Getting a Grip on the Numbers

Posted on April 2, 2016 by smaxreisert

Just before Easter, the website realclearreligion.org included a link to a blog post from the Institute on Religion and Democracy entitled, “Financial Crunch Hits the United Church of Christ” (written by Jeffrey Walton). The post described the crisis in the United Church of Christ, especially at the national level, where staff cuts are, and have been, taking place.

The blog post went on to unleash disturbing trends at the local level as well:
“Last summer, UCC Center for Analytics, Research and Data (CARD) studies were released that confirmed dire forecasts. The first, Futuring the United Church of Christ: 30-Year Projections, showed that over the next three decades, the number of UCC congregations will decline from over 5,100 churches today to approximately 3,600 churches. During the same time period, the number of UCC members will drop precipitously, from 1.1 million to just under 200,000 adherents.”

During a gloomy Holy Week (for all of the usual difficult stories and themes, as well as a local mini recurrence of winter that caused our Maundy Thursday service to be cancelled), the story about the continued decline of the United Church of Christ seemed a little more than I wanted to consider. After all, there’s nothing in there that hints at anything that might turn Easter-like.

The comments section accompanying the blog is full of all of the usual “suspects,” when it comes to blame for what is happening in the United Church of Christ. It’s stuff I’ve heard many, many times before—support of same-sex marriage (and the LBGTQ community in general), adhering to left-leaning politics (especially support of same-sex marriage), etc. If our decline is indeed tied to support of marriage equality, then perhaps I’m a little more prepared to go down with the ship.

At this time of year, during the pre- and post-Easter season, I often find myself thinking about the meaning of numbers. When Jesus was crucified, only a small number of his friends—most, if not all, women—were there to witness his suffering and death. The men had gone off to hide, probably worried that they might be next. On Easter morning, the Gospels tell that, again, the numbers were small. Only a few showed up at the empty tomb. Only a few were there to begin to share the news.

At its most foundational “event,” the numbers were small, intimate. The news was amazing, shocking, confusing, life-changing—but centered around a very small group. Presumably, Christ could have chosen to do something much more grand. Christ could have chosen to involve a lot more people. Instead, there were only a few.

The United Church of Christ may well be in decline and may be in precipitous decline. But, in this Easter season, I find hope in small numbers. I don’t calculate our “success” by the standards of the world, but by the small voice that began near an empty tomb. Churches (and denominations) ought not calculate their closeness to Christ through membership numbers or cars in parking lots.

Sure, numbers are important to the business of being Church, but numbers don’t necessarily say anything about faithfulness to the work of Christ. There’s a critical difference. The Gospels are quite clear that Jesus never seemed especially interested in winning popularity contests. We should, therefore, be a little more careful about asserting some sort of divine message of disfavor when denominations, and local churches, find themselves in decline (or, divine approval when the numbers are surging). The small group may have something very significant to share, and though not attracting large groups, may be doing important Godly work.

Posted in Doomed, Holy-Days, Studies, Demographics, Reality | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Happy Fear and Terror Day!

Posted on March 27, 2016 by smaxreisert

At Old South, we are following the Narrative Lectionary, rather than the Revised Common Lectionary, which means that we’ve been marching our way through the Gospel According to Mark for quite some time. We wrap up Mark today, Easter, with Mark 16:1-8. Some say this is the original ending, and that what follows in most Bibles is an ending that was added later.

No wonder, really, that a different ending was tacked on later, because ending with verse 8 is a little tricky: “So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.*

It’s not exactly the stuff that leads neatly to choruses of “Alleluia! He is Risen!” or any of the other typical Easter excitement.

To focus on Mark’s version of the first Easter, if we believe that Mark intended to have his Gospel end with terror and fear, is to engage in something at least a little unexpected. But, that’s what we are going to do at Old South. I’m not sure what the response will be. Mark’s Gospel may be just what we need to hear, though. Although I can’t say that I feel much “terror,” I can say with certainty that there’s plenty of fear—fear of what’s to come, fear of the very real possibility that Old South will close in the not so distant future, fear that the church will continue to struggle and slip into complete irrelevance. Fear is a common aspect of our life together as a church.

It was the same for those first disciples, those first followers of Jesus.

At the sight of the empty tomb, their response was terror, amazement and fear, and perhaps most troubling “they said nothing to anyone.”

On that very first Easter, those first disciples had a number of choices, among them:
1. They could declare that they had done their best, but they couldn’t keep the crucifixion from happening and they had no idea what to do with the empty tomb. The easiest thing was just to move on.
2. They could pretend that nothing actually happened and return to their pre-Jesus lives.
3. They could fool themselves into thinking that Jesus was just away for a bit or maybe if they waited long enough that Jesus would find a way to fix everything and take care of things for them, like magic.
4. They could decide that others would figure it out for themselves, that Jesus was someone special and worth paying attention to. The followers might start meeting quietly on Sunday mornings in a special place, with a small “welcome” sign out front.
5. They could face the fear and the terror, and though their initial reaction was to adopt the “cone of silence,” they decide that Jesus was too important not to say and do something, and so they begin living in the midst of assurance as well as mystery, and begin to gather themselves, and then others as well, welcoming, inviting, actively sharing the love and hope of God through Jesus Christ and the continuing presence of the Holy Spirit.

Followers in churches like Old South face similar choices. We can decide that we’ve done our best and allow what seems inevitable to happen. We can trick ourselves into thinking that someone else will do the work for us, and our problems magically will be solved. We can wait for those “out there” to figure it out for themselves that they are missing out on something meaningful. We can continue to meet and post our small “welcome” sign and await the masses. One of these days, they will surely come. Won’t they?

Or, we can face our fear and, at the same time, come to terms with what this church and faith stuff means to us. And if it means enough, then we’ll figure out how to share the news, the good news.  There’s a fancy word for that:  evangelism.

For the first followers, their immediate experience may well have been fear, terror and an amazement that rendered them silent—at first. But, at some point, they figured out that Jesus—not to mention the resurrected Christ—meant something important, life-changing, to them. And, so they began to share, and welcome, and invite. And, behold there was the Church.

We can do the same, if we allow the Easter story to truly capture our imagination and heart. Happy Easter.

Posted in Bible, Holy-Days | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

When Silence Is the Guide

Posted on March 20, 2016 by smaxreisert

I’ve been in the ministry long enough that I’m rarely truly surprised by something church-related. But, today was one of those rare days of blessed surprise—on one of the saddest days of the Christian year.

A few years ago, I gave up on my quest to increase attendance at special worship services during Holy Week. Those who came, came. Those who didn’t, didn’t—no matter what I said or how I cajoled. Instead, I changed our Palm Sunday observance to a Palm/Passion Sunday service. At the start of the service, we listen to Palm Sunday scripture and the choir sings something appropriate to the theme. After a pastoral prayer and an offering, we transition to the Passion.

We begin with a choral piece from the choir. Then, we read through the Passion from one of the Gospels, with passages interlaced with verses of the hymn, “My Song Is Love Unknown.”

At the end of the service we sing “O Sacred Head, Now Wounded” and then go through a lengthy benediction, making note of the difficult, and complicated, story of Holy Week. We acknowledge the ways in which the disciples, and we, fail Jesus. We ask for blessing as we begin the week, and reflect briefly on the grace and hope that is intimately part of the unfolding of the sacred story.

This year, we focused on the Passion according to Mark, as we have been following the Narrative Lectionary. I read sections of the story and we sang the verses of “My Song Is Love Unknown” separately, at breaks during the reading of the story.

After the benediction, I walked down the aisle. Since I was helping with hospitality, I walked out of the sanctuary and into the vestry, where I could still hear the postlude. After pouring some coffee, I went over to the large doors between the sanctuary and the vestry and opened them. When the postlude concluded, I realized that something was different.

There was silence.

Usually, at Old South, a round of applause follows the postlude. I don’t ever remember silence after the postlude—in more than a decade as pastor of Old South.

But, today there was silence. A beautiful, amazing, extraordinary silence.

In some churches, a good worship experience is affirmed through voices and noise. In good New England Congregational churches, a good worship experience is affirmed through silence. Over my years of ministry, I have come to appreciate and give thanks for those occasional experiences of silence. It means that something is happening. The Holy Spirit is afoot.

Today, there was silence. I had certainly been moved by the service. Though the story was familiar, as were the hymns, there is something remarkable in the telling of the story, out loud in a sanctuary. And, for me, “O Sacred Head” is a favorite hymn. But, I couldn’t tell if anyone else shared what I had experienced.

But, there was silence. And, after the silence, quite a few parishioners thanked me for the service, and affirmed that they had found it to be an especially meaningful service.

I must admit that there have been some frustrating days of late in my work with Old South. So, today felt strangely good. Though a difficult story to be sure, the shared sense of the sacred was inspiring.

For this, I offer an incomplete, but sincere: thank you.

Posted in Holy-Days, My Life as Pastor | Tagged , | Leave a comment

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.

Posted in Studies, Demographics, Reality | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

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.

Posted in Doomed, Misc | Tagged | Leave a comment

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.

Posted in Misc | Tagged , | Leave a comment

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?

Posted in Other Denominations/Christians, Popular Culture, Movies, TV | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

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