My friend Roy and my wife Barb are firm believers in “feels like” temperatures. The actual temperature may be 85º, but if their weather apps list a “feels like” reading of 99º then, for them, it’s 99º. “It’s not 99º,” I tell them, “It’s 85º with high humidity.” They look at me with pity. Barb tries to explain the science behind it, but I’m intransigent.
It seems dishonest to replace the objective with the subjective. When I was in Asheville, North Carolina recently the subjective “feels like” temperature was -6º, but the objective measured temperature, +7º, was, in my mind, the honest one. When running a few weeks ago I felt like I was flying. My “feels like” pace had to be a personal record! In reality my actual, objective, measured pace was as slow as it normally is. Similarly, Sunday worship a couple weeks ago drew a “feels like” attendance of 136. The deacons, however, counted far less. To announce an attendance of 136 would be no more honest than to say I ran 7 minute miles
But we like extremes. Objective numbers seem boring. “Way hot” and “really cold” become topics of conversation far more easily than ordinary hot and unremarkable cold. What serves innocent narrative though may be actually unhealthy for some of us. Ask me how many people were in worship three Sundays ago, and my grumpy little negative heart is likely to say “three” if that’s what it felt like. From there I can go on to feel sorry for myself, a step I enjoy far too much.
Our attraction to “feels like” thinking too often then is deployed against us. An “upgrade your air conditioning” marketing strategy fares better using a “feels like” 99º than the actual 85º, and those ministries coveting clicks and contributions will be more successful if they can spin an afternoon shower into a sky-is-falling emergency. If the end of the church can be made to feel nigh, we are made more likely to act in the way the tale-spinners desire.
Our “feels like” journeys into negativity too easily blind us to what God is really doing. Sometimes I preach a sermon that “feels like” a home run. Other times I preach what “feels like” a slow grounder to the first baseman. The response to the first one may disappoint me, the existence of the second may lead me to write a letter of resignation. But these subjective assessments say nothing about the work of the Holy Spirit. His work can’t be measured and should never be discounted. The attendance at last summer’s vacation bible school felt dismayingly small compared to the numbers drawn by the larger church across town. Any dismay, however, would have been premature. Our children’s ministry director has had conversations about the things of God with children months after the last song of VBS was sung. God works even when our “feels like” gauge hovers near zero.
And if we are not careful, the “feels like” tendency can squelch necessary curiosity. Is the distinction between the objective and “feels like” temperatures due to the humidity? The wind? The darkness? Or does it feel colder just because I’m supposed to run and don’t want to? The questions, and answers, are important.
As I write, I am 54 years old. According to an article in the Atlantic most of us have a “feels like” age that is roughly 20% less than our actual age. I’ve had 67 birthdays, but I feel 54. Why is that? Some researchers suggest that the disparity here arises from a fear of what age will bring. Others suggest that we evaluate age as a measure of the opportunities left in front of us. To know the “why” here helps me to understand, and to possibly recalibrate, some things about myself. But this can happen only when I distinguish between reality and feeling and ask questions about the difference.
When Sunday worship has 30 or 50 or 75 or 200 in attendance, and we feel like it is 10, we can’t land there without asking “why?” Does it feel like less because our hearts are envious? Then of whom or of what are we envious and why? Or does the “feels like” attendance feed the judgment of incompetence that we are prone to slam against ourselves? Then where does that come from and is it accurate? Maybe our attendance “feels like” a low number because the room is too large. Curiosity pushes us beyond our emotions to a place where we can either accept or address the underlying causes. And that “feels like” a good thing.
Roy and Barb mount strong arguments for their view. Wind chill factors are a thing and can be calculated. But for ministry, I shouldn’t always trust my “feels like” sensibilities. God works, William Cowper said, in mysterious ways, and often he works in ways that run gloriously beyond the way we might feel.