles. The assumption was that when Alison becomes seventy-five, she'll take on the values her grandmother had at that age.

Then we began to realize significant events could shape us. Going to war, experiencing a major economic recession, or witnessing the terror of 9/11 impacts us all. But the degree of impact it has on us depends upon our stage in life. Some say that 9/11 has had a particularly significant impact on Millennials, who were young children at the time. One study even cites that Millennials view 9/11 as the single greatest influence in shaping who they are. Because of this, they have become more patriotic, more liberal, and more globally minded. Again, it is not that they are the only ones who were impacted. It is that it impacted them in more profound ways.

Finally, we came to understand that generations develop distinctive attitudes, beliefs, and approaches to life that will remain throughout their lives. The Greatest Generation, the Silent Generation, Baby Boomers, Baby Busters, Millennials, and Generation Z (becoming known as the Homeland Generation) each have a uniqueness about them so that there will always be a difference between generations, no matter where they in their life cycle. This means that Millennials and the Homelanders are right: they will never be quite like the rest of us. For older generations, this is difficult to accept. For younger generations, this is just the way things are.

From family life to politics, careers to relationships, this evolving sense of generations and claiming of a generational identity has forever shifted how we see the world. It is also having profound effects on how we see faith, spirituality, and the search for significance.

Faith Shifts

These changing generational dynamics are underpinned by shifts in our culture that are changing the way we view faith. These are not minor shifts. They are seismic. The two most impactful faith shifts are the release from religion and the phenomenon of choosing and rechoosing.

The Release from Religion

Millennials and the Homeland Generation don't realize this, but not long ago Christianity held a privileged place in our society. As a consequence, its values were imposed on everyone whether they were active in a church or not. Let us give one example that helps understand this.

When I (Michael) was growing up, every Sunday after church we drove to Grandmother's for dinner. On the drive, the neighborhoods we passed were always quiet. I can't recall seeing a single person doing yard work. This wasn't because they were all Christian and keeping the Sabbath. It was because the dominant religious culture dictated that one was to "rest" on Sundays.

Then things began to change. When I was about ten years old, for the first time I saw a person mowing their grass on Sunday while on the way to Grandma's. After pondering what I had just witnessed, I asked my father, "Is that man going to hell?" After a long pause he replied, "Only God knows, son. Only God knows." (A wise way to reframe a little boy's query.)

Boomers and Busters can all have stories that relate to this. The reality is that most generations before us experienced societal and kinship pressure that told us what we were to do and what we were to believe. Religious education was more about "Here's what you need to believe" rather than "What do you think about this?"

Today there has been a massive cultural shift away from what previous generations experienced. With the rise of religious pluralism and the diversity of religious expressions around us, there is no longer one dominant religious culture that informs what we can and can't do. We are free to believe or not believe. And yes, we can now mow our lawns whenever we damn well please! No longer do kinship pressure and a dominant religious culture dictate our beliefs and religious affiliations.

Religious diversity isn't just "out there." It is woven into the fabric of our intimate relationships. "Among Americans who have gotten married since 2010, nearly four-in-ten (39%) report that they are in religiously mixed marriages, compared with 19% among those who got married before 1960."

We have truly become free agents in the religious marketplace. And we are using our freedom to release ourselves from the dogma, doctrines, and religious observances of the past. We are able to determine for ourselves what it means to have faith and be spiritual. We can reject doctrines, select parts of them, or create our own religious mash-up from the "best of" the religions we encounter. Faith and religion are no longer hand-me-downs that we must accept. We are truly free to embrace that which has meaning for us.

The days are gone when Christianity determined the norms for all of us. We have moved in the opposite direction, where the act of being Christian and actively participating in a congregation are seen as countercultural acts. This is especially true in metro-urban contexts, where Sunday brunch is the new norm, not Sunday worship.

While we celebrate the ability to choose our own faith commitments, or none at all, there has been a consequence to this personalization of religion. Because we are releasing ourselves from religion we no longer have a source or a community to which we look for wisdom and guidance. Instead, we have only ourselves. For many, we have come to the place where "we have the capacity to question everything but little ability to affirm anything." This leads us to the second cultural shift impacting faith.

Choosing ...

Once Joshua reached high school it dawned on him that he had choices. So despite a Protestant home and a Catholic school, he "eased away" from church as he recalled it. His body was there as little as possible, while his head and heart were gone. Asking "large questions" about life prompted his departure. Churches presented someone else's certainty. Joshua wanted to ask questions and explore options. No church spoke in those terms. He rejected the idea of being handed his identity; he wanted to find it for himself.

For increasing numbers of people life revolves around the exercise of choice. As luck would have it, there's no lack of options. In the city where one of us lives, the cable television system offers 1,952 channels for one of its multiple packages. Other viewing packages include more or fewer channels. One's choices also include having cable service "bundled" with Internet access, Wi-Fi, and telephone service. A home security system may also be added. Of course it could all be moot: a rival cable company offers other packages with alternative terms.

Connection to a "smart" television also brings "on demand" sources such as Netflix. One could also go wireless with one's own satellite dish and "direct" television; or one could revert to "rabbit ears" and receive only local broadcast programming. One could also be dismayed by all options, and the paucity of quality programs, and switch off one's television. Perhaps life would be better lived with a walk and a good book.

Having choices has become a hallmark of freedom and individualism. The lack of choice, or restrictions on the ability to choose, feels like confinement, which we take personally. In all aspects of life, including work, relationships, home and neighborhood, hobbies, leisure, and of course religion, choice is a key requirement. By means of choice we set out on self-selected journeys to build the life we are inclined to seek, at least for now. Choice has become a presumed personal right. The exploration of options has become our pathway.

But "the fact that some choice is good doesn't necessarily mean that more choice is better," Barry Schwartz insists. In The Paradox of Choice he cites findings from a supermarket visit. In an ordinary market he found "85 different varieties and brands of crackers." There were "285 varieties of cookies," twenty-one of which had chocolate chips. Twenty varieties of "Goldfish" sat near thirteen "sports drinks," sixty-five "box drinks for kids," "85 other flavors and brands of juice, and 75 iced teas and adult drinks." The point could be made on every store aisle, including cosmetics, health products, grooming and bath items, and even staples such as soup. Small wonder that such stores can provide sites for personal training. Patrolling such aisles becomes miles of walking.

The lure of options is compounded by the appeal of mixing and matching. Restaurants offering "fusion" food abound. Opportunities to match Asian and Latin American foods, to test "Mediterranean" or to have "comfort" dishes served in gourmet fashion draw hungry crowds. Varieties and mixtures served in entertaining styles have energized the food industry. Part of the allure is the chance to sample and to mix as one's inclinations direct. There also is the appeal of doing it for one's self, cooking spontaneously at home. Cookbooks and celebrity chefs and stores featuring exotic implements thrive. as do grocery stores.