That Thing About Authority

Posted on April 17, 2024 by smaxreisert

A long, long time ago, in my first year as a student minister at a United Church of Christ church in Cambridge, MA, I once inadvertently insulted a church member so much during a sermon that after that one particular worship service, he declared that he would never again set foot in that church. To my knowledge, he never did. It was a strange experience. I was just a student minister. Although I participated in worship every Sunday, I only preached every four to six weeks. I don’t remember what I said or did, but it was probably something political, offering a criticism of the practices or policies of the then President, George H.W. Bush.

Over the years, I’ve occasionally encountered other people like that man, people who have walked away because of something I’ve said or written. These experiences have led me to wonder about the relationship between church members and pastors. Is it a pastor’s job to support the inclinations of all church members (as if that’s even possible) or water down one’s message in order to keep feathers from being ruffled? If a church experience is only about bolstering one’s already deeply held convictions, why bother going at all? What role does a pastor’s spiritual speech have in a congregation and with congregants? How do church members understand the pastor’s “authority”? Why is it so difficult for some church members to appreciate that the pastor’s position includes speaking in ways that may make church members uncomfortable, even angry?

Some of the most memorable and meaningful conversations I’ve had over these many years of ministry have involved church members who have stormed into my office to object to a sermon, a prayer or a piece written for the church newsletter. These conversations are never easy, but I have found them to be rich and rewarding, an opportunity for a noticeable growth in faith— for both participants. I have learned a great deal from those who have met with me to unload their discontent. When they realize that I’m not interested in fighting but conversing (sometimes on multiple occasions), something mysterious opens up, allowing each of us to explore some of life’s most difficult questions as well as faith’s deep mysteries.

It’s too bad that such conversations and situations are rare. More often, when I make someone angry, they simply stop attending worship or they seethe with quiet rage. I remember one especially difficult occasion some years ago. The congregation at Old South had recently approved an “open and affirming” statement. A couple who had attended regularly and for whom I had officiated at their wedding, stopped coming to worship. When I called, they said they would welcome a visit. The conversation during that visit, though, was mainly a lot of anti-gay slogans that the husband had picked up from a co-worker who attended a decidedly not open and affirming kind of church. When I tried to suggest, gently, that maybe I was better informed on what the Bible says, and does not say, since I had attended divinity school and the co-worker had not, the “conversation,” such as it was, essentially came to an end. The husband clearly preferred the co-worker’s interpretation and opinion. It didn’t matter that I had studied the issue in a variety of ways. As a pastor, this man expected that I would support and uphold his views, that the “authority” was in the hands of parishioners (even though, in this case, the open and affirming decision was a unanimous vote of those church members who attended a particular congregational meeting on the issue).

These days, I’m increasingly concerned about what appears to be— if the studies are correct— the growing number of people who self-identify as Christian and even as evangelical, but no longer attend worship of any kind. They are not interested in anyone even remotely offering a differing point of view to their own. That’s bad enough, but many of these people, because of their attachment to the label “Christian,” are pulling God into the mix, as if they have the authority of knowing God’s desires and intentions completely— and those desires and intentions often involve a certain former president.

For those who feel they possess that kind of authority through which they know all of God’s expectations, but intentionally reject pastoral guidance precisely for the reason that they perceive pastors may assert a perspective different from their own, an especially troubling scenario begins to take shape. Living in the midst of a faith echo chamber is problematic on many levels, stifling rather than enlivening one’s faith. Practicing the faith in the midst of a pastoral relationship is important. Critical questions ought to be considered by all Christians regarding the life of faith, the interpretation and use of biblical stories and lessons, and the issue of authority. It’s not that clergy are always correct, or in a position to exact a complete and utter use of the authoritative role, but there’s a significant relationship here that deserves faithful attention.

In the United Church of Christ, those who have successfully engaged in a process to ministry, whether fully ordained or licensed, involving the local church and the local association of churches, are said to be “authorized” for ministry. That authority is a heavy one. We clergy make a lot of promises, regarding things like preaching and administering the sacraments, working cooperatively and collegially, respecting all, honoring confidences and not exploiting our position for personal gain. Again, it’s not that clergy are perfect. Far from it. But, many of us take very seriously the promises we have made and ask, in return, that our role be respected. Sometimes, we have something prophetic to say. Sometimes, our job IS to make church members feel uncomfortable. And, sometimes it is our job to engage in holy conversation when parishioners have a different point of view.

My interpretation of scripture and the lessons Jesus taught lead me to believe that one cannot claim to be a “Christian” if one does not regularly attend Christian worship and does not engage in the life of a Christian community of faith. Jesus made very clear the significance of community, the value of gathering with others (something he did even for himself) and the fact that he himself is present when two or three are gathered— and not just one. The life of faith is grace and blessing, but it is also a responsibility. As I’ve written many times, to worship God is to acknowledge that one is not God, that our awareness of God and God’s intentionsis always limited. Every Christian ought to appreciate that it is incumbent upon each one to gather in the midst of community and to recognize not the absolute, but the authoritative nature of leadership— whether in the form of a person or in the gathering of a group in worship.

 

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Is It Time for a Break Up?

Posted on March 29, 2024 by smaxreisert

My last blog post focused on ghosts, those people who attend worship for a few weeks, a few months, even a couple of years, and then suddenly disappear, without notice, without trace, without explanation. I usually reach out to these folks, but my messages are generally met with still more silence. It’s one of the most frustrating aspects of being a local church pastor.

Recently, I had a bit of a surprise when I heard from one of Old South’s ghosts. I had sent an email to check in with this person who had attended worship regularly over several months last year, but then disappeared. The response that was sent back to me contained a sentiment connected to something that I’ve been feeling over the course of the last several years. And that is, there’s a sense that the institution of the Christian Church is not to be trusted, that there is something scary and problematic about the Christian Church in general. Some of those who have been away from the faith for awhile, but have started to feel a pull to try church again, end up discovering a complicated web of impressions regarding the Church, and its various churches. That web contains a complicated network of negative strands that cannot easily be reconciled with the few strands that may hold a more positive experience or view.

I started to feel a shift in perceptions regarding the Christian church several years ago. The place where the shift has been the most apparent? Funerals. It’s a common thing to find at funerals quite a few people who have no idea how things go in a church service. Many years ago, it usually felt like the “unchurched” who attended funerals at Old South came with at least a respectful, if tepid, attitude. These people wanted to pay their respects to the deceased, to the family and friends, and they recognized that the deceased felt a connection to this particular community of faith. Usually these unchurched people would at least try to be present, like picking up a hymnal when the congregation was asked to sing. And they might even display a bit of curiosity about the church and why the church was important to the person who died.

In the last few years, I’ve noticed that the curiosity has been replaced by animosity. I can feel it. There are usually people who appear visibly angry, like they’ve been forced to visit a relative they despise. Another clue is that they don’t sing the hymns and usually they don’t even try. It’s very strange to be in a sanctuary that is mostly full of people and yet during any hymn singing, there is very little singing. During one funeral, the poor organist (who’s back is toward the congregation) thought he had started playing at the wrong time or was playing the wrong hymn because all he could hear was the organ. There was no discernible singing, despite the fact that the sanctuary was near full.

Though it’s hard to declare in a public way, I must admit that I’ve begun to feel a sort of kinship with the angry people. Because I am angry, too. I am angry about being a part of an institution that has so flagrantly harmed people, an institution that has been so rife with sin and transgression. I am angry at what’s happened in the various expressions of the Christian faith: the abuse of children in the Roman Catholic Church; the abuse of women in the Southern Baptist Church (and others); the unholy and dangerous alliance between evangelical churches (and their leaders) and a certain former president; the relentless commitment to what amounts to a second class status for women in most Christian churches and denominations; the hostility toward the LGBTQ+ community. Etc. Etc. I am angry, too, and frustrated, that my faith is sullied by those who have wantonly disregarded— on such a large scale— the most basic of tenets of the faith. And when found out, way too many faith leaders have been reluctant to admit and to confess, not only the harm they have caused to individuals and families, but to the institution of the Church itself, the supposed body of Christ in the world.

In the midst of this holiest of weeks in the Christian calendar, as we move through sacred story full of vital and challenging lessons that Jesus taught as he faced arrest and execution, and prepare for another Easter, I find myself wondering about whether it’s time to consider a break up. I don’t mean a break up with my faith and I certainly don’t mean a break up with Christ or God or the Holy Spirit. I’m talking about a break up with the institution of the Christian Church.

I have no idea what such a break up would look like, or how a possible break up would connect to the fact that, at present, I serve as a local church pastor of a community of faith that is part of a denomination that, while it may dangle on the edge of the liberal/progressive side of Christianity, is still Christian and is part of the complicated and messy network that essentially constitutes “the Church.” Yet, I feel compelled to raise this issue. It’s not just because I am increasingly angry about what is happening, and has happened, in the Church and among Christians, but I am deeply moved by those people who feel drawn to Christ, yet have no way to connect to Christ other than personal devotion— because the Church and her churches have strayed so far so often and remain so unwelcoming to so many.

I’m weary of being associated with the great transgressions of the Church. I’m weary of trying to explain the differences within the Church, and that the tiny section of Christendom in which I have found a home is different. It’s not at all that we are perfect, because we are not. Still, the large and extensive scandals that have rocked various Christian churches and denominations have become a huge liability— to me, as a pastor, and to the community of faith I serve. It may be time to confront that the liabilities are too serious to ignore, and that they may have become an insurmountable obstacle to doing the holy work we have been called to do in inviting and welcoming those who are looking for—yearning for—meaning and hope, love and grace, a community of care and blessing, in a world full of trouble.

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Ghosting, Church-style

Posted on March 15, 2024 by smaxreisert

Among the most frustrating aspects of being a local church pastor, for me, is dealing with “ghosting.” While the word “ghosting” is a relatively new term usually used in the dating, or friendship, arena, I’ve been dealing with the concept for a very long time. The word refers to people who abruptly cut off contact, even when a text/email/phone call is made (by the ghosted) to maintain or re-establish contact. There is only silence. In all of the many years I’ve served as a local church pastor, I’ve wondered about and been frustrated by “ghosts,” those people who attend worship (and Bible study, too, sometimes) over a few weeks or months (sometimes many months, or even years!) and then they suddenly disappear. And, trying to reach out goes nowhere.

There is only silence.

Trying to convince the ghosts to share with me why they stopped attending Old South is very difficult, usually impossible. When someone has attended for a while and then doesn’t show up for a few weeks, I usually reach out with an email that simply states that I’ve missed seeing them in worship and to ask if there’s anything I can do for them. Almost every single time I’ve sent one of these messages out into the ether, I’ve been met by silence.

The silence is disappointing and frustrating. There are so many questions that I fervently want to have answered. Did she/he/they stop attending because: I said something that was offensive to them? Or, a church member said or did something inappropriate? A new job required that they be at work on Sunday mornings? They decided that the church was not a good fit for them? They didn’t like the worship space? They didn’t like that they had to park across the street from the sanctuary building and had to cross a steep hill to get to the sanctuary? They hate organ music? They don’t like traditional worship? They don’t think women should be worship leaders? They have issues with our Open and Affirming statement? They decided they liked another area church better?

So many questions. So much silence. Occasionally, I can form educated guesses, but for the most part, I’m mystified and left with a swirl of theories that are never satisfied.

It is the rare occasion when someone asks to meet with me to tell me why they will no longer be involved with Old South. In my thirty years of pastoral ministry, I can think of only a handful of people who have asked to speak to me, rather than just vanish without a word. Out of this small group, most were moving away. But, a couple of people have met with me to share their discontent.

A few years ago, a member of Old South decided that she wanted to change churches. There were a bunch of reasons, some of them related to me and a few related to the church in general. She informed a couple of her friends in the congregation, but she initially had no plans to tell me at all. She was just going to stop attending and then send a note when she found a new church home. Those who knew about what was going on begged her to talk to me, emphasizing that it was important that I hear directly from her about what was on her mind and why she planned to search for a new church. Eventually, she contacted me. We met and talked. It wasn’t an especially fun meeting, but it helped me a great deal to understand what was going on in this person’s faith journey and why she felt that Old South was no longer feeding her spirit.

It was good for both of us to engage in that conversation— and significant, and faithful. Christian churches are communities of relationship that seek to live out the teachings of Jesus Christ. Many of those teachings are challenging. Still, those teachings ought to be respected in the variety of ways through which we interact with each other. When a moment arrives that compels someone to move on, or simply stop attending a particular church, it should be part of the deal that a reason is communicated (especially since there are, in these days, so many ways of communicating!). At the very least, the person ought to consider how she/he/they would feel in the event of ghosting. You know, treating others as you would like to be treated, which is very near the top of the important commands Jesus taught.

Church relationships can be messy and I’m sure it’s hard to contemplate the non-ghosting option of actually sharing the reasons why someone decides that a particular church just isn’t working well for them. But, communicating isn’t just a nice thing to do. It ought to be considered essential for anyone who considers themselves in any way to be a follower of Jesus Christ.

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The Sad State of Religion and American Public Life

Posted on March 1, 2024 by smaxreisert

When I was in Divinity School, way back in the later years of the twentieth century, one of the courses I took was a seminar taught by the then Dean of Harvard Divinity School, Ron Thiemann. The seminar focused on religion in American public life, a subject that was at the center of much of Dean Thiemann’s own scholarship. I don’t remember that seminar very well (it’s been several decades, after all), but I do remember, in a general way, the rather heady class discussions about various aspects of the relationship between religion and community life.

If I remember correctly, Dean Thiemann’s scholarship on this issue tried to argue for a way to consider religious conviction in public life without that conviction: a) being dismissed as solely a private matter, or b) becoming a weapon to dominate everything in its path. In the bits and pieces I can recall about our readings and class discussions in light of what’s happening in this current moment, it feels like those of us who shared that seminar together were all so ridiculously naïve. There we were talking about how to engage with the variety of religious experiences of those living in the United States, inviting differing voices into the public square, not only to assist in learning more about those with different belief systems, but to gain a deeper appreciation for one’s own tradition. We discussed the possibility of something that was beyond tolerance and acceptance, casting a vision of welcome and curiosity regarding the variety of faith practices of those who call the United States home. While we all recognized that these visions would be challenging to make even remotely real, there was a sense of possibility, that the grand visions were, at least partially, achievable.

These many years later, I can’t help but feel a profound sadness regarding the reality in which we find ourselves. The American public, generally speaking, seems far from curious when it comes to the religious landscape of our communities. Instead, there’s suspicion and even hatred for those who are different and, for those who do not practice any religion at all, there can be a harmful cynicism directed at those who do.

It’s a strange thing to try to hold together the shrinking numbers of active members of religious communities (according to a Public Religion Research Institute study, only 16% of Americans consider religion to be the most important thing in their lives), including (and in some cases most dramatically) Christianity, while at the same time reckoning with judges, politicians, and policy makers who declare, in their decisions and votes, the guidance of Christian scriptures and the Christian God. This is especially troubling given that there is no agreement across Christian traditions regarding the authority of scripture or how the faithful should perceive the presence of the God they worship. Those who assert a Christian “worldview” are actually asserting only their particular view. There is no way to assert one single Christian worldview. It simply doesn’t exist. Christianity is a sort of umbrella term for a myriad of denominations, churches, communities, and groups that feel a belief in or affinity for Jesus of Nazareth as the Messiah. Those who go about asserting a “Christian” worldview appear, in my humble opinion, to have no knowledge of the lessons actually contained in the scriptures they declare holy.

For anyone to make such a strong claim regarding his/her/their clear knowledge of God’s wishes and desires demonstrates a remarkable lack of awareness of what it actually means for mere mortals to worship God. Among those who claim to be people of faith, there must exist some degree of humility, a crucial recognition that to worship God is to acknowledge that one is NOT God and therefore limited in how one understands God. Such humility is essential for everyone if we are ever to share community space and community institutions in a respectful, productive and peaceful way.

The recent declaration of the chief justice of the Alabama Supreme Court stating that embryos created through IVF should be considered children, is one troubling example of the efforts among some Christians to assert their own brand of Christianity on the community in general. The justice, Tom Parker, stated, “Human life cannot be wrongfully destroyed without incurring the wrath of a holy God.” Just this statement alone begs a whole host of significant questions when it comes to the intersection of religious convictions and American public life— how is “wrongfully” defined and to what extent does God allow for the destruction of human life in not “wrongful” ways? What is the wrath of God? What does it mean to call God holy? Doesn’t “holiness” of a divine being imply that one should not be going about making such definitive statements about what a “holy God” expects and demands from human beings?

I could go on, but you probably get the picture.

Scanning the religious and political landscape of these days, when there is so little interest in learning and talking, working together, seeking common ground or compromise, we are left with a decided mess. And, more than that, we are left with an environment clearly lacking in anything that can be characterized as holy or meaningful. We people of faith ought to aspire to something better, a place where our convictions can help lead us to understanding and growth, grace and blessing.

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It’s Time to Put Aside the Rose-Colored Glasses

Posted on February 16, 2024 by smaxreisert

In the first church I served, as a student minister and then as the assistant pastor, way back in the early 1990s, I had the chance to experience a fairly wide range of the typical world of the local church pastor. I participated in worship, preached about once a month, met with a couple of church committees, and went on regular home visits to a few parishioners. One of the people who was on my visit list was an elderly woman named Louise. Louise had lived in Cambridge all of her life and graduated from Radcliffe College, class of 1925. Although her husband had died a couple of decades before I met her, she was the sort of person who could talk about her life with her husband without ever falling into a morose, depressed, woe-is-me kind of attitude. Louise was upbeat about life in general. She enjoyed getting to know younger people and was a bit of a magnet in her old Cambridge neighborhood, with various neighbors eager to join her to watch her favorite PBS shows or to discuss the latest bestsellers over tea. I remember one of my visits involved Louise asking me to compare Al Gore’s Earth in the Balance with an environmental book written by Harvard professor E.O. Wilson. At the time, I hadn’t read either.

Louise lived not far from the Radcliffe campus, in a neighborhood that had caught the attention of the powers-that-be at Harvard, especially those who dealt with real estate. Harvard had started buying up houses in Louise’s neighborhood. This wasn’t much of a concern for Louise— until Harvard started painting those houses using “historically informed” colors. Louise was outraged. ”Those colors went out of fashion for a reason!” I remember her declaring during one visit. And, then she went on, just in case I had missed her point, “Those colors are ugly! They were then and they still are. And, now I have to look at them every day.”

My visits with Louise often involved this sort of scenario. While Louise loved to talk about the past, her early life growing up in Cambridge, how she had met her husband and then their life together, she never talked about any of it with rose-colored glasses. To listen to her stories involved the good, the bad and everything in between. 

We could use a good dose of that in lots of things, including at Old South. As we continue to shrink in number and try to deal with the reality of our very needy buildings, there is the occasional comment about how things “used to be.” Those comments usually connect to memories of a regularly full sanctuary and the sense of the signficance of the church to the community in general. Anybody who was anyone was a member of Old South, etc.

But, in the midst of the nostalgia, there are a few troubling truths. One person who is a life-long member of the church recently told me about something that happened in the 1970s. A national publication had listed Hallowell as a gay-friendly place. Some of the members of Old South, especially those who lived in Hallowell, were furious. They didn’t like their small city becoming associated with an openness to gays and lesbians. When Old South was going through its Open and Affirming process that resulted in an Open and Affirming statement that was approved by the congregation in 2008, the then-moderator of the congregation told me that in the 1980s, there were church members who wouldn’t eat at certain Hallowell restaurants because there was “something in the water.” The implication was that the water somehow caused people to become homosexual.

The past isn’t always so rosy as people remember. That’s certainly true for Old South, sometimes in heartbreaking ways. In my first few years of serving as pastor at Old South, in the latter half of the first decade of the 2000s, I officiated at the memorial service for a young man who had died in a tragic accident in San Francisco. When I met with the family, they shared with me that this young man, who had known from an early age that he was gay, had never felt welcome at his family’s church. It was deeply distressing to realize that the only time when this young man would receive a full and unconditional welcome at Old South was at his funeral.

There are plenty of other stories as well, of times when the church was not exactly a loving, accepting and welcoming place. Other churches have even more horrible tales to tell, especially around the abuse of children and women.

It’s time to take the rose-colored glasses off and ditch them permanently. If we are to look back, it ought to be with a clear, unfiltered gaze. Our future is not back there and that’s a good thing. Plus, there are important realities of the Church’s past that must be acknowledged. We may be smaller in these days, but maybe, just maybe, we might find a new awareness of what it means to be a faithful and loving church, walking in the ways of our Savior who so often sought out and lifted up the marginalized.

We won’t be perfect either, but we have an important opportunity to do a bit better.

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Haunted

Posted on January 31, 2024 by smaxreisert

Over the last few years, as Old South has focused on how to move into the future with our shrinking congregation and our stubbornly unshrinking, and demanding, physical plant, people have had a variety of responses to the plans we have considered. As we began to coalesce around the possibility of putting the sanctuary building up for sale, and have now done so, I have heard from several people— none of them currently active members of Old South— who have denigrated this particular decision by way of conjuring what seems to them the certain assessment of people who were once devoted Old South members, but are now no longer among the living. The comment usually goes something like, “If so-and-so were still alive, this would surely kill him (or her).”

I haven’t yet figured out how to respond to this sort of appraisal of the church’s situation. In one case, I’m not in agreement that the person, who cannot speak for herself (at least not without the aid of a Ouija board), would be so devastated by the decision to put the building up for sale. That particular person was always practical and realistic, able to adjust to changes and circumstances. The other now deceased former members who have been lifted up in this way probably would be raging against the possible sale of their beloved sanctuary. Still, these individuals are no longer with us (although if they were, in significant enough numbers, we wouldn’t be in the difficult position we are in).

It’s strange to me that names of former members are invoked in this way. I realize that the people who make these sorts of declarations are using the deceased as proxies for their own view, but it feels deeply disrespectful to use the deceased in this way, to make such brazen assumptions about their views and perceptions. To call out the disrespect, though, feels unproductive, at best.

How do we deal with the ghosts of the past? Should we consider in any way, how those who have gone before might perceive the process and actions that have taken place in their absence? Why should those who have left us have any sway over our decisions or how we live in the midst of those decisions? Should we consider inviting a medium to our meetings and gatherings to see if those from the great beyond have something meaningful to share?

What seems especially problematic about all of this is that those who invoke the names of the deceased are all, themselves, not currently actively engaged in the work, ministry or worship of the Old South community. While they may have been in the past, they are no longer and have not been for some time. They are akin to living ghosts, haunting us with their judgments that are rooted firmly in the past and in their connection to Old South that exists only in their memories.

While the life of a faith community is always connected to the past, as we regularly and significantly look to ancient story for guidance in living our individual and collective lives, communities of faith are called to look forward. In our balancing act of considering the old, the new and the current, we cannot be beholden to the presumed opinions of individuals who are now bereft of life, have ceased to be, whose metabolic processes are history, those who have joined the choir invisible (it’s difficult to mention death without a nod to the Monty Python Dead Parrot sketch). Communities of faith are living things. Our work, and mission, is about now and what is to be. While it’s appropriate to honor and memorialize those who are no longer with us, the deceased cannot (for obvious reasons) be actively engaged in our life together as we seek to be the Body of Christ. 

The only dead person who matters is the One who was also resurrected, the One who gives us life and points the way to hope, love, joy and the fullness of life. He’s the One whose opinion ought be at the core of all we do.

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On to Cincinnati

Posted on January 14, 2024 by smaxreisert

Although my status as a fan of the New England Patriots has waned a bit in recent years (not just because of the excessive losses; the danger associated with playing football is increasingly unsettling), I’ve been a very enthusiastic fan in the past. I’ve been an especially avid fan of the now former head coach, Bill Belichick. I’ve written at least a couple blog posts that involve the dour countenance of the Greatest Of All Time (GOAT) coach in the NFL.

Among the qualities associated with the GOAT that I’ve admired: do your job, trusting that the team works best when each player is fully focused on their own job; do your job well, going above and beyond the basic requirements of one’s position; an understanding that sentimentality is often detrimental to the health of an organization; and, while there are lessons to be learned from the past, an organization that wishes to endure must always look to the future. These are good qualities to consider in a church environment as well.

One of Bill Belichick’s most famous (infamous?) post-game press conferences occurred in 2014. The Patriots had just been blown out of the water in a stunning, humiliating defeat, losing to the Kansas City Chiefs 41-14. Patriots fans, and non-fans, thought the season was over. During the press conference that followed that horrible game (for Patriots fans), Bill Belichick repeated multiple times, “We’re on to Cincinnati.” Coach Belichick didn’t want to spend time outlining the team’s faults, issues and problems. There were many and they were obvious to anyone paying attention. The Coach was ready to put the loss aside and move onto the next game, which happened to be against the Cincinnati Bengals. That season, the Patriots did more than simply move on to the next game. They won the Super Bowl.

There’s something to be said about learning when it’s time to move on, when it’s time to let go of something that has happened in the past—whether good, bad or neutral— and move on to the next thing. Congregations would do well to employ something along these lines. There’s a lot of “remember when” talk in congregations, especially among those that have been around for a long while and are now feeling distress in declining numbers. It’s not always a bad thing to talk about the past, except when visions of the past interfere with the present and the future. I think that’s what Belichick was trying to convey in his memorable comeback to the press in 2014.

Congregations, of course, are not professional sports teams. Still, there are lessons from team sports that make for good moments for reflection. While concepts of “winning” and “losing” are not easily transferred to a church setting, other aspects of teamwork ought to be considered, as a community works together to remain a vital congregation, actively connected to the Spirit. Vibrant congregations (regardless of size) are ones that, while appreciating the past, are not beholden to that past. In this regard, I cannot help but think of a congregational gathering at Old South in which one person was so outraged at the possibility that the congregation would put at least one of the buildings up for sale that she asked, “What do you think ______ would think about this? ______ would be outraged!” The person she was referring to is dead, and has been for several years.

We cannot keep looking to the past. The past may hold many wonderful and powerful memories, and moments of significant meaning, but the past doesn’t hold the future, or even the present. Especially for congregations that are shrinking, dwelling in the past is downright dangerous. We forget that the past had its own problems. Plus, remembering only that the past involved more people can cause us to fall into a sort of communal self-pity that leads to despair. Despair is not a constructive attitude for the life of faith. We may not exactly be “on to Cincinnatti,” but we are being led, through faith and trust, by our God who loves us more than we can imagine and challenges us always to live in holy relationship, open to the sometimes unexpected twists and turns that seem always to be a crucial element of the story of God and God’s people.

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Mary, Her Womb, and Her Choice

Posted on December 23, 2023 by smaxreisert

Then Mary said, “I am the Lord’s servant. Let it be with me just as you have said.” Then the angel left her.

Luke 1:38 (CEB)

For all of my adult life, reproductive rights have been a key component of my awareness of the world in which I live and the point around which, for the most part, my political decisions are made. I believe strongly that a woman has a fundamental right to determine how she will deal with her reproductive capacity. I also believe strongly that women must be trusted in making moral decisions regarding their own bodies.

Just like Mary.

At this Christmas, as we reflect on a difficult and brutally violent year, the scale of the erosion not only on reproductive rights, but of female autonomy and agency, is dramatic and alarming. Although voters in various states have made it abundantly clear that they favor reproductive rights for women, many lawmakers and policy makers take a different view. That different view has taken on a brazenly misogynistic tone.

I wonder what Mary would think. In her song of praise from the Gospel According to Luke, Mary lifts up her understanding, appreciation, and awareness of God as a God who looks after the lowly and considers the powerful and arrogant with scorn. Luke’s Gospel offers a view of Mary, who may be lowly in status, but is thoughtful and intelligent, and cognizant of her choice to carry the Son of God.

Too bad— and it’s very seriously too bad— that many Republicans aren’t paying attention. Like Texas Attorney General, Ken Paxton, who believes that a woman must continue to carry a fetus, even though that fetus has a fatal condition. And, then there’s Speaker of the House Mike Johnson who, at a House Judiciary Committee hearing in 2022, suggested that the right to abortion was harming the national economy by depriving the country of “able-bodied workers.” Mr. Johnson has also suggested that his worldview is dictated by the Bible. Yet, he doesn’t seem all that aware of Mary, her song of praise, or the implication that Mary was more than a womb.

Women ought not be defined by their reproductive capacity. If we look to Mary, as depicted by Luke, we have a woman not bound solely to her ability to carry that holy pregnancy to term, then deliver and raise the Son of the Most High. Mary engages in mutual support and encouragement in the time she shared with Elizabeth, pregnant with the one who would become known as John the Baptist. In her song of praise, Mary articulates a heady theological understanding of the God she worships and a good clue regarding why she chose to say yes to this most profound of pregnancy and birth experiences. Mary is pragmatic and flexible, giving birth in less than ideal surroundings. She’s a bold and brave adventurer, traveling to Bethlehem so close to her delivery date. And, she’s thoughtful and contemplative, as she ponders the visit of the shepherds after the birth.

Time and time again, the Church, capably accompanied by those who serve as clergy and those who faithfully worship, backs Mary into a very small corner. While many Roman Catholics find her to be helpful in prayer, one to whom they are eager to pray especially when life gets challenging, she rarely is able to break free from the role of mediator between humble human beings and their Savior. Many Christians, especially Protestants, think little of Mary. Christians generally don’t spend a lot of time reflecting on Mary as a person, as a parent, as a woman. 

Mary offers rich territory where faithful Christians ought to spend more time pondering. It’s well beyond time to take Mary out of her corner, out of that stable, and allow her to share a lesson or two about what it means to be faithful, what it means to have choice, what it means to live in family and community, and what it means to trust and to be trusted.

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In the “Words Matter” Department

Posted on December 15, 2023 by smaxreisert

In November, the members of Old South Church in Hallowell, Maine gathered in a congregational meeting and voted to put the church’s sanctuary building up for sale. The church community had spent a great deal of time considering our various issues and problems and trying to devise some sort of solution to the growing problem of maintaining and sustaining two separate— aging and needy— buildings. At some point, it became clear that the best way forward was to put the sanctuary building up for sale, since it is the building in more need of repair while it also possesses problems that cannot be easily solved— the building is nestled into a hillside, making it difficult to access, even for the very mobile; it has only a couple of parking spots immediately adjacent to the building, with no space to add new spots; and, the sloped sanctuary floor (stadium seating!) is problematic for anyone in a wheelchair as well as those who are even a little unsteady on their feet.

The not so unexpected, but still frustrating, problem that has arisen from the vote in November is this: there are too many people who refer to our “selling of the church.” We have people who will say things like, “It’s a shame that it’s come to this, that we need to sell the church.” Or, “I’m disappointed, but I understand why it’s necessary that we sell the church.”

WE ARE NOT SELLING THE CHURCH!

Whenever I correct someone, reminding them that we are not, in fact, selling “the church,” that we are selling the sanctuary building and that there’s a big difference, they usually respond with a sound of annoyance and a “you know what I mean.” Yes, I know what they mean, but I also know that words matter. In this instance, it’s crucial that we get the language right. Not only are we not “selling the church,” but we are actually making decisions that will allow the church, if we are able to sell the sanctuary building, to exist longer into the future.

By keeping both buildings, we would need to drain our resources in a serious and precipitous way. The basic maintenance for both buildings is significant, but certainly more for the sanctuary building. Add needed renovation costs and Old South’s future is looking a lot more precarious. We would not only be “selling the church,” but closing it. If we can sell the sanctuary building, we can extend our existence for a much longer period of time.

Words matter here. They matter to how we think of ourselves, as individuals and as a group. They matter to how we perceive our call, how we endeavor to live out our faith. They matter to how we share the Good News of Jesus Christ.

Jesus did not call on his followers to build big, grand buildings in order to worship him, to feel more closely drawn to God. Buildings in which the faithful gather can be extraordinarily beautiful and awe-inspiring. Buildings can help people connect to the divine. Still, the building is not the church. 

The church is made up of the people who gather within its walls. There’s no question that it’s nice to have a convenient place where we can gather and it’s even nicer when that space can be described as beautiful. But the building is significantly and importantly not the church. 

We’ll see how this plays out in our process. I hope that as we follow this path, more people will grasp the significance of the people being the church, while also gaining an appreciation that the words we use matter as we talk about ourselves as a church, as the Body of Christ. Our words reflect our knowledge of and connection to who we are and to whom we belong. In this holiday season, it is even more important to embrace that it’s the characters who count and not the structures in which they congregate. The manger didn’t do anything to share the Good News of birth. It was the people who gathered there.

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The Allure and Emptiness of Strength, in the Face of Advent

Posted on November 30, 2023 by smaxreisert

With Thanksgiving in the rearview mirror, we turn our attention to Advent and Christmas. In the midst this busy time and all of the difficulties this country (and the world) is facing, I (along with a whole lot of other people) continue to find myself puzzling over the strange allegiance of so many evangelical Christians to a certain former president. The media I read on a regular basis consistently admits to a general state of bafflement at the tenacious attachment of so-called Christians to the former president, now charged with various crimes, and sounding more and more brazenly thuggish and mean-spirited. Recent news headlines include: “Facing Off in Washington, DeSantis Tries to Shake Trump’s Hold on Christian Right” (New York Times, 9/15/23); “Donald Trump and Christian Nationalism” (Opinion, New York Times, 10/24/23); “Vulgarities, Insults, Baseless Attacks. Trump backers follow his lead” (Washington Post, 11/19/23); “The GOP’s top ‘person of faith’: More Republicans think Trump is religious than Pence, Romney” (Salon.com, 9/27/23).

Advent and Christmas offer an especially stark contrast between basic Christian teachings and the near constant barrage of utterances (verbal or otherwise) from the former president. So, I wonder: what’s going on here? My mother might offer a clue.

About a year ago, I was visiting with my mother at the nursing home where she now lives, as she continues her aggressive descent into dementia. We were in the nursing home’s atrium area and there was a television on, broadcasting the news. I don’t know what news story they were covering, but a video or a picture of the current president popped up. My mother pointed and said, “I don’t like him. I like the other guy.” I knew what she was talking about. My mother, a life-long Christian although not an evangelical, had been a big fan of Donald Trump and I am sure, if she were in a healthier state, she would be cheering him on still and forwarding obnoxious emails to relatives and friends about how great Trump is.

I asked her why, why she preferred that other guy to the current guy. She thought for a moment, furrowing her brow. Finally, she said, “strength.” After thinking a bit more she said, “The other guy was stronger. This guy [Joe Biden, who’s face had disappeared from the television at that point] is weak. Strong is better.”

Despite her dementia, my mother offers a bit of insight into what may be a steep, uphill battle to separate at least some self-identified Christians from their allegiance to Trump. There’s really no way another candidate is going to come across as stronger than Trump. Pretty much every other candidate is, more or less, in their right mind and is not an egotistical crazed power-hungry fanatic who will say anything to regain the presidency, including egregiously dangerous statements about power and strength.

Strength is certainly a significant issue. But, how do faithful Christians grapple with the complex intersection of strength, in terms of the teachings of Jesus, and strength, as an element of public and national safety and security?

We are about to begin Advent, the season of spiritual preparation leading to Christmas. Pretty much every Christian in this country will have some sort of representation of the story of the birth of Jesus in their home and in their church and maybe even outside their church. The “manger” scene will, typically, involve a strange, but familiar, mash-up of the birth stories offered in the Gospels of Luke and Matthew (Mark and John don’t include birth narratives and those in Luke and Matthew don’t actually line up all that well— but that’s another issue). In the middle of those scenes, there will be a very small human, clearly an infant: Jesus. God incarnate. Presumably, God could have taken on human flesh in a whole bunch of different ways. But God chose the path of pregnancy, birth, infancy, and childhood. God chose to take on human flesh in the small and vulnerable.

There is no strength here. Instead, there is dependence. One might even say “weakness.”

So how in the world can it be that so many Christians, mostly of an evangelical inclination, are so smitten with a very different kind of strength? How can it be that so many evangelical Christians seem to relish in the guns blazing approach of Trump, contorting that sort of strength to line up with the very different image of strength that Christmas so blatantly and obviously provides?

If we consider other crucial components of Jesus‘s life, and certainly the end of Jesus‘s earthly life, it is crystal clear that Jesus did not subscribe to the notion that armies, tanks, guns and high-powered weaponry are the way to show strength. In fact, Jesus did just the opposite by submitting to the violence of the age, trying to demonstrate through his life, and death, that the worldly desire for strength leads only to destruction, chaos and fear.

This final Christmas before the next presidential election, the situation we are in feels very precarious and shakier still when there’s such a wide gap between perceptions and reality, or basic theology. For my mother, I suspect her desire for strength has a lot to do with wanting to feel secure, that a certain kind of rhetoric, and demonstration of forcefulness, could offer the equivalent of a security blanket, something that feels like it will protect when life gets scary.

The problem is that Jesus never had anything to do with that kind of strength, except to teach— time and time again— that it was not part of his ministry, or what he expected from his followers. Yet, many seem completely convinced that Jesus and a Trump-style strength are easily connected. This year, they ought to take a closer look at that beloved manger scene and consider anew what that tiny infant is trying to say.

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