When systems theory negates grace

We have done well to learn and adapt systems theory to groups of human interaction: family, workplace and church, for example.

Thanks to Edwin Friedman and others, we understand our behavior is shaped by those with whom we interact. An assertive adult may become passive as the child they once were when reunited with family at Thanksgiving. An introvert among peers may emerge gregarious among those older or younger. A conflictual personality in one setting may be serene in another.

Systems theory allows us to gain deeper understanding of the groups in which we work and live. It can help us see where change is needed and understand why it's resisted. (Systems tend to preserve themselves more readily than adapting.)

image by Emaze

It's specious, however, to blame everything on "the system."

"The media are dishonest." "Government is corrupt." "The church is broken."

Yes, systems can promulgate (or protect) dishonesty, corruption and brokenness. But it's superficial, and too easy, to blame everything on the system.

"The church is broken," for example. Yes, the church too often falls far short of Jesus' command to welcome, teach and heal in his name. But to blame everything on "the system" is like saying all politicians are crooks. I've had both politicians and preachers in my family, so I guess I take exception.

Whenever I hear someone begin "The church ..." or "the media ..." I'm on alert that an expression of pain and frustration is to follow. I need to listen. I need to honor the person's experience. But by "the church" do they mean all of Christendom? Am I to blame the entire enterprise, given my knowledge that most of the church members I know are doing their best?

I resonate with Lillian Daniel, who wrote Tired of Apologizing for a Church I Don't Belong To. I don't mean to negate real experiences of real pain caused by neglectful or harmful practices by the church. Even, or especially, those perpetuated by systems of embedded power and privilege by the few over the many.

(I listened to the stories of too many victims of clergy sexual abuse to not be horrified by "the church's" tendency to cover-up sin and crime. But it's intellectually lazy of me to castigate every priest, even as I weep with the victims.)

Recently, a colleague was unfortunately slighted in a most untimely way by a promised action that wasn't acted upon. I resonated with their disappointment. But that disappointment, vented in a public way, became a denunciation of "the system."

"The system," in fact, included me. And others who worked very hard. And a ball was dropped. Quite unfortunately, I might add. The "process" suffered from a most untimely glitch. Is the "system" broken? That's the easy assertion, when we take systems theory to the point where the complexities of human interaction are reduced to a matrix of inevitable right or wrong behavior.

We need to take responsibility when our "process" fails. But when we blame everything on "the system," we leave little room for understanding the dynamics of human error, forgiveness and grace that govern our relationships with each other.