There’s a Mountain Out There

Posted on March 12, 2016 by smaxreisert

The Pew Research Center has released a report, “How Religious Is Your State?” For anyone paying attention to the religious landscape, the report contains little in the way of surprise. Yet, it is still startling to see that I not only live in one of the least religious states in the country, but in a region, a cluster of states, that is decidedly secular. Take a look at the graphic and notice the very pale blue section of the country, there in the northeast corner:
http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2016/02/29/how-religious-is-your-state/

I found myself recently in a small group of people who attend Old South. They expressed concern about the church, and its future. It’s a conversation I’ve had countless times. The church in these days isn’t what they expected and they are looking around and trying to figure out what happened, what they missed. They are still going to church, after all, but what happened to everyone else?

In the small city in which Old South exists, changes in culture and habit are clear—if you dare look around. When I drive through Hallowell on my way to church on Sunday mornings, I can’t help but notice the people I see around town and what they are doing—walking their dogs, on a run for exercise, wandering up the hill from Water St. with the New York Times tucked under an arm, or wandering down the hill on the way to brunch or to the bakery. Sunday mornings are lazy mornings for a lot of people in Hallowell.

And, yet, there is still so much mystery and wondering among the members of Old South. What happened? Where did everyone go?

I feel like we are at the bottom of a very large mountain, and the mountain is so close that we cannot perceive how big it is. For me, the choices are clear: we face the mountain boldly and take it on (learning to invite people to church, learning to talk about our faith, changing how we do things, etc.); or we admit that we don’t want to climb the mountain, accepting that we are facing our sunset; or, we can bury our heads in the sand, pretending the problem doesn’t really exist, or that it’s someone else’s fault, or that if we wait long enough, the culture will change just by wishing it were so.

Central Maine, along with the entire Northeast, is a difficult place in which to be church and especially to be on the more moderate/liberal/progressive end of the Christian spectrum. According to the Pew Research Center, Maine’s religious profile is as follows: 34% say that religion is very important in their lives; 22% say they attend worship at least weekly; 35% pray daily; 48% believe in God with absolute certainty.

The reality is all too clear, and it isn’t new. Yet too many church folk seem determined to look away, or to engage in the same old ponderings about low Sunday worship attendance (Sunday morning sports practices, for example.). We can avert our eyes or pretend it isn’t there, but the mountain is all too real. I would prefer that we look at the mountain and admit that we just don’t have the energy to climb it and prayerfully acknowledge that we are near the end. That seems a lot more honest, not to mention faithful, than sticking our heads in the sand and thinking that all those secular people will magically, entirely on their own, decide to come to church. The state of denial seems so undignified and hollow.

In his letter to the Romans, Paul may not have been talking about 21st century churches, but I still think his words are helpful, “If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. For to this end Christ died and lived again, so that he might be Lord of both the dead and the living.” (Romans 14:8-9)

There’s nothing in there about those who live in the world of wishful thinking. I can’t help but think that Christ would rather we be engaged in one or the other, life or death, faithful to the Gospel, sharing God’s love, living in mission, whether we live or die. Just not the horrible middle, where we wonder about things, while resisting the answers that are right in front of us.

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What We Do with What Remains

Posted on March 1, 2016 by smaxreisert

Old South held its annual meeting at the end of January. As has become our tradition, the meeting was well attended, informative, and thank goodness, free from controversy. We elected a new moderator and made adjustments to our new governance model. We also discussed and passed a budget for the year.

The budget conversation was the longest and fullest part of the meeting. After the Treasurer’s presentation, one of the older, and longer-term, members of the congregation stood up to share a few thoughts. While he was planning to vote in favor of the budget as presented, he wanted to encourage the congregation to think about we use our endowment.

Old South has a sizeable endowment. About 15 years ago, after quite a few years of dipping into the endowment without much thought for its preservation, a small group of church members came up with a better strategy. Their proposal suggested an annual draw, to support the budget, of 5% of a three-year rolling average.

This plan has been in place for over a decade. At our most recent annual meeting, the concerned church member stated that our 5% draw is too high, no longer in line with industry standards. Instead, we should seek to lower the draw to closer to 4%. With our already very lean budget, this is a proposal of some consequence.

The concerned church member went on to talk about the significance of preserving the endowment for the future of the church, and for future generations.

Here’s where I bit my tongue, and kept my teeth on my tongue for some time. We needed to get through annual meeting and it was not the right time to engage in a conversation about the future of our endowment or the church. That’s work for another day.

Old South, to be brutally honest, is a church without much of a future. The average age in worship is probably around 70. Except for a few young children (brought by their grandparents), we have no active members under the age of forty. None. And only a handful between the ages of forty and sixty.

A conversation about our endowment, and the use of it, is a serious, not to mention complicated, issue. It’s long been on my mind that such a conversation will need to take place, and likely soon. But, opening such a conversation must be done carefully and thoughtfully. Among the questions: Do we reduce our draw to “preserve” the endowment for future generations, ignoring the reality that the congregation likely has only a short future instead of a long one? Will the endowment be the “last thing standing” when the church does not have enough members to keep going? Do we actually draw more from the endowment, as membership dwindles—to pay utilities and the pastor’s salary—allowing the endowment to shrink with the congregation? Should we consider the possibility of the endowment serving another church, perhaps in a place where there’s more fertile ground for church growth?

These are critical questions that Old South will need to begin to talk about and wrestle with—and soon. These are also profound questions—about who we are, our relationship with our Creator, and how we, faithfully and prayerfully, enter into those vast theological concepts of hope, trust, grace, death and resurrection.

Not long ago, I was talking to an Old South parishioner about these questions. She immediately latched onto those last words and asked, “Where is the resurrection? Where is our resurrection?” I reminded her that our primary guide to resurrection teaches that the concept does not offer a neat and tidy return to life before death. Resurrection is different, significantly and profoundly.

We may die as a single, local congregation. But, it is very clear that we are called to be a people of faith, of hope and of resurrection. What will that look like for us? Can we see faithfulness even as we die? And will we have the strength to be faithful with that pile of money that has provided for us and to think about it in radically different ways?

Will we find the blessing to see beyond our disappointment and heartbreak to see God at work in our moving forward, even if that moving forward is toward closure? What will we do with what remains beyond us?  Will we have the courage to embrace the notion that the endowment is not “ours,” but God’s and for God’s church?  May it be so, by God’s grace.

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The Peril of Politics and Particular Providence

Posted on February 22, 2016 by smaxreisert

Glenn Beck seems to think that God is so concerned about the United States that He decided to break one of his own “Big Ten” and killed Antonin Scalia, so that Americans would realize “how important their freedom is so that they vote for Ted Cruz to pick Scalia’s replacement.” (Huffington Post, 2/18/16)

This isn’t the first time that a person with a big voice, and a tie to the Christian community, has suggested that God has done something in order to support a traditionally conservative agenda. One doesn’t even need to dig too deep to recall similar claims, regarding God’s use of hurricanes, disease, and so forth, in an attempt to guide people to what “He” wants, which just happens also to be part of the agenda of the one who’s speaking.

It’s interesting to me that none of these big voices, these prophets of doom upon others, seems at all interested in reflecting on the notion that perhaps God is trying to get their attention. Has Glenn Beck considered the possibility that God chose to end Antonin Scalia’s life at this moment because God was concerned about how Scalia was going to vote in the upcoming Supreme Court abortion case, that perhaps God is interested in preserving a woman’s right to choice? Or, that God chose this moment so that President Obama could choose his replacement before he leaves office?

I should probably state clearly and unequivocally here that I am not a “particular providence” kind of person or theologian. I don’t believe that God visits particular disasters, or blessings, upon particular people for particular purposes. I don’t believe that God assists certain people in winning the lottery nor does God cause disease or tragedy to occur for others. And, I certainly don’t think that God wreaks havoc intentionally to get the attention of Americans so that they will vote for conservative politicians.

Although it’s not my theological cup of tea, I can understand the desire to see God working in this very “hands on” sort of way. The Bible, after all, does seem to suggest that God, at least on occasion, has been involved in the affairs of humans through the use of those things that are, presumably, at God’s disposal—the natural world as well as the imperfections of the human body. It must be of some comfort to see the Divine at work in such detail.

Those who are eager to see God at work in this way, however, ought to understand that God’s interventions cannot possibly only work to benefit their own prejudices, values, and politics. Shouldn’t God’s omniscience and omnipotence be understood in ways that suggest that one’s own leanings are not always in tune with God’s?

Bible stories that point to the possibility of God’s particular providence also suggest that even the most faithful are sometimes surprised by the lessons that our Creator offers, especially through Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit. Paul, for example, experienced a rather dramatic realignment to what he had previously understood as God’s work in his life.

Glenn Beck, and others of his ilk, should be more reflective, prayerful and humble about what God might be up to, as well as their own ability to understand the Divine. It can’t always be that God is working on Glenn Beck’s behalf, or that Glenn Beck seems mysteriously to understand so completely the mind of the Creator.

Heaven help us.

Posted in Bible, Misc | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment

That Thing About Assumptions

Posted on February 12, 2016 by smaxreisert

Things get tense in my house every four years, around this time. As the presidential primaries and caucuses begin, my husband and I must renew the strange little political dance that gets us through these seasons, with our marriage intact.

We’ve known, since before we married over twenty years ago, that we play for opposing political teams. That knowledge informs our way through these dangerous partisan procedures. While there are moments in our house of intense and animated dialogue that are fueled by our opposing views (which makes our son run and hide), we are mostly able to wade through presidential primary season without any significant damage done to body or spirit.

Given my long history of relationship with “the other side,” I am sensitive to how people talk and engage with political issues, especially in reference to those with whom they disagree. Over my ten years of ministry at Old South in Hallowell, Maine, I’ve noticed that there’s an awareness—mostly unspoken—that there are differences in political leanings among the individuals who gather in that church. People are wary, then, of engaging in discussions that are clearly political, lest a disagreement lead to a disruption in congenial relationship. But when a political discussion does take place, it is—at least what I’ve witnessed—respectful and thoughtful.

Beyond home and Old South, though, I notice no such respect, or wariness. For example, in a local Bible study group that includes people from several area churches, including Old South, there are a couple of people (not from Old South) who speak clearly from their Democratic Party viewpoint, as if everyone in the group is in agreement. They’ve even gone so far as to imply, on occasion, that Democrats are right and Republicans are stupid.

There are a couple of problems with this: 1. I don’t think everyone in that Bible study is a Democrat and it’s problematic to make such assumptions, and, 2. I don’t think it’s okay for Christians, any Christians, to engage in political discussions that cast one side as in possession of truth and the other side full of danger and folly, that there’s one side that works for the common good and the other only for the good of a few.

We may choose a political side as the best path that represents the values we hold dear, but that doesn’t mean that we favor a political party that is in full possession of truth and justice. And, we ought to take more care in the assumptions that we make, around friends and neighbors, around meeting tables and Bible studies.

My husband and I are able to get through this season by taking some care in how we discuss what is going on and by recognizing that there are limits to the practice of virtue in any political party. While I know that his side is often misguided, there is significance in recognizing that my side is often misguided as well (though perhaps not as often as his!).

In the angry and hostile political rhetoric that is heating up in this season, we don’t need more people contributing to the animosity. Instead, we need more people who are thoughtful enough to recognize that we get little actually accomplished by seeing our own side as inherently good while the other side is inherently, and irredeemably, bad. We need more people who take the Golden Rule seriously, that we are to love God with all that we are and to love our neighbor as ourselves—even when they don’t share our politics.

Let’s put our assumptions aside and open the door to more meaningful dialogue. It’s crystal clear that such dialogue is woefully lacking and desperately needed.

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The Light of Spotlight

Posted on February 6, 2016 by smaxreisert

I recently went with a friend to see Spotlight, the film that focuses on the Boston Globe’s uncovering of clergy abuse of children. I wanted to see the film for several reasons—to see how the story would be portrayed on the big screen, to see how the cast would handle the fascinating way in which Bostonians tend to speak the English language, and to see Boston itself on the big screen. For better or worse, I’m from the Greater Boston area. My daughter was actually born within the city limits.

When a film receives many glowing reviews, as Spotlight has, I can’t help but think that it probably won’t be as good as all that. In the case of this particular film, I found it to be even better. The cast was exceptional, and the story drawn in heartbreaking, but sensitive, detail.

In recent years, I’ve seen a variety of church/clergy films that I have found deeply affecting—Calvary and Philomena, especially, come to mind. These films, with Spotlight now as well, have taken up a sort of residence in my soul, sending me off to think unsettling thoughts about Christianity, the Church, and the role of clergy.

It can be all too easy to watch these films and then to sit back and think that they have little to do with me in a close way. Each of these films involves the Roman Catholic Church. I am not a Roman Catholic. I am not a priest. I am not part of a denomination that has such a complicated and deeply institutional authority structure.

Yet, I know clergy who have strayed past important boundaries. I know clergy who have taken advantage of the pastor-parishioner relationship. I know clergy who have been fool enough to think that a moment of vulnerability with a parishioner signals a different kind of relationship.

What is different, though, as I think about the story that Spotlight tells is the role of children. Of the clergy that I know, directly or indirectly, who have crossed boundaries that should not be crossed, all of those cases involve adults. Spotlight shines a light on clergy abuse of children, and the terrible ways the institution of the Church sought to protect clergy, rather than children.

In the film, the ex-priest expert who is consulted by the Spotlight team points to celibacy has a significant part of the problem. The film also suggests that at least some abusing priests were abused themselves as children—broken person passing along that brokenness to others. It’s a sickening and horrific thought, especially as we see the Church actively contributing to the problem, rather than seeking a solution.

During the course of the story that Spotlight unfolds, one of the reporters discovers that he lives just around the corner from a “rehab” house for abusing priests. He tells his own children to stay away from that house and desperately wants to tell all of the children in the neighborhood to stay away, but he can’t do that immediately. I found myself wondering: if priests were allowed to marry and to have families of their own, would they participate in a system that essentially cast a blind eye on the abuse of children? If priests had children of their own, would they be like most other parents, desperate to protect not only their own, but other children as well?

I’m no expert on pedophilia, but I suspect that there are plenty of pedophiles who have children of their own. Would the institution, though, behave differently if children were not just part of the wider sense of family, but were actually family?

I’m not sure, but I’m left with yet a renewed sense of the failure of the Church, and though not a part of the Church to which I feel directly related, still part of my faith tradition. I am deeply distressed at the behavior of the Church that so completely lost sight of what is truly important, truly at the heart of the mission of the Church, in looking out for and caring for those who are powerless, and the failures of actual individuals who believed themselves to be people of faith. As a person of faith, this is an issue that must be held in the forefront—how are we living out our faith, how well are we keeping our eye on the mission, and how well are we holding ourselves and each other accountable?

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Perils in the Small Church

Posted on January 30, 2016 by smaxreisert

One of the first goals I had when I began my work with Old South Church, about ten years ago, was to lead the church through an Open and Affirming process. This was particularly significant for Old South, as it exists in a small city just south of the state capital that is, and was at the time, a conscientiously open and welcoming sort of place. One way or the other, whether it wanted to or not, Old South needed to be clear about where it stood on the welcome of the LBGT community. Visitors asked such questions on a regular basis.

With only a few objections, the congregation agreed to go through the Open and Affirming process. In the course of the year and a half journey, quite a few people became very supportive and encouraging of becoming Open and Affirming. A few, though, were decidedly not in favor. One of the especially vocal opponents was clearly not going to be moved. At some point, the church’s financial secretary came to me to say that, though he really didn’t want to sway me one way or the other, he thought I should know that that one particular strong voice of opposition just happened to be attached to a large pledge unit.

Even if I wanted to—I didn’t—the process was too well along to change course, or to grind it to a halt. When the church voted unanimously to adopt their open and affirming statement, we had already lost that one person, along with a few others (who, I guess, were not large pledge units, since the financial secretary said nothing to me about them).

Over the years of my relationship with Old South, I’ve had no other situations that have risen to the level of the Open and Affirming process, although there have been plenty of “brush fires”—occasional minor suggestions of withdrawing financial support if certain things are done, or even proposed. My clergy training has guided me to be careful of these sorts of situations, and not to allow people to use money to gain influence and power.

I have indeed been very careful about dealing with those who threaten, or suggest a threat, to withdraw financial support to influence my pastoral leadership. But, I must also admit that it can be awfully daunting to face such threats (or to anticipate them) when one is serving a small church. At Old South, we have single pledge units that can make or break our lean, fragile budget.

As Old South continues to try to figure out what its mission is in these days, as well as its connection to Christ, change is sure to happen—even if we actually try to keep it at bay. Change is part of the life and rhythm of life, and church life as well. It is challenging enough to keep up with the financial losses connected to people who have moved away or died. It’s quite another, especially in a small church, when the loss, or decrease, of a pledge is connected to an all too real unhappy person, with whom one has a significant relationship.

In a small church, each active person often has a role, fitting into the whole almost like a puzzle piece. When one of those pieces is so unhappy as to threaten financial contributions (and/or other contributions of time and talent), it’s not always done so in a spiteful way. It is sometimes a reflection of an aspect of church life that is deeply meaningful.

The way forward, then, for the small congregational church can feel perilous. We face changes and challenges—some welcome, some not; some ushered in by circumstance, others by design—as well as the shifting nature of our own relationships. When most—but not all— of the group feels drawn in a particular direction, “majority rule” is not always enough to keep the group, as a whole, content.

Finding a way to manage the variety of voices is challenging. Finding a way of making sure that we are not so attentive to our own voices as to snuff out the voice of the Holy Spirit is even more challenging. But, that is our way. It’s not easy, but the life of the faithful has never been so.

Posted in My Life as Pastor | Leave a comment

Living Into Who We Should Be

Posted on January 22, 2016 by smaxreisert

The primary governing body at Old South is the Oversight Committee. Serving on the committee: church officers, three ministry team leaders, three at-large members and myself. The group meets monthly, usually with a lengthy agenda. This past Wednesday involved an agenda that was even longer than usual, including the election of a new moderator, finalizing the budget for 2016, finalizing the new governance model to be voted on at the annual meeting at the end of the month, and an out-of-the-ordinary wedding request.

The meeting lasted about two hours, and contained what has become for us a common practice of dialogue and discussion. I sometimes have to remind myself, and them, that what Old South does is not really typical of how people gather together these days. It’s too bad that more people aren’t paying attention to what we do.

Even with topics that are complicated and difficult, the Oversight Committee manages to work through issues with an amazing quality of discussion. No one dominates the conversation. No one is there to make everything go his/her own way. The committee actually manages to work together, listening to each other, sharing ideas and thoughts, and almost always achieving consensus before a vote is taken.

Our budget discussion was not an easy one. We did not get to where we wanted to be with pledges (largely because of a few people moving away). Attendance has been lower than usual, and that has had an impact on what we call “loose donations,” with that line of revenue decreasing from previous years. Many expenses were higher last year than the previous year, etc. The group went through the budget line by line, trying to figure out where we could save in a budget that is already very lean. At one point, I offered to eliminate my raise. No one went along with that idea. The group went to other areas, involving discussion on a variety of areas—are we getting anything of significance from that weekly newspaper ad? should we ask the lawn mower to mow less frequently?

It wasn’t an earth-shattering discussion. It was just Old South doing what Old South does.

After about an hour and a half into our meeting, when people were clearly getting tired and ready to go home, we came to our last agenda item that had to be discussed and decided that night. It couldn’t be pushed to next month. It was a request for a wedding to be held in our sanctuary, a wedding that would mostly involve clergy other than myself. We typically don’t rent our sanctuary out for any purpose, but this request was a little different. Because of area church closures, this couple was looking for a church space that was big enough for the number of guests they are expecting. Old South’s sanctuary is just the right size, and in the right location. But, the couple wanted to have the service primarily performed by two other ministers with whom they are close. There would be little, or no, room for me as Old South’s pastor. The couple is also a homosexual couple, and was looking for a church that would welcome their wedding.

The Oversight Committee had a very full conversation about the various issues, and in the end, decided to offer the sanctuary if the couple ensured a small, but meaningful, role for me in the ceremony. It was especially interesting to hear the committee members talk about the significance of showing the church’s welcome by having their own minister be present and involved in this wedding.

At the end of the conversation, one of the at-large members, who is still a relatively newer member of Old South, declared, “I love you guys.” Amen to that.

We may be small. We may seem irrelevant to lots of people who live in and around Hallowell. But, by being who we are, as well as who we are called to be, we live out our faith in a way that really shouldn’t be irrelevant at all.

At a time when people seem more interested in yelling over each other, or simply inviting only the company of people who are just the same as they are, the small witness of Old South seems even more poignant. It is sad, indeed, that it feels remarkable what this small group of people lives out—in showing kindness, humility, and a deep sense of their individual and shared experience as God’s beloved.

Good work, Old South. Good work, faithful people.

Posted in Misc, On the Hopeful Side | Tagged | Leave a comment

As They Die, So Do We

Posted on January 16, 2016 by smaxreisert

I attended a funeral recently at a United Church of Christ Church in Central Maine, not far from the church I serve. While the service included a couple of prayers from the Book of Worship at the beginning and the end, and a tiny “reflection” from the pastor based on the ever-familiar passage from Ecclesiastes through which the congregation was reminded that on that particular day we were experiencing “a time to mourn,” the bulk of the service was devoted to “open mic” time. Family and friends were encouraged to share stories about the person who had died, a popular man who had lived in that town, and attended that church, all of his life.

Well into “open mic” time, after several family members had offered stories, a woman went to the front of the sanctuary. She allowed that most people in the congregation probably didn’t know her. She was the wife of one of the deceased’s cousins. She told us that she and her husband had visited the man who had died just a few days before his death and then she went on, “And I need to tell you that he was a man of faith.”

Hooray! I exclaimed in my head. Until this moment, and except for the small nods toward religion in the prayer at the beginning, the service I was attending could have been taking place in any gathering spot. No one had said anything about faith or faithfulness. Even the minister’s ties to religion seemed only related to prayers copied from the worship book, and the readings from scripture could have been any readings from any kind of book. Religion, faith, Christianity were all woefully lacking.

In just about any mainline church in this area, especially those that are declining in numbers, you’ll hear a litany of reasons regarding shrinking attendance numbers—sports practices on Sunday mornings, shopping on Sunday mornings, wanting to sleep late on Sunday mornings. All of those reasons have something to do with what’s happening outside the church.

We should be spending more time thinking and reflecting on what’s happening inside the church, especially when it come to our own expression of faith and why we attend church.

It seems clear enough to me that many mainline church members have lost the language of faith. In particular, they have lost the public expression of faith and their attachment to a church, aside from the friendships they have formed and a private devotion to God. The funeral that I attended recently was not the first in this area where I noticed the absence of “faith talk.” I’ve especially noticed the decline in sermons or homilies, at such important times as death, providing substantive remarks on basic notions of the Christian faith.

If those of us within the church have no language to claim our faith, we shouldn’t even begin to hope that others will ever want to join us. We should make plans for our closing.

In this blog, I have written in the past about not always “blaming the victim” when it comes to church decline. There are indeed forces beyond our control, in changing values, priorities, and, in places like central Maine, the sad reality that the population as a whole is in decline. But, we must also look at our own selves and be willing to consider our own contribution to shrinking churches.

When we cannot speak of why we attend, when we cannot meaningfully reflect on suffering, death, resurrection, and the purpose of our lives, we feed our own decline. Funerals, in a special way, offer crucial opportunities to speak of what it means to be people of faith. It’s sad, then, that even in a church, “funerals” have given way to “celebrations of life,” where we focus almost entirely on the life that has ended, ignoring the mysteries of the promises of Christ, and the cross, and what happens when death itself is passed.

The question is: are we are people of faith, of the Christian faith, or are we simply mourners at a “celebration of life” for the church that has itself passed away?

Posted in Doomed, Maine Cautionary Tales | Leave a comment

Perspective

Posted on January 9, 2016 by smaxreisert

The little boy—at least I think it was a boy—was throwing a tantrum, standing by the bank of elevators to the parking garage. Such an amazing loud noise came out of this tiny person, so tiny that it was hard to see how he could be old enough to be standing on his own, yet he was. His mother tried to shush and comfort him. He was having none of it. His howls only seemed to get louder. Why was this small person making such a noise? Did it have something to do with that tube in his nose? Could it be related to the lack of even a wisp of hair anywhere on his head?

Then there was the older man, with a younger woman who was probably his daughter. The man held a stack of colorful files, probably ten-inches deep. She was trying to keep him from rummaging through the files, yet he continued. Occasionally, he pulled a random piece of paper from a file, looked at it until she took it from him and put it back in the file and closed it.

And, finally, there was the woman in a wheelchair. Her make-up was carefully and completely done, though a little brighter than women tend to wear now. It reminded me of how my friends and I made up our faces in the 1980s. She was surrounded by a small group, maybe family, maybe friends, maybe some of both. A bright pink hat on her head, she was smiling contentedly as they pushed her from the hall to the elevator.

These were the people, amid hundreds, who stood out for me while visiting the Dana Farber Cancer Institute. I was there accompanying a friend for an appointment.

I had not been inside Dana Farber for many years, probably not since my Clinical Pastoral Education experience at the neighboring Brigham and Women’s Hospital in the summer of 1991. On this recent visit to Dana Farber, the place was buzzing, a hive of activity. People made up tidy lines to check in or to wait to for the initial clinical visit. Then, there was all the activity by the elevators, and the various places where patients—along with their equipment and their people—needed to go. And wandering around, one could see a few blue-smocked people with “May I Help You?” printed on the back.

Dana Farber is a cancer treatment and research center in Boston. The patients there are looking for answers, for a path out of cancer, as are the people who accompany them. The woman with the bright make-up, the man with the stack of files, that tiny, howling boy with the tube in his nose, as well as my friend—each one very likely with a cancer diagnosis, one that is serious, or mysterious, or both.

As I left the building, while I thought of my friend, I also thought of those three people who had stood out among so many—the woman with the bright, colorful face, the man with his files, and the small boy. And, I thought to myself that I should keep them all in mind, especially when something insignificant gets the best of me, when I allow something small to gain more meaning than it deserves.

In my life in the church, there are lots of insignificant things that get the best of me. It happens to the people in my congregation as well. While insignificant things gaining too great a foothold is all too common in life in general, it shouldn’t be so—so often anyway—in the church. Perspective must be kept, maintained, considered, held up in prayer.

It’s all too easy to get caught up in our own little dramas, allowing all manner of issues to seem just as important as any other. But, some things are more important than others.

I don’t know how well I’ll do, but I begin this year with a renewed sense of the significance of perspective—hoping that, through God’s grace, I will have the wherewithal to take a moment, on a regular basis, to ensure that I am keeping an eye on what is truly important, and what is not.

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At the End and In the Beginning

Posted on December 31, 2015 by smaxreisert

The end of the year brings the opportunity for reflection, and I have certainly found myself thinking about the year that is about to end. For my family, the big event of the year was my daughter’s graduation from high school in June (she just finished her first semester of college). For me personally, the event that looms large in my brain is focused in my role as a member of the local school board. In November, the Board voted to support the superintendent’s recommendation to dismiss the high school principal. I was the lone dissenting vote, 6-1. I can honestly say that the experience was among the worst of my life, and continues to live with me in a whole host of painful ways.

In my work with Old South Church, it was a good year overall, with good worship, strong and thoughtful leadership, a new organist and choir director, local and global outreach. During my short sabbatical last summer, we had no trouble covering worship leadership “in house,” with lay people and a retired clergyperson eagerly leading worship in my absence.

Unfortunately, though, we end the year with significant questions and some unwelcome prospects. Among our worries: attendance; how we govern ourselves; and, a mini-exodus.

Attendance numbers have been steadily declining in disheartening ways. Most of those who are now missing from worship are some of our newer people. I’ve heard directly from or about some of those who are no longer attending Old South. The reasons are simple and mostly have something to do with a relative or friend drawing them to a different church. They don’t have negative feelings about Old South, but have found that the church of that relative or friend has its own positive element.

Old South is near the end of a two-year governance experiment. Much of what we’ve tried over these last two years has worked well. But, not everything. The worrying aspect of this is that only a small group seems comfortable in discussing how we continue our “congregationlist” ways with a smaller, older congregation. There is a feeling among some that their preference is to skip over the formulation process. Just give us the sausage, so to speak. Can we skip the making of it part? For stalwart congregationalists, this seems not the healthiest way of moving forward.

Finally, among our bigger worries is a mini-exodus that we know will occur in the new year. The church moderator has recently resigned and is in the process of moving to another state. He has fallen in love and is moving to be closer to his new special someone (he can more easily transfer his job than she can). A married couple (both sing in the choir) has also announced plans to move away. And, yet another person has told me that she is actively looking for new employment—away from Maine.

These are all very significant departures. All are people who have been active in the life of the church, and active leaders in the congregation. It’s hard to think about the church without them. We’ve reached that place where the departure of leaders is clearly noticeable—and emotionally draining.

Old South has faced difficulties in the past, and has weathered them—and, in many ways, it is a stronger community. But, the storms are starting to take their toll. There’s one particular person who can’t begin talking about these issues without weeping.

We begin the year on a precipice of sorts. We are not only worried about the changes of which we are aware, but also the changes that have not announced themselves in advance. Whether we are aware or not, what emotions will these changes stir? Will we feel embraced and nurtured, or abandoned and alone? Where will we find God in the midst of unwelcome changes?

The start of the new year is a new beginning, but is it also the beginning of the end?

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