Editor's Note: This article is part of an online symposium, "Does Seminary Have a Future?" hosted at Patheos this month. Read other perspectives here.

There are a number of reasons theological seminaries are struggling: declining membership in their sponsoring bodies, smaller pools of qualified and interested candidates for ministry, aging physical plants that require significant investment, just to name a few. Yet I'd argue the single most significant cause of decline is far simpler: most seminaries are training leaders for a church and world that no longer exists.

In their book The Missional Leader (Jossey-Bass, 2006), Alan Roxburgh and Fred Romanuk suggest that organizations and their leaders experience three distinct periods of development. In the emergent zone, leaders in a significantly changed context are highly experimental in their approach to leadership, innovative with regard to practices, and comfortable with loose coalitions. Growth of the organization is chaotic, often in fits and starts, and organizational identity is fluid. During the more stable performative zone, leaders shift their emphasis from bold innovation to skillful performance of the most helpful practices and focus on structural organization. Growth during this period is steadier and more significant, and institutional identity has solidified. When the context again changes but leaders fail (or refuse) to recognize it, organizations flounder. In response, leaders become more reactive, resisting innovation and increasingly relying on regulation to protect the prevailing (and failing) paradigm.

I believe that we live in a context that has changed significantly enough in recent years that we have inadvertently slipped into a reactive posture, applying more vigorously the successful practices of the past rather than embracing the spirit of innovation and experimentation crucial to adaptive change. What are these cultural changes? They are legion, but space allows briefly naming only two.

First, the Christian story no longer holds the cultural center of gravity but is one of any number of larger stories, or metanarratives, that seek to provide ultimate meaning. While a generation ago church leaders complained that we lived in a nominally Christian culture, today's leaders nostalgically reminisce that it was at least nominally Christian. Many of us didn't realize how dependent we'd become on the culture—from public school Christmas pageants to television holiday programming and religiously oriented movies—and stripped of these supports we have failed to teach our story in a compelling way. As a result, our people don't know the Christian story well enough to have it shape and inform their lives and consequently have only a loose, even superficial, allegiance to that story.

Second, we have moved from the age of duty, when we did things because we knew we should, to the age of discretion (think "discretionary time and income"), when we make decisions about our commitments based in part on determining what's in it for me. In a 24/7 world of endless opportunities, obligations, and information, many adults exercise an exacting, if often unconscious, formula for time management based on immediate and tangible rewards and will no longer dedicate an hour on Sunday morning to something that doesn't help them make sense of the other 167 hours of their week.