Me and My Misanthropy

Posted on January 15, 2025 by smaxreisert

Confession/Admission: I’ve always been a bit of a misanthrope, suspicious of my fellow human beings, and sometimes just downright untrusting and disliking of them. When I completed my required-for-ordination unit of Clinical Pastoral Education at Brigham & Women’s Hospital in Boston way back in the summer of 1991, trust was the biggest issue that my supervisor highlighted. I needed to work on my trust issues, she informed me. It continues to be a struggle, especially since there’s so much that feeds (legitimately, I believe, at least at times) my tendencies to be suspicious of others, and to generally not like many of them (or worse, as in the case with some prominent public figures).

For my entire adulthood and most of my youth, I have perceived my faith as a counterbalance to my natural inclinations toward misanthropy. Jesus encourages me to see people differently, to see each person as a child of God. And that I have tried to do. Jesus has taught me to love God with all of my heart, soul, mind and strength, and my neighbor as myself. Helpfully, some wise person noted that Jesus taught that we must love our neighbors and that loving is different from liking. This, I have also endeavored to follow and to allow that teaching, that commandment, to inform how I live my life.

But, now I’m struggling more than ever, as we approach January 20, 2025 and Inauguration Day (my daughter’s friends are calling it Innauseation Day), the swearing in as president a man I loathe— a convicted felon, a misogynist, a person who revels in name-calling and other forms of excessive meanness, a man willing to encourage an insurrection when he didn’t get his way, a man who appears to believe that he’s never made a mistake. These are not my opinions. They are all backed up with video, audio, and various forms of social media, many items posted by the man himself.

I am not only wresting with the loathing I feel for the incoming president, but there’s also a fair amount of loathing directed at my fellow Americans, for this time the president assumes office not because of the strange ways of the Electoral College, but with the popular vote. Grasping at feeble strands of comfort, I find a bit of solace in living in a blue state. Sure, Maine might be only barely blue, but: a. It is blue (for now, at least, although Trump won the county in which I live), and, b. I am surrounded by a lot of blue, living in the Northeast, with other (mostly) states/people who are not drawn in by name-calling, meanness, misogyny, and the demonizing of others. Still, there are plenty of Trump voters around and I’m finding it increasingly difficult to tone down the deep feelings of anger, suspicion and bitterness I feel toward them.

I find myself in territory where it’s hard for me to know how to be, what to do, etc. There are so many misanthropic thoughts floating around in my head as we approach The Day, next Monday. And, to complicate things still further is that I serve as a pastor and teacher of a small church where people turn to me for guidance. How do I grapple with my loathing for Mr. Trump, Trump voters and worse still, Trump enthusiasts, in the midst of a community of faith, a church in which we are taught to love God AND neighbor, when the loving, but not necessarily liking, isn’t really working?

In the past, when an Inauguration Day loomed that involved the swearing in of a president for whom I didn’t vote, there’s been plenty of dislike and disgust. This time is different in that the misanthropy that is rising to the surface, that I’m trying to beat back each and every day, involves so many more people. It’s not simply that I share community with people with whom I disagree (after all, I live in a household with at least one person who usually votes differently than I do). Now it feels like there’s a deep and wide gulf in how we perceive and appreciate basic human values.

Shortly after the election, there was an especially poignant essay published by the New York Times, written by Naomi Beinart, “I’m 16. On Nov.6 the Girls Cried, and the Boys Played Minecraft” (11/16/24). Despite the gap in our ages, I felt a kinship to the woes Ms. Beinart expressed: “We girls woke up to a country that would rather elect a man found liable for sexual abuse than a woman. Where the kind of man my mother instructs me to cross the street to avoid will be addressed as Mr. President.” That half of the country finds this man fit to lead the country, while the other half believes (and knows, given the easily available evidence) that he should be in prison, or at least shunned because of his views on just about every group and every person who doesn’t look like him or have the same sort of body parts, feels profoundly alienating and disturbing.

I may very well find a way to avoid the ceremony of Innauseation Day, but there will be lots of days after that and I can’t avoid all of them. My life and my profession won’t allow that. Will my faith continue to serve as a counterbalance to my misanthropy or will the weight of attitudes and actions by the incoming administration, buoyed by its supporters and devotees, be too much for my faith to bear?

Help me, Jesus, help me.

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The Gift of Christmas 2024

Posted on December 23, 2024 by smaxreisert

This Advent Season at Old South, even as we have moved through very familiar themes (focusing on the first chapter of Luke— annunciation, Elizabeth’s pregnancy, Mary traveling to Elizabeth to spend three months together, and finally, Mary’s song of praise) and traditional Advent words (hope, peace, joy and love), we have experienced a season that is nothing less than profoundly new and wondrous. Yesterday, at a congregational meeting following worship, members of the church voted to accept a purchase and sale agreement— an offer— for the sanctuary building. There’s a lot to get through to close on the building, but the fact that the membership managed to accept this offer, without vitriol or schism, is a remarkable moment in the life of the church.

The small community that makes up Old South in Hallowell can no longer adequately maintain the lovely structure in which the congregation has gathered for decades, with its large organ, stained glass windows and imposing steeple. And necessary repairs and renovations are simply beyond our financial capacity. It’s time not only to let go, but to entrust that beautiful building to another’s care.

Much of the expressed emotion has centered on grief and heartbreak. A week ago, when we announced the offer and the plan for a congregational meeting to accept the offer, one woman (who knew that the announcement was coming) burst into tears. A few other people have been resigned to the news. They don’t exactly like it, but they’ve seen it coming. Any anger in the group is held by only a couple of people, who have come to a sort of acquiescence. While they didn’t vote in favor of accepting the offer, they did not vote to reject it either.

My hope is that we can work through our collective grief, moving beyond all of grief’s stages, to find ourselves not only accepting our situation, but recognizing the great gift that is before us: possibility. What new and meaningful connection and service might be ahead of us as we right-size our physical plant and our budget? What new opportunities might we explore as we renovate the parish house and move fully into it?

I’d like us to embrace that we are not “giving up” and moving ever-closer to closure, but taking a big faithful step into a newly forming future. With so much time, energy and treasure given to that big sanctuary building that may now be freed up for other purposes, what new calling might be out there to enliven our ministry and our mission?

In yesterday’s New York Times (12/22/24), columnist Ross Douthat wrote the following in a piece entitled “Religion Has Been in Decline. This Christmas Seems Different”:

This Christmas seems different. There is statistical evidence that the latest wave of secularization has reached some sort of limit. There is suggestive cultural evidence that secular liberalism has lost faith in itself, that many people miss not just religion’s moral vision but also its metaphysical horizons, that the arguments for religious belief might be getting a new hearing. Notre-Dame de Paris has been rebuilt from its ashes. I rashly predicted a religious revival earlier this year, and at the very least I expect religious trends in the later 2020s to be different from the trends of the 2010s.

But different probably means really different, not just a return to what existed in the past. The last bastions of the before times, the old religious establishments, are likely to remain in existential trouble.

For instance, Catholic Poland, one of Europe’s last hubs of intense national religion, seems to be following the same de-Christianizing path as Ireland and Quebec and Italy. The American Protestant Mainline isn’t about to leap up from its sickbed, nor is an all but expired Anglicanism in Britain. Likewise, groups such as the Southern Baptists and the Mormons, fast growing a few decades ago and struggling today, aren’t going to automatically rebound or boom again.

Instead, any growth is likely to be nondenominational, subcultural (think Latin Mass Catholics or converts to Eastern Orthodoxy or communally oriented Protestants), mystical and sui generis, with notable flowerings in places where traditional faith has rarely grown before (like in the tech industry, say).

Might we be able to morph ourselves into a really different kind of community, one that is willing to move into new dimensions of what it means to be people of faith?

To better appreciate what we are looking at, we need look no further than the holy day upon us: Christmas. Christmas is all about recognizing, wondering about, and endeavoring to engage with our God who comes to us in very unexpected and surprising ways, even in the smallness and vulnerability of an infant. That infant is calling to us, and asking us to see with new eyes, with a new awareness.

That infant isn’t done with us.

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The Shocking Absence of Pregnancy in the Season of Birth

Posted on December 5, 2024 by smaxreisert

The Revised Common Lectionary (RCL), the three-year cycle of scripture readings (four readings per Sunday, usually one from the Hebrew Scriptures, one psalm, one epistle passage, and one Gospel passage) followed by many Mainline Protestant churches/denominations as well as the Roman Catholic Church, leaves a lot to be desired— especially during Advent. While it is a good goal to encourage broad usage of scripture, and to guide preachers into areas that may not be as comfortable as others, there are some serious issues in the actual line-up of suggested readings.

Advent has long been a season that has caused deep consternation for me, when it comes to following the lectionary. In recent years, I have chosen to leave the Advent RCL readings behind and chart my own path. Although Advent is generally understood to be a time of preparing for both the birth of Jesus as well as Christ’s return, there’s remarkably little offered in terms of actual pregnancy. Sure, there’s not a lot of scripture devoted to stories of pregnancy, even Mary’s. But, the Bible is certainly not devoid of such stories. So, where are they in the lectionary? Why are they largely ignored? Especially in the season that leads us straight to a birth??

In Year A of the RCL, preachers and parishioners must wait until the fourth and final week to get a scripture passage that focuses on the birth of Jesus (Matthew 1:18-25). A small part of Mary’s pregnancy narrative is one reading in the fourth and final week of Year B. And, adding to the insult, churches may use Mary’s Song of Praise (Magnificat) as the Psalm for that same week, but only the song itself. The RCL committee, in its supposed wisdom, cuts out the parts that identify the speaker and the context. In Year C, it’s once again a big wait until the fourth week, with the story of Mary visiting her pregnant kinswoman Elizabeth (pregnant with John the Baptist) and during that visit offering her song of praise.

Four whole weeks of Advent with a total of sixteen readings for each year and only ONE of those readings focused on pregnancy? What’s going on here?

Again, I realize there’s not a lot. Still, there is some excellent material, especially in Luke. Luke covers the circumstances around Elizabeth’s pregnancy before Mary goes to visit with Elizabeth and stay with her. Luke also shares the story of Elizabeth giving birth and the story of the naming of the child (there is a story here!). Matthew spends the first part of his Gospel covering the genealogy of Jesus and that genealogy involves quite a few interesting women— all of them going through the experience of pregnancy and giving birth.

This important season leads us to reconnect with what it means for God not only to take on human flesh and to dwell among us, but to take on that flesh in the form of a vulnerable infant who grew in a woman’s womb and was then born just like most other babies are born. It is an outrage that we Christians are not spending more time with pregnancy and birth in our worship lives, especially during Advent.

One of the most compelling of the early stories is the visit of Elizabeth, a much older woman who thought she would never have a child but is then surprised (like Sarah) to find herself pregnant with someone who would grow into a person of great significance, and Mary, a much younger woman who takes on a pregnancy, with someone of greater significance, even though she is not married. These women stay with each other for three months, during the last months of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, and in the early to mid stage of Mary’s pregnancy. I’m sure I’m not the only woman to have found that it is an amazing experience to be pregnant at the same time as a friend, moving through the indignities of pregnancy along with the wonders of new life. That spirit of companionship offers a valuable lens for exploration and reflection, regardless of whether or not one has personally experienced pregnancy.

It’s about time that churches, church leaders, and denominations— not to mention the Revised Common Lectionary Committee— incorporate these stories into the lectionary. While it will be challenging to wade through the profoundly difficult reality of those whose pregnancy stories are full of heartbreak, these stories are too important to continue to ignore.

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What Do We Do Now?

Posted on November 12, 2024 by smaxreisert

Sermon preached at Old South Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, Hallowell, Maine, November 10, 2024.

28 One of the legal experts heard their dispute and saw how well Jesus answered them. He came over and asked him, “Which commandment is the most important of all?”

29 Jesus replied, “The most important one is Israel, listen! Our God is the one Lord, 30 and you must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your being, with all your mind, and with all your strength.31 The second is this, You will love your neighbor as yourself. No other commandment is greater than these.”

32 The legal expert said to him, “Well said, Teacher. You have truthfully said that God is one and there is no other besides him. 33 And to love God with all of the heart, a full understanding, and all of one’s strength, and to love one’s neighbor as oneself is much more important than all kinds of entirely burned offerings and sacrifices.”

34 When Jesus saw that he had answered with wisdom, he said to him, “You aren’t far from God’s kingdom.” After that, no one dared to ask him any more questions.

Mark 12:28-34 (CEB)

It’s been difficult to figure out what exactly to say today. Should I directly address the election this past week? Should I ignore it entirely? Should I do something a little bit more subtle perhaps? I’ve had a whole slew of questions rolling around in my head, and as those questions rolled around my head, there was the realization that I had to admit that I was feeling a little bit lost, not sure what to think or feel.  But, as the days continued, with more and more issues raised that were increasingly unsettling, it felt more and more unavoidable that I couldn’t just ignore the election and its results.

There’s a famous quote that probably every preacher knows, attributed to the theologian Karl Barth:  “We must hold the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other.”

Of course, these days, “newspaper” has a bit of a different meaning. Yet, the advice still holds that the life of the faithful ought to be connected, in a meaningful way, to the realities of the world in which we live.  But, the preacher must be careful too, not to abuse the privilege of speaking from the pulpit, or what amounts to a pulpit, by bullying people into a perspective that is not actually grounded in scripture.  So, it is with some trepidation that I offer a few thoughts on what has transpired in the United States in the last week.

Not only were the results of the election not what I had hoped for, but the results were so much worse than I thought they could be. Perhaps some of you feel a kinship to that thought. There might even be a couple or a few of you, I might guess, who voted for the winner, but are feeling a little bit distressed at some of the early indications of what is to come.

For those of you who are paying any attention at all to social media or certain news broadcasts, you might have seen one of the more disturbing responses to the election, a sense that something truly terrible has been unleashed.  One example is a video of a man named Nick Fuentes, a young white supremacist who has had dinner with Mr. Trump in the past. Nick Fuentes is an influencer of young men.  He is a Holocaust denier and misogynist who streams videos on X, formerly Twitter, and other platforms, although not on YouTube, since he was kicked off.

After the election, Fuentes posted a video, in which he is so gleeful that he can barely stay seated.  And, in his unhinged gleefulness, he chants, “Your body, my choice.  Forever.” There is no adequate word to describe my response to that video, if I’m thinking about words that I feel comfortable saying in this sanctuary.

So what is there to say? How do we deal with all of this?  How do we live our faith in the midst of the reality in which we now and will be living?  And, still more of an issue is that a part, perhaps a big part, of the effort to elect Donald Trump came from people who claim attachment to the same faith that we do and that many of them somehow connect Christianity to policies that are not at all connected to the lessons contained in the New Testament.

It is a challenge, to be sure, to try to figure out how so many people who claim the same faith as we do, seem to have such a fundamentally different approach with passages like our focus passage for today.

Today’s lesson on God’s greatest command, God’s most important expectation, outlined by Jesus himself, is pretty straightforward. 

[Y]ou must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your being, with all your mind, and with all your strength. 31 The second is this, You will love your neighbor as yourself. No other commandment is greater than these.”

There are no asterisks here in this passage, no little notes to indicate that it means something different from what it actually says. Today’s passage is one of Jesus’s clearest lessons and teachings that you can’t wiggle out of if you are a person of faith.

Yet, lots of Christians are wiggling out. And, they are the same Christians claiming that they want this country to be a more explicitly Christian country. And, somehow that means, that immigrants are not welcome, that those fleeing terrible violence in their own home countries are not allowed here, that women’s bodies belong to the men in their lives, that it is perfectly fine to demean and degrade those who appear and seem different, to demonize those on the periphery, on the margins of our society, especially targeted at those who are transgender.

How can it be that those who claim not only the same faith that we do, but also explicitly talk about the United States needing to be a Christian nation, how is today’s lesson not at the forefront of their preaching, their policies, their leadership, their lifestyle? I wish I could answer that question, but I can’t. I don’t know. But, like many of you, I have a lot of questions and I wonder a lot about how to live and be, as we move into what is likely going to be a very difficult time for those of us who do not share the vision of Mr. Trump and his advisors.

This past week as I was searching for guidance, as I was trying to find some shred hopefulness or a perspective that I thought would be worth sharing today, I stumbled upon a short little video on YouTube, offered by a retired Episcopalian priest.

His perspective offered the reflection that Christianity has never been a religion that, at its essence, is a faith of the majority.  At its foundation, Christianity calls to the faithful to love each other, to care for the marginalized, to turn the other cheek.  These are demands far too difficult for the majority to take up.

So, Father David suggests (see clip here) that this is the time to renew our faith and our commitment to the way of Jesus Christ and with confidence and with some fear and trembling know and recognize that God stands near us.

As we learn in the scripture for today:

The legal expert said to him, “Well said, Teacher. You have truthfully said that God is one and there is no other besides him. 33 And to love God with all of the heart, a full understanding, and all of one’s strength, and to love one’s neighbor as oneself is much more important than all kinds of entirely burned offerings and sacrifices.”

34 When Jesus saw that he had answered with wisdom, he said to him, “You aren’t far from God’s kingdom.” 

We would do well to take a moment, consider deeply and powerfully, some of the lessons from the earliest Christians, those who set themselves apart by looking out for each other, caring for those on the margins, lifting up the lowly and seeing everyone as deserving of God’s love.  In those early days, women were partners in the work, not just sent off to cook and clean and have more babies.  The New Testament is littered with stories of women who were engaged significantly in the work, in the ministry.  I’m not sure about what kind of pets she might’ve owned, but the original childless cat lady may have been Mary Magdalene, the apostle to the apostles, the one who was the first to share the good news of resurrection.

So what do we do next?

First, we continue to be people of faith, people of good intention, people who seek to love our neighbor as ourselves, people who understand that to love God, to worship God, requires that we look after and love our neighbor as ourselves.

Secondly, we do number one even more. It’s important that we wrap ourselves around those who are feeling especially vulnerable, those who are feeling targeted by the unleashed hostility toward those who don’t neatly fit into what has somehow been determined as the only way people are supposed to live their lives.

Third, we do yet even more of numbers one and two.  Over the past couple of years, here at Old South, and continuing even now, a lot of time and energy is, and has been, spent on how to deal with our buildings.  We cannot escape the issues that continue to be very much present, but this is an important moment to make sure that the issues with our buildings don’t get in the way of the work and ministry we are clearly called to do.  Taking another lesson from those early Christians, we ought to be reminded that they did not show their faith, demonstrate their love for God and neighbor by erecting buildings.  Jesus’s teaching on the most important lesson was, and continues to be, very clear.  We must stay focused on that.  We are the ones who show love of God and love of neighbor, not the building we inhabit on Sunday mornings.

Let us stay focused.  Let us be a community that takes seriously this most important of lessons, and while doing so, help and encourage each other, remaining steadfast, not collapsing under the weight of disappointment.  It’s a hard road, yet we are called to be resilient.  We have everything we need.

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I’m Starting to Question God’s Choices

Posted on November 7, 2024 by smaxreisert

“Many people have told me that God spared my life for a reason — and that reason was to save our country and to restore America to greatness, and now we are going to fulfill that mission together. We’re going to fulfill that.” Donald Trump quoted in “Five Things We Learned about Faith Voters,” Religion Unplugged, 11/6/24

It’s hard to know where to begin today, as I try to absorb the result of the presidential election yesterday. In the last couple of months, I had come to believe that Kamala Harris would not win the election, although I had held onto to a shred of hope that maybe I would be surprised. But, the extent of her loss is staggering, devastating, crushing to me.

I now feel certain that I will never see a woman elected as president in my lifetime. And, more than that, that our next President will be a self-aggrandizing, misogynistic, mean-spirited, racist scoundrel.

Given the issues and liabilities of Mr. Trump, any woman should have been able to beat him handily. Yet, we have the opposite. Could it really be that God spared his life so he could regain the presidency to bring back American “greatness” (whatever that’s supposed to mean)?

I hope not.

I generally don’t believe in any sort of notion of “particular providence,” that God gets so intimately involved in the affairs of human beings. I can’t connect myself to a small and arbitrary God who rescues one person while allowing a whole bunch of other people to suffer terrible calamities and deaths.

I am aware that the Bible contains many stories of God employing seemingly unexpected, unremarkable, even undeserving, people for important work. But, don’t those stories also suggest that those people had some idea of God’s expectations, that God generally seeks to lift up the lowly and to strike down the mighty? That God has a decidedly different notion of “greatness” than Mr. Trump, his advisers, and those who eagerly back him? That to feel that sort of linkage of the Divine must be a profoundly humbling experience?

If we are to believe, like it or not, that Mr. Trump is somehow doing “God’s work,” is it too much to ask Mr. Trump and his minions to:

  • Stop using language about others that they would not use about themselves (you know, like the Golden Rule, which is in the Bible, outlines);
  • Show humanity, empathy and dignity toward migrants, immigrants, new residents, and new citizens (Deuteronomy 10:19; Psalm 146:9, Matthew 25:35 are just a few examples of many);
  • Recognize, appreciate and seek to follow at least some of the commandments, like not bearing false witness;
  • Refrain from demonizing those on the margins, like transgender folk (after all, Jesus hung out with prostitutes and tax collectors); and,
  • Seek to follow a more righteous path.

America’s “greatness,” if it is to be judged by biblical standards, must involve justice and compassion, mercy and love.

To think that Mr. Trump is God’s new spokesperson and right-hand guy would essentially require the dismissal of almost the entirety of Christianity’s holy scriptures, the lessons and perspectives that are contained in that book, especially in the New Testament. If Mr. Trump, his advisors and enthusiasts, are so sure that there was divine intervention at the rally when he was shot and that his life was spared for this moment (and the next four years), this would be a good time to learn and to reflect on how they are being called to conform to God’s expectations, rather than the other way around.

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On Edge

Posted on November 1, 2024 by smaxreisert

I haven’t been surprised by the expressions of mounting tension as we get closer and closer to Election Day. What has surprised me is the expression of tension and anxiety shared with me by people at Old South who have never spoken up in the past about their political leanings or their practices when voting. This season, they are feeling decidedly on edge, stressed, and frightened by what may happen on Election Day, and what that may usher into existence.

The people who have shared their fear and anxiety are not concerned about what used to be some of the normal dividing points between the major political parties— healthcare, social security, economic policies, etc. These are people who are fearful of what may happen to how they live their normal, everyday lives, or how their loved ones, family and/or friends, will be able to live their lives.

Among my faithful church-going people, there is a sense of disconnection between their experience of faith, the lessons of the faith, and the rhetoric of exclusion and degradation that has become not only a common language of one of the main candidates for president, but a language and perspective that appears clearly to be shared by many who claim to hold the same faith as those who are part of Old South. How can there be such a difference between and among those who claim to follow Jesus Christ?

Especially for those in the LBGTQ+ community, along with their family and friends, the fear is building. A sense of hopelessness if looming. Not only is there edginess about what may come from the election, but a profound sense of disquiet that we are here at all, that the ugly language dismissing any humanity from those who seem different is so present in the political landscape. How did we get here? And why?

It feels like we’ve somehow become one giant elementary school playground, where a few bullies have been able to take charge (well, one bully, and his dangerous minions), bringing with them those who just want to make sure they do not become the brunt of the scorn of the powerful. Better to play along with the bullies than to become fodder for their malice and cruelty. It’s all too simple to pick on the easy targets, those who are small in number and power, and are just different enough from the larger group to mock and paint as less worthy of respect and dignity, as well as the basic freedoms the rest of us enjoy in the United States.

For those who already feel vulnerable, on the margins of society, the possibility of still more vulnerability and actual threats to their ability to simply to live their lives— not only posing not one bit of harm to anyone, but usually providing the opposite through care and concern for others— is a lot to bear. Trying to figure out why people who claim to share the same faith are itching to destroy the little bit of security that has come from major shifts in law, policy and culture, is disheartening, even crushing.

One of the clearest of the lessons that Jesus taught was the Golden Rule: “Therefore, you should treat people in the same way that you want people to treat you; this is the Law and the Prophets.” (Matthew 7:12, CEB) That this is not the guiding theme of all people who declare themselves driven by the Christian faith is both mind-boggling and profoundly distressing. There’s a feeling of edginess, to be sure, and a sense that the edginess will remain, no matter who wins on Tuesday. Either the malice will take its place of power, or it will remain where it is, in the hearts and minds of many Christians who seem unwavering in their desire to live the faith untethered to one of its most basic tenets.

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The Church Has A Lot of Explaining to Do

Posted on October 17, 2024 by smaxreisert

Catholic voters favor Trump in most battleground states, according to new NCR poll [National Catholic Reporter, 10/14/24]

Are male voters reluctant to vote for a woman? [AP News, 10/11/24]

Sexist Language Surges Online as Harris Battles Trump [Newsweek, 10/11/24]

How can we be where we are as a country? How can so many people appear to be so willing to vote for a too-old, increasingly cognitively challenged, many times over convicted, womanizing, cruel, aggressively hostile to those who disagree, dishonest, authoritarian-leaning, narcissistic man?

Is the problem that the other major party candidate is a woman?

Even if Kamala Harris manages a victory in November, the Church has a lot of explaining to do, as the Church is the source of much of the sexism that is deeply embedded in our culture. While the Christian Church is not the only influential body, there are critical issues that must be addressed, especially since the scriptural grounding of the discounting of women is pretty shaky.

The sexism in the Church runs deep and, in so many ways, extends beyond the notion of “sexism.” I remember one of the classes I took at the Div School in which we read some of the writings of the Desert Fathers, early Christian monks who lived ascetic lives in the Egyptian desert. Many (most?) of these men equated any sexual desires or feelings not to the natural inclinations of the human body and the human experience. Instead, these early ascetics— at least some of them—spoke of those moments of lustfulness as visitations from the devil. And what form did the devil take? That of a woman, of course. It’s not so outrageous to consider that monks in a desert would experience carnal desires and might then fantasize about women. The linking of those feelings not only to the work of the devil, but to equate women with the personification of evil was (and remains) extremely problematic.

For many Christians, women are connected to evil, mischief, recklessness, waywardness. There also the sense that women are devoid of certain qualities that are essential to such things as leadership. It’s all there in the Genesis 2 and 3. The man doesn’t succumb to the temptation of the serpent. It’s the woman. But, is that the only way to interpret that story? What about the seemingly subordinate, “helper,” status of women in Genesis 2 and 3? The traditional interpretation of this part of the Bible is actually not in any way a full reading of the text. The story does not provide one definitive, foundational explanation of the relationship between men and women that many Christian pastors, leaders, adherents have come to believe. There’s a lot more going on in the story or, in other words: it’s not as simple as it looks.

For Christians turning to the New Testament for guidance on how to understand the role of women, many turn to a passage in 1 Timothy that suggests that women may not teach or have any sort of authority over men. It has turned into another definitive verse. Yet, upon closer inspection, that interpretation of the text is not the only way of reading it. In fact, it very likely is not how that passage should be read and understood. There is a willfulness here, it seems to me, to make this passage into something it is not. Unfortunately, that problematic interpretation has taken root.

And has become a significant lens, along with other problematic interpretations of passages, through which many Christians view family relationships, communities, the Church and its churches, and the country.

It may come as a surprise that the Holy Bible offers other important insights into the lives of human beings and our connection to our Creator. Some of those insights ought to be front and center when we consider how the Christian faith influences how we understand the relationship between women and men and the private, public and faith-based roles of men and women. Here are just a few:

  • In Genesis 1, human beings— the woman and the man— were created at the same time.
  • Jesus Christ entrusted a woman to be the first person to share the news of resurrection.
  • Jesus taught, healed, ministered with, and ate with many women.
  • The Apostle Paul relied on women as partners in his work to spread the good news.

It is because of these stories, and more, that I continue to identify as a Christian and have followed the call into ordained ministry and service. Yet, my voice and the voices of those in my corner of Christianity are very small and not especially consequential, at least not in moving into the forefront of public discourse a different (but still faithful) interpretation of holy texts that provides a vision of equal status, and the sharing of gifts for various roles (including leadership), of women and men.

As far as those more dominant voices in the Church, the ones that claim the one and only path for understanding Biblical text and story, all I can say: they have a lot to answer for in how they have contributed to the sad state we are in in this country.

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Making It Work for the Smaller Church, Part 4: Trust

Posted on October 1, 2024 by smaxreisert

Near the beginning of the Disney animated film Aladdin, Princess Jasmine, recently run away from the palace and trying to make her way through the local market, gets herself in a wee bit of trouble. Her only escape is offered by a street urchin, named Aladdin. She seems initially dubious about an escape with this stranger and his helpful monkey friend, Abu. Aladdin then stretches out his arm and asks her, “Do you trust me?” The two animated characters look soulfully into each other’s huge eyes and Jasmine responds that she does trust him and off they jump into what Aladdin clearly thinks is a path to freedom. Unfortunately, Aladdin is quickly captured by the palace guard, and that sets up the rest of the story. His question, though, comes back later, reminding the Princess of the magical connection the two of them felt at that first meeting.

If only trust were so simple.

Over the past several blog posts, I’ve outlined the various parts of the transformation of Old South from small church that tried to act like a big church to small church that acts like a small church. We have, essentially, “right-sized” ourselves into a community that is manageable, while also promoting paths of service and the exploration of gifts and talents. It’s not perfect, to be sure, but it’s been a good and meaningful journey.

Reflecting on how such a dramatic change has been possible, in a congregational setting in which the variety of opinions and perspectives could have rendered the congregation either paralyzed or shattered into warring factions, I would say that the most important component to the process of change— other than our continuing commitment to being a faith community focused on our relationship with God— is trust.

It might go without saying that any significant transformation requires trust, but I would argue that trust must be not be taken for granted. Instead, it must be fostered, respected and considered. Trust doesn’t just happen. It takes thoughtful and honest attention.

Trust is necessary between pastor and congregation, as well as between and among the individuals that make up the congregation. This isn’t about soulfully looking into another’s eyes, to gauge credibility. Trust involves a knowledgable awareness of trust’s building blocks, like reliability, confidence, honesty and safety. No one is perfect in the trust business, but it’s profoundly important that all involved, especially pastors, seek to move beyond the question, “Do you trust me?” and to act, speak and observe the components of trust in all of the various aspects of one’s call to a local church.

I should be clear that it’s the local church that is the focus here. Gallup recently released polling that suggests that the American public is much less trusting of institutions, including the Church and its clergy, than it once was. The evidence of what can happen when someone, like a religious leader, takes advantage of trust for personal gain or to satisfy problematic personal needs and desires is now more widely appreciated than it once was, though the toll of such monstrous behavior is difficult to fully understand. It’s a reminder of the staggering significance of trust, to all clergy and local churches, that trust must be at the forefront of relationships and tended to with care and diligence.

When it comes to cultivating trust, I have found that a few practices are especially crucial— attentive listening; patience; presence; and, a willingness to engage in conversation even when the other person disagrees with everything that I’ve said and done. It’s not that any of these things comes naturally to me. Those in my household know that there are times when I am extremely frustrated by the need to be patient when I don’t want to be and when what seems like a simple issue turns into a circus. Change isn’t easy for anyone, not even the one who proposes it. What’s important is that I actively cultivate components of trust. When it’s time for a really big change, most people at Old South know they can trust me, even if they end up not going along with whatever change is on the table. And, when I act in a way that employs the building blocks of trust, people in the congregation also usually act in a trustworthy way. Trust inspires trust.

For the small church, trust is an essential factor to the life and well-being of the congregation. By taking trust seriously in how we interact with each other, we also demonstrate and live out of our knowledge of the trust we have in the God who gathers us together.

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Making It Work for the Smaller Church, Part 3: Sign Ups

Posted on September 16, 2024 by smaxreisert

Depending on the context, it can be a controversial topic: the alteration of the typical line-up of boards and committees for the average congregationally-inclined local congregation. For those churches whose identities are deeply tied to the active participation of those who comprise the congregation (by regular worship attendance and/or by joining through an official ritual of some kind), it can be a tricky thing to talk about substantial change, especially if the number of boards and committees is set to be cut significantly and still more, if the proposal includes the re-labeling of beloved posts/positions.

One of the most important considerations when a congregation is looking to redefine and “right-size” its governance structure is to take stock of the culture of the church— How have the boards/committees functioned? Are there clear expectations for some, or all, of the boards and committees? Are there some boards/committees that garner more respect than others? Are some boards/committees harder to fill than others? Is so, why?

When Old South went through the process to change its governance structure (a decade ago), we had a variety of issues to ponder. Our diminishing worshiping community was only one consideration on the list. The culture of the church, in terms of how the boards and committees functioned, was a critical issue. For instance, a couple of the boards/committees were so clearly defined that we had people who considered themselves drawn to only one and not any others. We had some people who had served for years on the Board of Trustees, but never on the Board of Deacons, and vice versa, and would never even remotely consider giving a different group a try. And, hardly anyone was enthusiastic about attending the monthly gathering of the chairs of the various boards/committees.

In order to help people perceive service to the church in a different way, we pushed aside the normal list of labels, including deacon (and the Board of Deacons). Eliminating the “deacon” role was difficult, as the word appears in the New Testament in a number of places and churches, like Old South, generally like to feel a sense of connection to the ancient church, even if it’s just a small one. For Old South, the word “deacon” had become problematic. There were certain “jobs” that belonged so completely to the deacons that somehow one had to be a deacon in order to do any of those assignments, like turn on the lights and sound system on Sunday mornings, greet people at the door as they arrived for worship, help to set up and serve communion on communion Sundays. It didn’t feel like any of those tasks demanded that someone be a member of what amounted to a special club in order to perform them. Plus, we had a few people who drove a bit of a distance to attend worship regularly. Some of those people were eager to get involved, especially with the Board of Deacons, but they didn’t want to be forced to drive a half hour (each way) to attend a monthly meeting just so they could turn on lights, greet people at the door, or serve communion.

It was a big step to eliminate the Board of Deacons, along with the other boards and committees, but it wasn’t nearly as painful as I thought it would be. Once I shared my thinking, it was interesting to see that people could understand what I saw as the issues. Through that process, we could begin to envision, together, something new.

We now have one governance group (called the Oversight Committee, along with a couple of ministry teams) and a welcoming of all into participation in our worshiping life. We have an open sign up process, online and on a piece of paper that is posted in the church vestry. On that sign up, there are slots for: greeter (in person and online), psalm reader, call to worship/invocation leader, worship assistant (the one who turns the lights and sound system on, and then off at the end of worship, makes sure the doors are unlocked, the hymn numbers are posted, etc. and the person who sets up and helps serve communion on communion Sundays), and tech assistant. For special Sundays, there are additional slots and other opportunities.

Most of the time, there’s enough activity around the sign up process that most slots get filled. Occasionally, there are times when we need to provide a little extra encouragement and there are even a few, but rare, times when the administrative assistant needs to get on the phone to fill slots (or leave them empty).

One of the most intriguing, and thrilling, aspects of how we do what we do now is in the process of inviting new people, or encouraging old timers to try something new. A whole culture has now developed around encouragement and assistance.

Earlier this summer, a person who’s been attending Old South for a relatively short period of time, expressed interest in setting up and serving communion. There were several people eager to show her the process. I was able to stay completely out of it. At the end of that worship service, the woman went right to the sign up and signed up for the same slot for the following month. After the next month, she went up to the sign up to fill in that slot once again to set up and serve communion. This time, though, that slot was already filled. So, she talked to the person who had signed up and got the other person to take a different slot.

It’s a remarkable experience to see this happen. We don’t need the word “deacon” to understand that there is service, on a variety of levels, going on. I remember way back when I was in confirmation class (probably around the age of fifteen), the pastor came to a class to teach us about the sacraments, to help us understand that, especially through the sacrament of communion, we actively practice our faith– ministering to each other, allowing others to minister to us, treating each other as we wish to be treated, welcoming the friend and the stranger, creating and observing space for an experience of the sacred, etc. That’s what’s happening at Old South. It’s not that this approach to communion was missing when we had a Board of Deacons, but that the practice of the church had become so rigid as to interfere with that space that actively appreciates the presence of the Divine.

In the decade since we substantially altered our governance structure, no one has asked that we return to the old way, to how we “used to do things.” We may be smaller in number, but we have actually grown when it comes to being better attuned to the movement of the Spirit in our midst. As a community of faith, we are more aware of what it means to be a living community of faith now and in these days, rather than a tribute to what was done in the past.

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Making It Work for the Smaller Church, Part 2: Committees

Posted on August 31, 2024 by smaxreisert

I have this scene that plays like an old-fashioned film strip in my head. It’s the early 1950s. The leadership of a Mainline Protestant church somewhere in an ordinary suburban setting has gathered to deal with a new problem: so many people; so many families. Churches that dotted the main square of many an American town found themselves at the time with a burgeoning membership. Post-WW 2 created renewed vigor in communities and community institutions, like churches. Individuals and families were eager to participate, to be a part of institutions that were perceived to strengthen individuals and thereby, communities in general.

In my imaginary film strip, black and white and little grainy, there is that group of church leaders, trying to figure out what to do with all of the new people, all of the new interest. I can almost hear one of them saying out loud something along the lines of, “It doesn’t feel right to have people just come to worship on Sunday mornings. That’s simply doesn’t allow adequate participation. How will they feel a sense of belonging?” They consider. They brainstorm. Finally, one of them utters, breathlessly and excitedly, “What about . . . . committees!”

For many local Mainline Protestant churches that grew by leaps and bounds in the 1950s and 1960s, that little film strip in my head imagines a flourishing of committees, and other church-associated groups. In addition to a Board of Deacons and a Board of Trustees (and a church Council). the great new ideas for committees and groups probably included things like Christian education, youth, missions and outreach, women’s activities, flowers/beautification, etc, etc.

The line-up of slots likely grew to more than a page or two, and created another sort of committee— the nominations committee—to fill all of those slots year after year.

Then all of those committees became so embedded in the life of the church that they sort of became the church, as if without them, the church would lose its identity, its sense of mission, its connection to the holy. It’s as if Jesus said, “And, above all, the most important thing for my followers, is to go out and be on a committee! And, when a committee is full, create a new one! Until the whole world is populated by people on committees! What a wondrous and God-like thing that would be!”

As local Mainline Protestant churches have declined (the process starting not long after they grew), one of the most difficult aspects for congregations of those who were/are left has been committees— all of those slots to fill with fewer people; prioritizing certain committees over others; hounding people, especially poor newcomers, to join a committee, or two, or three; reflecting on the meaning and purpose of at least some of the committees; wondering if it’s okay to have fewer of them, to consolidate or even completely re-imagine how to get church work done.

When Old South went through its major restructuring, a decade ago, we reduced our long list of committees to one single voting/governing/action committee, along with ministry teams. It wasn’t an easy process, but most people were ready for a change. It was so painful, year after year, to turn to the same list of committees and boards and wonder how it was going to be filled out with names instead of empty lines. When I proposed that we not only reduce, but seriously reduce the number of committees and, at the same time, reconsider what we do and why, a series of very interesting discussions ensued. It was fascinating to listen to the variety of responses and perspectives. For a few people, reducing the number of committees seemed like a betrayal of those who had gone before. For a couple of others, a reduction meant that we were “giving up,” when we should instead be waiting and watching for that magical day when people started streaming back into churches.

In the end, we made the big switch. While the new structure hasn’t solved all of our issues with committees and boards (the one governing board sometimes gets so focused on physical plant issues that it can feel like we just kept the Board of Trustees and got rid of everything else), we are now much more “right-sized,” and there’s a much clearer sense that we are not just a community of people completely driven by what’s worked in the past. People who are part of Old South are encouraged to find ways of participating in our life and ministry together, without also having to get signed up to attend monthly meetings.

One of the most significant developments and realities of how we gather together is that there’s much more openness to participation, an encouragement to share gifts and talents and to explore new gifts. This isn’t to say that we always encounter a great eagerness to be involved. There are some Sundays, and some tasks, that offer a bit of challenge. And, it can be daunting to find ways for new people to get involved when there’s no neat set of committee slots. Instead, we have learned to interact with people, to encourage involvement in ways that seem to connect with their interests, while also providing paths for people to help us learn more about them and their interests.

There are plenty of things that must get done in the local church. For Congregationalists, it’s important that we share those duties— from various worship-related functions (greeting, helping to turn on lights, serving communion, reading the weekly psalm, etc.) to ministry teams that provide space for problem solving, guidance and creativity (worship and mission/outreach) to various maintenance projects outside the realm of the sexton. To deal with all of these, Old South has the Sign Up, an open sign up process (online and in paper form for Sunday mornings). I’ll address that subject next time.

When it comes to committees, it’s been profoundly important for our small community to engage with what works now, to find release from the dictates and expectations of the past (especially a past that was actually a short blip, rather than an epic era), and to be open to the movement of the Holy Spirit that guides us in being a community of faith, rather than a museum of what used to be.

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