Using strain theory to understand why churches take the shape they do
Simon Cross (originally published on his substack)
Why do some churches take the shape they do, and what can be done to help them get ‘unstuck’ from their present realities?
Prior to becoming a minister, I spent some time teaching criminology to university students – got to put that social science learning to use somehow, right?
It was doing that work that introduced me to the work of the Sociologist Robert K Merton, and his ‘structural functionalist’ approach to the explanation of ‘deviance’. In other words, Merton developed a model to explain why some people commit crime, and others don’t.
I’ve been thinking about how the same model can explain why different churches take the characteristics they do, and consequently how we might address the challenges they face – and present.
Churches come, of course, in all shapes and sizes – liturgical and informal, activist and contemplative, traditional and experimental. But beneath the surface differences, many – I like to think most – congregations wrestle with the, basically, same question: How do we stay faithful in a changing world?
Merton’s strain theory maps how individuals respond to societal goals and the means available to achieve them. He identified five modes of adaptation: conformity, innovation, ritualism, retreatism, and rebellion. When applied to church life, these categories can help communities self-diagnose where they are – and imagine where they might go next.
I want to explore each mode, not as fixed labels or as means of condemning people, but as starting points for honest reflection and hopeful growth.
Conformity: Faithful and Familiar
Conformist churches largely embrace both the traditional goals of inherited Christian tradition (communication of orthodox doctrine, orderly gathering, sacramental rituals, community, moral formation) and the conventional means of achieving those goals (denominational structures, liturgy, clergy leadership). These congregations often feel stable, familiar, and deeply rooted. They may be well-resourced, civically engaged, and trusted by their communities.
The question these congregations need to ask themselves is “are we, actually, faithfully living out our mission, or are we avoiding hard questions for the sake of stability?” It’s a comfortable, safe, place to be – but is it vital? Is it going anywhere, except ‘through the motions’?
Conformist churches can thrive when they pair tradition with curiosity – asking how, or even if, their inherited forms can speak to today’s challenges. This might feel dangerous – and it certainly does threaten the comfort of the familiar, but it’s the route to renewal and development for conformist congregations.
Innovation: Creative and Courageous
Innovative churches similarly affirm the traditional goals of their inherited faith tradition, but reimagine the means by which those goals can be achieved. They might experiment with unorthodox, progressive or inclusive approaches to theology, they may use digital platforms, new liturgies, and alternative forms of leadership. Quite often these communities emerge from frustration with rigid structures or exclusionary practices, and are shaped by those experiences.
The question for congregations who recognise themselves in that position might be: “Are we innovating from a place of deep conviction, or are we simply reacting to what we’ve rejected?” Reaction to rejection is a powerful motivator, after all, but not always the best starting point.
Innovative churches can flourish when they manage to ground what they do, and who they are, in genuine discernment, not just in the pursuit of novelty.
Ritualism: Faithful but Fatigued
Ritualist congregations would, I suppose, be those who preserve the inherited forms, patterns of worship, church calendar, and governance, but may have lost sight of their deeper purpose. They look like a duck, quack like a duck – but we might question whether they are, in fact, really a duck. They go through the motions with care, but the energy feels rather thin. These communities often carry rich traditions, but struggle to connect them to lived experience. They have stopped asking, or lost the ability to articulate a good answer to, “why on earth do we do this?”
If a congregation has the courage to recognise that they are ritualists, they should ask themselves something like, “are we purposefully keeping the rituals alive, or are they keeping us from being alive? And which matters most to us?”
In order to rediscover some kind of vitality, ritualist churches need to find ways of reconnecting form with meaning. That might mean inviting stories, questions, and fresh interpretation into their practices – it might involve asking deep questions of themselves.
Retreatism: Quiet and Wounded
Uniquely, retreatist churches have stepped back from both many of the accepted goals of their tradition, and the normative means by which they would achieve them. They may feel disillusioned, isolated, or simply exhausted. Some retreat into nostalgia, others into survival mode. These communities often carry deep grief – about decline, conflict, or unmet expectations. They feel like the life is leaving them but they keep going all the same – they keep turning up.
People in this sort of congregation need to ask themselves if that are withdrawing because they’ve lost hope, or because they need space to heal.
It’s not necessarily fatal – a path to renewal for a retreatist congregation could be to first recognise that they have pressed pause. Then, though, if they wish to find a route to renewal they must find a means to press ‘play’ again. That’s the hard bit – but it might be achieved through a process of expressing honest lament, storytelling, and some (carefully facilitated) gentle reimagining.
Rebellion: Bold and Visionary
The bad boy of the bunch is the rebellious church – the one that rejects both the dominant goals of their inherited tradition, and the accepted cultural means to acquire them and seeks to replace both the goals and the means with new visions; they imagine radically different futures.
This can be great (we all love a bad boy), or (of course) spectacularly bad. If we focus on the good: they can envisage a version of the faith where God is not an overbearing patriarch, where salvation is not individualistic, and worship is not confined to Sunday morning shenanigans but courses through every living moment. Healthy versions of such communities will focus on the needs of the marginalized, challenge empire, and embody liberation… Unhealthy ones will probably become a cult.
The question, for those in such a situation (apart from ‘hey, are we a cult?’) must be something like ‘are we rebelling to build something new, or simply to tear down what was?’ They should look carefully to ensure that what they do has positive, and progressive, foundations.
Where rebellious churches thrive is when they can pair great prophetic imagination with humble, and sincere, pastoral care and engagement. They also need to look out for overly enthusiastic charismatic leaders with plans for world domination… but if they do those things they can create, and hold space for, both wonderful examples of disruption and healing.
Questions, questions…
When I was teaching students about deviance, I loved using Merton’s strain theory because of the engaging way it helps to identify the ways that people find themselves in particular positions. It’s not a value judgement, its a recognition of the social and other forces that are acting on us all the time. At best it should help us ask ourselves questions like: What goals are we pursuing? What means are we using? What might we become as a result?
Every mode reflects a response to strain, or pressure, in this case social, theological, historical pressures. And every church, at some point, will feel some combination of those strains. That’s not a sign of failure, it’s a sign of life, it’s a sign that we’re still in the game.
No matter whether you, your congregation, or your church is conforming, innovating, ritualizing, retreating, or rebelling – there always room to develop. There’s room to ask: What kind of church are we? What kind of church might we become?
