The Ways of Men, and Women, Politics, Power and Morality

Posted on November 25, 2017 by smaxreisert

The explosion of stories regarding sexual harassment and misconduct is unsettling, while it is also a sort of relief. Finally, this issue is getting some important attention.

We find ourselves in not really new territory. But, we are certainly in a strange place. Whose misbehavior is deemed vile and worthy of reproach? Whose misbehavior is loathed, yet without any real evidence to support claims of misconduct? Is it okay to ignore misbehavior if the accused simply sticks to denial? And, what about words and actions caught on tape, yet successfully classified as “boys will be boys”?

I very much hope that the current disturbing landscape will lead to meaningful conversation—making it clear to men and boys what is okay, and what isn’t, and for women and girls to know how to deal with harassment and misconduct, instead of suffering in silence, in confusion, or thinking that this is just how things are.

Part of what makes the current situation especially problematic is that we have a long-standing tradition of looking the other way, especially when men of power misbehave, and more than that, when we’ve too often been selective in our outrage. We’ve been distracted by inconsistent notions of what is “personal” and what is “public.” In the recent accusations toward more conservative men, for instance, there’s been an outcry that goes back to Bill Clinton’s misbehavior and misconduct. That’s a fair criticism.

I remember well when we were in the midst of that time. I remember well the strange conversations in which I found myself, where smart, thoughtful and reasonable people bought all that twisted business that Clinton’s dalliances were “private” and none of our business. I couldn’t disagree more—then or now. A white house intern. The oval office. It wasn’t private. Nor were the accusations of groping, sexual advances and even rape (that had even more evidence than some of the current crop of accusations). I was baffled that Bill Clinton somehow managed a “rescue” when no one else would be granted such treatment. How could good Democratic women—feminists—be so blind to the accusations of Clinton’s predatory behavior?

And, now we are in a sad and frustrating time with men in all sorts of positions of power, and all sorts of political persuasions, being accused of misconduct. Does this have anything to do with Bill Clinton not ever being forced to take responsibility for his misdeeds? Clinton was certainly not the first man with considerable power to take advantage of his place to satisfy his carnal lusts. But, Clinton signaled a shift in our culture and how our lives are lived.   There were new ways of communicating and new expectations for feeding a public hungry for scandal.

Yet, there was, and still remains, the sense of a call for a reckoning. It may be too late for Bill Clinton to be held responsible for his disgusting, and likely illegal, behavior. But, women, and especially feminists, must take stock and must be willing to take an honest look not only at the current landscape, but the paths that have led us to this place, and the errors that have been made in supporting certain men, while vilifying others—usually based on political affiliation.

Morality may seem an old fashioned concept, but it’s one that could be useful at this time. If we could get past the notion that morality is simply a set of rules that are meant to interfere with our ability to have fun, we may discover that morals and morality possess, at their foundation, important concepts of the dignity of individuals and how we human beings should treat each other. You know, Golden Rule stuff. Love God and treat others as you would have them treat you.

Religious traditions and institutions are not without their own issues when it comes to the problematic treatment of women. This would be a good time for widespread and wide-ranging reflections on women and the treatment of women—by women and men, and women and men together.

The complex and difficult mess in which we now find ourselves demonstrates that a conversation regarding morality is not just for those who are prone to treat women as objects for their sexual fancies or for their need to express their power and influence. A conversation regarding morality is for all of us, including those who have an influence of their own and sometimes deem politics to be more important than the victims of misconduct.

We can do better, and we must. This opportunity must not be allowed to pass, with the notion that our work is done when at least some of the careers of perpetrators are in tatters. The problem is bigger than that.   And, we must be bigger too, bravely examining the lessons of the past and the present, and seeking to pave a new path forward.

 

 

 

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Guns, Violence and Church

Posted on November 11, 2017 by smaxreisert

Last Sunday, on a gloomy and gray afternoon, we gathered from a wide swath of Maine, representing various United Church of Christ congregations along the Kennbec Valley and the northwestern part of the state, up to the Canadian border. We came from places like Hallowell and Wilton, Waterville and Farmington, Winthrop and Jackman, New Sharon and Benton Falls. We spent the afternoon at the Farmington church getting to know each other, as we are still a relatively new merger of two Maine Conference Associations. I didn’t count how many people were in attendance, but my guess is around thirty.

Most of us could be dead right now.

Just as our meeting was breaking up, just after we had smiled and giggled our way through “Getting to Know You” (not exactly what we usually sing at church gatherings, but it felt appropriate to what we had been up to all afternoon), someone announced that there had been another mass shooting. This time in a church.

A wave of silence took over the room, along with an almost palpable sense of shock and dismay. Another horrible incident. Another horrible day. And, the unspoken veil of futility hung over us: nothing will change.

The slaughter of country music fans in Las Vegas, or a bunch of young children in an elementary school on an ordinary December day in Connecticut, and now a group of caring and faithful people at worship at a quiet church in Texas—somehow none of them count enough to motivate a serious, wide-ranging discussion about guns and violence in our communities.

This week, we have heard the rhetoric of the extreme, and vocal, end of the NRA, calling for more guns and for armed security in places like churches. We are hearing the dangerous adage that the only way to stop a bad person with a gun is a good person with a gun—as if bad people go around with large “I’m a bad person” hats on their heads, just so we are clear about everything.

Tuesday’s New York Times included, related to its coverage of the church shooting on Sunday, an article, “What Explains U.S. Mass Shootings? International Comparisons Suggest an Answer.” And, in that article, the statement: “The only variable that can explain the high rate of mass shootings in America is its astronomical number of guns.”

The question, then, is why. Why so many guns?

Is this really about the NRA stuffing down our throats a narrative about freedom and protection of self through gun ownership? Or, is there more to it?

From my little perch in this corner of the country, I find myself wondering about our violent tendencies, as well as the fraying of ties that hold us together as community. I find it curious that, in a country in which so many claim some sort of tie to Judeo-Christian traditions, there seems to be a remarkably tenuous relationship with basic tenets of those traditions, like “do not kill,” and “love your neighbor as yourself.” While there are many who cling to “do not kill” when it comes to abortion, that commandment doesn’t get much attention when living individuals are attacked so wantonly and viciously.

Why can we not truly talk about what is happening? Why can we not dig deep and to let go, for a moment, of our long-held opinions and positions, in recognition of the agonizing loss of life, to engage in meaningful conversation about what is happening in our country? As the bodies mount—not only through mass shootings, but also in the acts of violence that get little or no attention—how can we simply slide into our usual responses and only for a short time until the incident recedes in our consciousness?

Isn’t it time that we find the courage to honor those whose lives have been cut short, and to talk about violence and guns? Not to shout at each other, or to assume we know where other people stand on these issues. And, put aside “talking points” and the narratives of lobbyists. And talk. Talk about violence. Talk about the willful neglect of God’s commandments. Talk about the Golden Rule and what it means, and how it should influence how we treat each other—how we should take more seriously mental health, and loneliness, and domestic violence, etc.

Those who have been so brutally killed, and their loved ones who mourn, deserve more than our “thoughts and prayers.”

We must do better.

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The Reformation at 500: Are We Reformers or Protesters?

Posted on October 28, 2017 by smaxreisert

For its 500th anniversary, the Reformation has been receiving a lot of attention—in the media (even The New Yorker, see “The Hammer” in the current, October 30, 2017 edition); in denominations; and, in local churches. Of course, the moment 500 years ago when Martin Luther nailed or, more likely sent, his 95 theses, was not the only major shift in the life of the Christian Church. The Church has always been about the process of altering and changing.

At Old South, we’ve been focusing on the Reformation in a variety of ways. We’ve been learning about some of the important theological concepts associated with the Reformation (indulgences, predestination and everyone’s favorite, especially John Calvin’s, total depravity). And, we’ve been learning about the people—those who helped pave the road for the Reformation (like Jan Hus and John Wycliffe) and those who helped propel the ideas of the Reformation (Martin Luther obviously, along with John Calvin and Ulrich Zwingli too, among others).

In November, we’ll begin to talk about how we, in the twenty-first century, are still involved in reforming the Church. In fact, many years from now, this very time of change may be viewed as a time similar to the Reformation in the sixteenth century.

A church not far from my house has a large sign on its front lawn: “Put the Protest back in Protestantism.” Along with that, an invitation to a worship service involving other area Protestant churches.

I see that sign at least once a day, but usually several times a day. And, I find myself wondering about it, and wrestling with its words and invitation.

Are we about the work of “reforming” or “protesting”? Should we be involved with one more than the other?  And, what should “reform” and/or “protest” look like in churches like the one I serve? Is the best part of Protestantism really the “protesting” part?

Here’s the thing that troubles me. Reform seems to me to be the sort of work that includes rather than divides, where the work of altering and improving involves a variety of people. Protest seems to be the work of telling other people that they are doing something wrong. The one who is protesting asserts knowledge of what is right, against something else that is wrong. The “other” must change, but necessarily the one who is protesting.

Please don’t misunderstand me. There are times for protest. And, there are times when people of faith should protest.

But, is the current moment, as we celebrate the Reformation at 500, will we decide that it’s the “protest” part of “Protestantism” that matters most?

I hope not.

In our weekly Bible study at Old South, a group that includes people from a variety of area churches, we have been discussing and arguing our way through “A Study Guide for the 500th Anniversary of the Reformation,” written by the Stillspeaking Writers’ Group of the United Church of Christ. This past week, when we focused on the third session, we were confronted by “Hot Button” issues, like “Total Depravity.”

In his presentation of the topic, leading up to discussion questions, Anthony B. Robinson offered the following:

“Total Depravity,” a Reformation teaching particularly associated with John Calvin, does not mean every single one of us is really a Hannibal Lecter. . . . It means that the power of sin and self-centerness are real, and have a way of insinuating themselves into everything.

Sin’s power and self-deception insinuate themselves—and here’s where this doctrine gets really useful—even into our attempts to do good. And you can take this a step further, when we are inclined to feel very confident that we are “the good and the just,” this doctrine would urge special caution. We are never so dangerous, observed theologian Reinhold Neibuhr, as when we are absolutely convinced of our own virtue.

I couldn’t agree more.

There’s a place—an important one, no doubt (as we are experiencing in no uncertain terms in this time)—for protest.

But, perhaps, we ought to keep a focused eye on reform even more—when we are not so much pointing the finger of accusation, but inviting a more constructive, thoughtful, and inclusive path forward. Protest will do some good, but making the sorts of changes necessary for a more just world will take a lot more.  As Anthony B. Robinson asserts, “Only by honestly knowing the depth of our need, can we also know the height and breadth of God’s capacity to find, to heal, to save.”  Amen.

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Me Too, and the Church

Posted on October 19, 2017 by smaxreisert

In the wake of the allegations against Harvey Weinstein—yet another powerful man accused of sexual harassment and/or assault—women have lit up social media with their “me too” stories. When I first heard about Me Too, I couldn’t help but wonder that maybe it should have, instead, been a campaign to get women who haven’t been sexually harassed or assaulted to speak up. I’m guessing that that sort of campaign would involve mostly silence—deep, wide, profound, silence. What woman hasn’t been the victim of sexual misconduct?

Sure, most of the stories in the media center around the sexual harassment and sexual assault of men in positions of power, but in the “me too” torrent, we are clearly, but really not surprisingly, discovering that sexual harassment and assault is not limited to the powerful. It’s a component of the life experiences of many, if not most, women. If the current movement is to be the “watershed” moment that some think it might be, we need to acknowledge that this is not just about very powerful men. It’s also about regular, ordinary men, some of whom probably have no clue that what they are doing is offensive.

And, we need to consider the elements that lie at the root of this problem—one of those elements being the Christian Church.

I could write my own stories, but it would take awhile. In my personal life, I’ve experienced both harassment and assault. I’ve been more fortunate in my professional life, where I’ve experienced no assault and not a lot of harassment. I remember one incident that took place when I was a student minister at a church in Cambridge, Mass. As a student minister, I wasn’t comfortable wearing a robe. I had wanted to wait until I was ordained. But one Sunday, after many months of serving that church, an older man who rarely missed worship, came up to me after a Sunday worship service. He unabashedly looked me over from head to foot, and then in a tone dripping with lewd suggestion said, “I like your dress.” I started wearing a robe the very next Sunday.

Professionally, I’ve been lucky. I’m sure there are plenty of women with very different experiences, women who have been sexually harassed and/or assaulted by those in positions of authority in the Church, or not—with no one who will take these stories, and their consequences, seriously. Let’s hope that Me Too begins the incredibly important work of making sexual misconduct much less common.

While it’s good to have these stories more out in the open, I wonder about what this movement of outrage and storytelling will bring. It’s not as if we haven’t heard such stories in public in the past. The collective response as been less than inspiring— “boys will boys”; questions about what the victim was wearing; accusations of women changing their minds after the fact; etc. All very disheartening.

Part of the root of these attitudes belongs to the Church, and the Church must face this reality. It’s not enough to show compassion toward these women, or even disgust at the perpetrators. The Church must be willing to take a good look in the mirror and recognize its part in the problem.

Attitudes toward women have been problematic in the Christian Church for a very, very long time, despite the fact that such attitudes have a shaky foundation in the scriptures we declare to be holy. For example, although women are often blamed for the “fall,” when, in the second creation story in the Bible, the woman is said to have eaten fruit she was forbidden to eat, little attention is paid to the fact that the man, too, ate willingly and then was quick to point at her when they were caught—chivalry not yet a concept, I guess, nor sharing the blame for a shared act of rebellion. And, why don’t we chastise the man for tattling?

In the New Testament, there are plenty of stories that teach clear lessons regarding the significance and equality of women. Jesus taught women. Jesus upheld women. Jesus included women in his ministry. And, Paul too, despite a rogue verse or two about women being silent (which may not have been written by Paul at all, but altered at a later date) worked with women in his missionary work (the material contained in the “pastoral epistles” where women are told to be submissive is also widely believed to be later work, not written by Paul).

Not only is there no reason at all for the Church to engage in demeaning women, there is plenty of reason for the Church to be the champion of women.

The Church, and its various denominations, ought to take very seriously the stories of Me Too, and to seek not only to alter the perspectives and behaviors of powerful men, but also to dig deep and to alter the dangerous and problematic perspectives of ordinary men as well. Me Too, if it is to be the watershed moment that we as a society so desperately need, cannot just be about telling stories or sharing outrage. We must be willing to engage in a transformative moment that will lead to the telling of very different stories, stories that do much more to demonstrate and uphold the equality and dignity of woman, grounded in our holy texts.   This equality and dignity should be assertively, enthusiastically, and frequently taught. And, it should be expressed through living example in our communities of faith.

 

 

 

 

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I Can’t Throw and Catch at the Same Time

Posted on September 30, 2017 by smaxreisert

When the New England Patriots lost Super Bowl 46 to the New York Giants in 2012, Gisele Bundchen, supermodel and wife of the Patriots quarterback Tom Brady, angrily assessed the reason for the loss: “My husband cannot [expletive] throw the ball and catch it at the same time.” Brady had thrown plenty, but several of his teammates dropped those passes, especially in the last quarter. And, the Patriots lost.

I’ve found myself thinking about that quote quite a bit lately, in my role as pastor and teacher of a small church in the middle of Maine. Old South is blessed with very dedicated people who work hard for the church, and for its various ministries. But, the church is a small one and it can’t do everything.

How do we let go of those aspects of church life that we simply cannot do anymore?

At the top of Old South’s list of problem areas: Sunday School. Christian Education has been riddled with challenges for almost the entire time I’ve been with the church. We don’t have adequate volunteers. And we don’t have many children.

Letting go of the Sunday School, though, has proven to be a most difficult proposition. What kind of church doesn’t have a Sunday School?

But, the reality is that we don’t—at the moment— have anyone who has a sense of call about Sunday School. We have a few who are willing to help out, mostly because they have young grandchildren who attend Old South regularly. But, no one teaches Sunday School for the love of Sunday School. No one talks about Sunday School like a few people talk about the choir, or a couple of other people talk about the preservation of our physical plant, etc. In our small church, there’s no one with a call to teach, or to organize, Sunday School.

And, I can’t do it, since Sunday School takes place during worship. I can’t throw and catch at the same time.

Yet, many conversations about our dilemma end up with people turning to me, as if I possess the key to unlock this mystery, as if I can turn someone into that “called” person we are looking for. Still others lay before my feet their ideas and proposals for how to tackle our very unfortunate problem. All of those ideas involve additional work—sometimes considerable work—for me. My plate is already more than full.

I can’t throw and catch at the same time.

Instead of courageously admitting that we simply can’t do it anymore, we limp along. It probably doesn’t take much for visitors and newer families to get the message that Christian Education is just not one of Old South’s strengths.

Is it important, then, that we continue to have “something,” little as it is? Or, would it be better for us to admit that it’s time to let it go?

I wish for the latter, but I find myself, time and time again, stuck with the former.

For the last few years, especially at this time of year, when the school year has begun, we get a few families who come to visit. And, we enter once again, into the insanity of trying to organize Christian Education. But, with no one with a sense of call, it’s plain that there’s not much in the way of Sunday School. And, even though we usually manage to throw something together, none of those families ends up staying with us. They move on.

But we do not.   Perhaps it’s because we can’t let go of the hope that maybe one of these days the effort will pay off. Or, perhaps it’s just another sign that we are in denial.

The whole situation signals, for me, an unsettling inability to come to grips with the reality that we are a small church, not a big church in disguise. Small churches can’t do everything. But, they can do a few things—and do them well. When small churches try to do everything, they unwittingly create not only unrealistic expectations, but also a sort of dangerous vacuum into which a lot of time and effort go, and vanish—including my time and effort.

I can’t throw and catch at the same time.

I’m certainly aware of how painful and disillusioning it is to consider having no Sunday School at all. What sort of church doesn’t have a Sunday School? For many, the answer is a dying church. For me, the answer is a more honest church, a church that, though it may not be quite ready to embrace, at least understands its limitations. We ought to spend more time focused on what we do well, on those things to which we feel called, and find the courage to admit that we can’t do everything. We can’t throw and catch at the same time.

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Come Sunday Morning

Posted on September 18, 2017 by smaxreisert

It’s an oft heard lament of good church folk that there are too many things going on on Sunday mornings, things that get in the way of people going to church. Over the years, I’ve heard more than my share of complaints, the steady beat of the same old grumbles and moans, especially focused on sports practices for children and youth.

My family and I have experienced the great luxury of not so much in the way of this particular set of conflicts. While we occasionally encounter an event of some significance to us that occurs on a Sunday morning, it’s been a rare thing. And, since it’s been rare, we have often allowed our children to participate.

For this new school year, the situation has already been different. Our son, who is now a senior in high school, has had two Sunday morning events two weeks in a row—one a fundraiser for the high school music boosters; and the other a fundraiser for the golf team. Lest I consider myself all of a sudden too sensitive to the scheduling of events on Sunday morning, I found myself chatting with a Jewish friend specifically about the music event— a community event for which the students in the music program were heavily encouraged to volunteer. She was rather agitated about the whole thing herself, as the local Hebrew school meets on Sunday mornings.

The conversation with my Jewish friend included more than a simple lament about the scheduling of a sizeable event on a Sunday morning. It wasn’t just that Sunday mornings have been, traditionally, for religious observance, but that Sunday mornings have mostly been left alone in our community—not so much for religious reasons, but in acknowledgement that there should be one morning a week when family life is not rushed, unless the family chooses it to be so. Family time should be honored.

The gloves, though, were now off. What would be next?

I then asked my friend about what she and her family did, in order to make decisions about balancing religious observance and the demands of the world, and of sports, and of school, etc. As members of a small religious minority in this part of the world, the family makes such decisions on a regular basis. Hebrew school may be held on Sunday mornings, but regular religious services are not. Those are held on Saturday mornings, when there are a lot of other things going on that involve their children.

For the most part, she told me, the kids go to sports practices on Saturday mornings, but go to religious services “out of season.” High holidays are different, though. Those are observed, including when school days need to be missed.

I started to wonder. How long will it be, in this very secular part of the world, when the “high holy days” of the Christian faith will no longer be considered off limits? Is it enough that Christmas has become also a secular observance, or will the day come when choices will need to be made about observing Christmas?

There’s a part of me that is irked, certainly, about the changes quietly taking in place in our community. But there’s also a part of me that thinks this is all a good thing. A church like the one that I serve, as it still remembers the “glory days” of the 1950s when it was at or near the center of community life, has not only lost many members over the last half century, it has also lost a sense of its own mission, purpose and identity. The church so enjoyed being central to community life, that it didn’t need to think very carefully about why it existed and what it was truly for.

I must admit that there have been times, when I have attended a bar or bat mitzvah, when I have felt a wee bit envious. In the smallness of the local Jewish community, there is also a strong sense of who they are and what they are about. I know a couple of young people whose families have had only a tentative attachment to the local Jewish community, who have set out with clear purpose to claim their Jewish identity.

I wouldn’t mind something of the same. And, I don’t just mean for the young people. For the older people too. It’s simply not enough to think that church is a good thing. Why it is, why it exists, what it means for us, and how it lays a claim on how we lead our lives, all pose critical questions for us.

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What’s In a Name?

Posted on September 9, 2017 by smaxreisert

A few weeks ago, when my husband and I traveled down to Boston to pick up our daughter at Logan airport, I noticed a very large sign on a Roman Catholic Church along the way, in Revere.

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I’ve been noticing other similar signs, all about the business of inviting, welcoming, even cajoling, people to visit, to attend, to “come back” to church. I can’t help but wonder about the effectiveness of the signage. Are there people who drive by and experience a sudden pang of guilt, realizing that they can’t remember the last time they went to church, then thinking that maybe it’s time they should?

At Old South, we’ve been talking—a bit—about our sign in the front of our church. Under our very long name, Old South Congregational Church United Church of Christ, the sign includes a message of welcome, along with a rainbow symbol, to indicate our open and affirming status. The last time we updated the sign, a few years ago, there was some discussion about that rainbow symbol. Wasn’t it enough simply to use the words “open and affirming”? I had argued at the time that it wasn’t nearly enough to use just the words, since lots of people have no idea what “open and affirming” means. The symbol, however, would convey a much clearer message. In the end, they agreed to include the symbol.

There’s another part of our sign, though, that’s getting an increasing amount of my attention: congregational. No one knows what that word means anymore. And I’m not just talking about people outside the church. There are clearly people on the inside who really have no idea what the word means either. And it’s a long word that doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.

It’s a problem. When we offer our welcome, what exactly are we welcoming people to?

The church in Revere with its stark, ginormous sign probably experiences not nearly as much confusion about what it is as we do in our little congregational church in Maine. Roman Catholics have a well-known brand. We Congregationalists, not so much. Although there are quite a few Congregational churches in Maine (and in the Northeast in general), we don’t necessarily have much of anything in common with each other. We are not even all part of the same denomination. It’s confusing, even for those of us who are active, faithful members of our own local church.

These days, when “outside” people encounter our full name, they almost always think it says “congressional” rather than “congregational.” This is not only troubling to me (what sort of people would have a “congressional” church??), but it offers an important clue suggesting a serious problem with the name so proudly and clearly displayed on the sign erected on our front lawn.

What to do about this situation is not at all clear. Names, after all, are important, and the confusion that is experienced may not be dispelled simply through a name change. It’s certainly part of our job to make clear who we are and what we do. That Trader Joe’s, for example, sells groceries is not at all clear by its name. Yet, most people know exactly what Trader Joe’s does because Trader Joe’s has been very good at marketing itself.

To change our name, or to begin a more aggressive marketing campaign—or both—is not simply about encouraging those “out there” to come join us. It would also be a good way of figuring out for ourselves who we are and what we are about. And, that would be a very good thing.

 

 

 

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A Different Sort of Eclipse

Posted on August 25, 2017 by smaxreisert

I took a short break from my vacation last Sunday to lead worship at Old South. When I told the church secretary a few weeks ago that she could call off the supply search (for the first time in a dozen years, we could not find anyone to cover worship for me that day), I thought it not such a big deal to lead worship. I wasn’t planning on being away last weekend anyway. And, I could “recycle” an old sermon from the vast treasure trove. Easy.

Then, lots of things happened, including Charlottesville. Recycled sermon: out. I read the Pastoral Letter sent out by the Council of Conference Ministers and Officers of the United Church of Christ, strongly condemning “the acts of violent hatred expressed by these white supremacists, Neo-Nazis, and Ku Klux Klan members.” The letter also contained an exhortation: “Our local UCC churches must be true solidarity partners with those who march in the streets.  Our UCC churches are encouraged to move from the sanctuary and walk alongside other clergy and community leaders who seek to resist, agitate, inform, and comfort. We must resist hatred and violence.”

While I wasn’t planning to start marching during worship, I thought a sermon would be a good place to remind us of the significance of resisting hatred and violence. Easy.

Easy to condemn racism, white nationalism, white supremacists, the KKK and Neo-Nazis. Easy to condemn the response from the President, regarding the “many sides.” And, easier still, to condemn Maine’s Governor, who supported the President’s statement, asserting that both sides were “equally violent,” somehow missing the point that the side that started it holds some deeply disturbing ideas about what the United States should strive to be.

Easy.

But, as Sunday approached, and I continued to explore the subject and read up the issues at hand, I started not so much to get cold feet, but to be filled with a sort of sad sense of irrelevancy.

While I would love to think that what I have to say, what we have to say, as Old South Congregational Church United Church of Christ of Hallowell Maine, to speak up against bigotry and hatred, racism and a whole host of other isms, and to know that it means something, and that our words and witness would go beyond our own community, it also seems painfully clear that what’s going on in the country right now is another distressing indicator of the sidelining of religion, and Christianity.

Today’s proponents of white supremacy, the “alt right,” don’t turn to the Bible for guidance. In fact, religion is not a major factor, not a place for inspiration for them.

The language of the church, the language of love and justice, the language of Judeo-Christian values of right and wrong, is no longer a language that offers an effective counterpoint to their hatred and bigotry. In the past, groups that sought racial purity turned, at least in part, to scriptures to find support for their warped and twisted views of how humans should organize themselves. Churches and church leaders could confront vile hatred with the very same scriptures. That’s no longer how it works.

The Church has been eclipsed.

Let me be clear in stating that this doesn’t mean that the Church, its leaders and its people, should be silent or should fade into some sort of corner, in the face of those who wish to “Unite the Right.” But, it does mean that we need to approach these issues differently. It’s not enough, I would suggest, simply to state things like “God is love,” etc. Instead, we need to dig deep into our stories, and into our scriptures, and to be clearer on why we think and why we believe that “God is love.”

In Maine, we are especially aware of the sidelining of Christianity, and religion in general. To offer an effective voice, we can no longer assume that people know anything about religion, about the practices and perspectives of those of us who go to church, beyond the stereotypes that have become so prevalent.

In an article (“Breaking Faith”) in the April 2017 edition of The Atlantic, Peter Beinart observed, “When pundits describe the Americans who sleep in on Sundays, they often conjure left-leaning hipsters. But religious attendance is down among Republicans, too. According to data assembled for me by the Public Religion Research Institute (PRRI), the percentage of white Republicans with no religious affiliation has nearly tripled since 1990. This shift helped Trump win the GOP nomination. During the campaign, commentators had a hard time reconciling Trump’s apparent ignorance of Christianity and his history of pro-choice and pro-gay-rights statements with his support from evangelicals. But as Notre Dame’s Geoffrey Layman noted, ‘Trump does best among evangelicals with one key trait: They don’t really go to church.’”

Beinart also pointed to Milo Yiannopoulos and Allum Bokhari’s Breitbart.com essay, “An Establishment Conservative’s Guide to the Alt-Right.”  The essay in question contained five references to “tribe,” seven to “race,” 13 to “the west” and “western” and only one to “Christianity.”  The alt-right, Beinart concluded, “is ultra-conservatism for a more secular age.”

For people of faith, the challenges of today are not the same challenges faced by the church in years past. During previous clashes involving race and culture, churches and church leaders held a certain level of moral weight, and were recognized as significant participants.

While churches are not often of the same voice, nor have churches, their leaders and people, consistently found themselves on the side of justice and the Golden Rule, churches and church leaders have been a vital voice in recognizing and lifting up our common humanity. Churches have provided significant, theologically-based, approaches to those places of struggle, with such powerful practices as forgiveness, reconciliation, and nonviolence.

What happens now, when churches and Christianity, have been eclipsed? And, what are people of faith being called to do? How do we resist when those who spew hatred not only no longer share a common language, but more than that, have rejected the language and concepts of Christianity, as well as other religions?

We are in a different place. We cannot simply reach into the past and pull out what we’ve done and used in the past, and think they will be effective weapons against the hatred of today. In this new more secular age, we must forge a new awareness and a new sense of who we are and what and why we believe. This isn’t just about simply walking alongside, resisting hatred and violence. We must also renew our understanding of why we believe we are called to do so.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Vacationing in Vacationland

Posted on August 19, 2017 by smaxreisert

There’s a lot going on in the world right now, and I will get to that in a few days, but right now I’m on vacation.  For the first time in many years,  my vacation has been spent almost entirely in Maine.  Since I live here, I often forget that Maine is “vacationland” for all sorts of people, with hordes of people pouring into the state throughout the summer months.  While my family and I usually spend a bit of our vacation time in Maine, that time is usually dwarfed by a much more significant trip with family to a distant place.

Our almost annual trip to spend a few days with friends on an island off the coast of Maine has been the focus of our vacation time this summer.  The island is off of Swans Island, off Mt. Desert.  It’s a bit complicated to get to the island– a drive to Bass Harbor, then the ferry to Swans, and then a small boat from Swans to the small island.  The island has an old farmhouse, and an old cottage, and a newer cabin that sits near the water’s edge.  There’s no electricity, but all of the buildings have ranges and refrigerators powered with propane.  Water must be hauled from the well and there’s no indoor plumbing.

It’s a lovely respite from the normal crazy busyness of our lives, and an opportunity to remind ourselves of the beauty of God’s creation right here in our home state.

The view from the cottage, where my husband, daughter and I stayed:

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We watched lobster-people hard at work each day, and enjoyed a small bit of that work for one of our dinners:

There’s really nothing like feasting on lobsters that were caught just that day.

We hiked trails covered with moss,  as well as trails that that took us over large rocks and  fields of small rocks.

We gathered blueberries, for pancakes and cobbler, and listened to the sound of the gong buoy, as it echoed the rhythm of the harbor.

We had the time to pause to enjoy the sight of wildflowers, and an occasional butterfly sitting atop a thistle.

And, to notice what happens when the water of the sea meets land.

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“Let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice; let the sea roar, and all that fills it; let the field exult, and everything in it.  Then shall all the trees of the forest sing for joy.”  (Psalm 96:11-12, NRSV)

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Where’s Christ in the United Church of Christ?

Posted on August 5, 2017 by smaxreisert

I recently attended a funeral (actually, a “memorial service”) at a United Church of Christ church not far from my own church. The service was for a woman I had known fairly well, a woman who was a very active and faithful member of that particular church.

In the course of the entire memorial service there was hardly a mention of Jesus or Christ, except for maybe in the hymns that we sang. Instead of a sermon or homily, the service had a “reflection,” which was a well-crafted catalogue of the deceased woman’s life. If there were vague suggestions of “God,” they were tepid, at best. Even the prayers didn’t seem explicitly Christian.

We could have been anywhere, any sort of gathering place, remembering a special person who had died. It was as if the church had simply been a place where the woman had spent her volunteer time, instead of a place that had nurtured her spirit, had provided shape to her life of faith, had helped foster her relationship with her Creator, and conveyed the promises held in the death and resurrection, and in the lessons and parables, of Christ.

As I sat in that sanctuary, slowly seething with frustration, I remembered that this was not the first time for this sort of experience, attending a memorial service with little religious content and even less explicitly Christian content. I had been to a similar memorial service at another local United Church of Christ church a couple of years ago.

A day or two after this most recent memorial service experience, I attended a meeting that included a Maine Conference staff person—a clergy person—and shared my frustration of the seemingly “non-Christian” funeral. This particular person, despite being a leader in the Conference, did not share my consternation.

And then, at yet another Conference related meeting, I was told that the senior pastor at one of Maine’s largest UCC churches had shared the reflection that if they were to go back to do this all over again, they would more likely be a pastor in the Unitarian Universalist tradition.

When I was a student at Harvard Divinity School many years ago, we often heard the joke that UCC stood for “Unitarians Considering Christ.” In recent weeks, I’ve started to wonder if we are actually considering. Or, if we have made up our minds: we’ve considered and we’ve opted against Christ. We like Jesus well enough, to some extent anyway, but the Christ part maybe goes too far.

In Central Maine, an area where church attendance and affiliation is low, it is tempting to tone down the overtly Christian stuff. It can be risky, after all. I remember a memorial service that I led about a decade ago, for a family member of one of my most active church members. The family member who had died had not regularly attended church, nor did most of the family. But, his daughter did, and she was the one I had in mind in crafting the service. In the middle of my homily, where I did talk about Christ and the cross, at least one family member actually made an audible sound of derision.

At Old South, we have quite a few members—myself included—who often struggle with what it means to believe in, to follow, to have an attachment to Christ. We don’t pretend that isn’t going on. But, just because we struggle doesn’t mean that we end up letting go altogether. Instead, we are a community of people who invite doubts and questions—and wonder too. We do so openly and honestly, without judgment, but rather with a sense of deepening wisdom, grace and faith, as we grapple with the compelling, yet mysterious, story of God incarnate.

It has begun to feel that what we do at Old South is not widely shared. Instead, we seem to be a part of the Maine Conference United Church of Something, we don’t know what, maybe nothing.

No wonder we in the United Church of Christ are losing members at an alarming rate. Who wants to be a part of an organization—and a church no less—that doesn’t know what it is or why it exists?

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