From Quiet Drift to Chosen Presence

What I have seen over the years is that drift into isolation often begins when the subtle adoption of a post-Christian worldview starts to feel “normal.” When that happens, we either quietly absorb it—or quietly withdraw from people who do. What ways of life prevent this?

How do we build—or rebuild—relationships with people whose values run counter to our own? I have found we must have a genuine love for people, because all are made in the image of God—and therefore worth patient presence. Can you even be friends with those you profoundly disagree with? We have non-religious friends who hold what I would call a post-Christian worldview. To remain present with them, we often have them in for a meal. We share other interests and sometimes work together—all in the faith that someday hard topics can be spoken. So, we try to stay present, to serve where we can, and to love well, trusting that attitudes and hearts can change over time.

“I didn’t understand this when I was younger—but the longer I’ve watched families and congregations, the more I’ve realized how ‘connectedness’ can quietly disappear without anyone meaning for it to. “Over time I’ve also noticed something else: our modern way of life is not naturally connected. Husbands and wives often have different careers. Children have their own organized activities—rarely shared work or play with the family. In many congregations, youth are separated by setting, classes, and activities from their parents. Most of us barely know our neighbors. Many families do not eat together. Technology rarely promotes real presence. We live in a fragmented society—and fragmented people do not sustain bonds over time.

So how can one restore presence? I believe it does take personal discipline—devoting time and keeping the “main thing” the main thing. And people and God are the main things. That means repeatable rhythms that make room for both. This isn’t about making a list of worthy goals. Many of us make lists at New Year’s, but they’re rarely kept.

Start small and concrete. In my experience, what we can repeat is what changes us. Give your attention first to the one person—or the one family—you most need to be present with. It might begin with a weekly phone call, or a simple routine that puts you back in their life in a good way. And if you haven’t had a practice of prayer, attach prayer to something you already do. A brief prayer before a meal you already share becomes a way of being present with both God and family. Putting away the TV, newspaper, and phone during meals restores presence at the table. The point is to take ordinary things you already do and attach practices that make you more available—to God and to people.

It seems to me the drift toward secularism is slow—hardly noticeable at first. Fragmentation then contributes to an erosion of habits that were formerly part of the natural environment. Both religious and non-religious cultures acknowledge the family as the bedrock of society. And in our society, “family” includes widows, blended homes, and the church as family.

Because of that, one of the best ways to restore a Christian worldview is to restore the simple practice of sharing meals with friends and family. Rather than relying mainly on age-segregated classes and activities, invite those older relatives—and those younger ones—into shared meals and shared time. Some of my fondest memories as a child were visits and meals with my great-grandparents. Older people carry fascinating stories, and younger people need living examples of steadiness.

The same principle applies in congregations. Youth ministry is often better served when it strengthens what happens between parents and youth—joint activities, shared study, shared service—so faith becomes visible in the normal life people are already living. In that way, we begin restoring the formation environment many of us once had, where belief wasn’t merely taught; it was absorbed through ordinary, shared life.

One of the most difficult questions now is how a Christian, by our actions, witness for Christ in the current environment. For many younger people, overt outreach can feel like a “turn-off.” And when someone has a truly post-Christian worldview, even a sincere conversation about Christian convictions can be met with suspicion. Over many years of working with groups and individuals, I have found the first thing to do is listen—really listen—to what people are saying. And if they don’t say much at all, it helps to remember that most people will talk about their own lives when they feel safe. Ask open-ended questions—what, how, where, and when—and then be quiet long enough to hear the answer.

In my experience, the best place for that kind of listening is a meal table in the home. Restaurants won’t do. And if you’re married, this is something you can do together. Christian fellowship is meant to be lived in “one another” ways—welcome, patience, bearing burdens, encouragement—none of which can be rushed. As I said before, if connection is restored, it will be because we were genuinely interested in people.

I think of the simple  Lord of the Rings line: “Much that once was is lost.” If I could point to a common way to begin restoring what has been lost, it would be twofold: restoring table fellowship—shared meals in the home—coupled with restoring natural rhythms together. My wife and I find great joy in having people in our home to share a meal and share each other’s lives. The table remains one of the few repeatable, low-pressure places where people can be present long enough for warmth, trust, and honest conversation to grow.