The Capacity for Peace

Posted on December 2, 2015 by smaxreisert

We—my husband, children and I—spent Thanksgiving in New York City, with my husband’s family. This is the second time we converged on the big city for the holiday weekend. It’s a convenient (and fun) gathering spot for the family, coming from the north and the south, and the east (not so much the west).

On Thanksgiving Day, between the Macy’s parade and our late afternoon restaurant reservation, my husband and I walked the entire length of Central Park, from where we were staying on Central Park South to just north of the Park, to visit some friends who recently moved into a new apartment.

It was a beautiful day in New York City, warm with the sun shining. No surprise then, that Central Park was full of people enjoying a bonus early fall day just before winter is about to set in. Forget the Macy’s parade, the more impressive parade was in the Park.

As we moved briskly through Central Park (trying to work off the feast before we ate it), it was impossible not to notice the remarkable array of humanity also enjoying the unseasonably warm day—the young, old and in between; the well-dressed and the not so well-dressed; seemingly all of the hues of skin color; and an extraordinary variety of spoken language.

Such an amazing display of human beings, all sharing space in the middle of one of the world’s largest cities. We were not necessarily interacting with each other, but yet there was a sense of peace, of safety, of the enjoyment of a beautiful day with family and friends.

In a world that seems all too often to be teetering on the edge of chaos, violence and war, I realized on Thanksgiving Day that we shouldn’t take for granted moments of peace, of shared space, of a collective sense of the dignity of human beings. It was nice to be in the midst of so much diversity yet no sense of strife, but I couldn’t help but feel that someone should have stood on the highest ground in the Park and yelled something about what was happening, in the peaceful array of humanity.

For most, Thanksgiving Day in Central Park was not so strange—except, perhaps, that it was so warm. But, it also seemed to me to be a moment to remember and value. It may be easy to despair at the violence and the suspicion that can spring up among people of different races, nationalities, religions, but we should find ways of celebrating, or at least taking notice of, the myriad ways in which and through which we experience peace even in the midst of obvious differences.

This isn’t to say that we should ignore the significant places where there is hatred and brutality—places that require important work to be done. We ought to be more mindful, though, of our capacity for peace and for peacefulness. And to find ways of shining a light on that peacefulness, lifting it up for the ray of hope that it is.

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What’s the Appeal of Inerrancy?

Posted on November 19, 2015 by smaxreisert

Outreach Magazine recently published a list of the “Fastest Growing Churches: 2015.” A link to the list can be found here:  http://www.outreachmagazine.com/outreach-100-fastest-growing-churches-2015.html

The list intrigued me, so I began taking a look at these fast growing churches. I didn’t have time to do an exhaustive search of the list, but I was curious. So, I visited the webpage of each of the top ten churches.

Of the Top Ten Fastest Growing Churches, according to Outreach magazine, all but one contain strong language on their approach to the Bible. I noticed words such as “inerrant,” “infallible,” “without error.” One church went so far as to offer this statement: “God Himself chose every word of Scripture.”

It’s not a new question for me, but one that certainly got sparked again when I went looking at these top ten churches: what is the allure of the Bible as the inerrant, infallible word of God, without error or blemish of any kind?

I remember when I was first exposed to this bold claim. I was a young adult, a fresh college graduate, returned home without decent employment. I started attending the church I had attended as a child, a church that had changed considerably with new pastoral leadership. I remember a conversation I had with a new church member, who let me know in no uncertain terms, that it was important to understand the Bible as the inerrant word of God. But, I replied, the Bible wasn’t even written in English and there is no “original.” The new church member responded, “The King James Version—that’s the one God inspired.”

My jaw probably dropped (I don’t remember exactly; it was a long time ago). I had taken a yearlong Bible course in college and knew that I knew at least a thing or two about the Bible. It never had occurred to me to approach the Bible with such a strong sense that, though written by humans, it had somehow dodged human inadequacies.

There began a quest, of sorts (not one that consumes a lot of my time, I’ll admit), to understand the allure of the Bible as the inerrant word of God. Why and how? Even if we consider the Bible in English as the inerrant word (which seems so completely far-fetched to me, and a clear sign of the folly of this whole enterprise; how can we possibly believe that English is God’s preferred language??), what about those places that contradict each other? What about the stories that are in tension with each other (the birth stories of Jesus, for instance)?

And, more than that, what about the notion of the enormity, mystery and wonder of God? How can the wonder of God be contained in the limits of human language?

If we comprehend God to be both close as well as far, to be understandable but also beyond our understanding, to be the architect of this universe but also interested in the affairs of people (and so many of them) on this earth, how can we think of the Holy Bible in such a literal, inerrant, without error sort of way?

If we believe the Bible to be written by human beings, then it seems impossible that, even though inspired, that those human beings could possibly be able to write something without error. If God had wanted the books of the Bible (written over a considerable amount of time by different people) to be believed as inerrant and without blemish, wouldn’t God have chosen a different format for conveying the Holy Book to the people?

Why is the inerrancy of the Bible seemingly so important? Is this claim part of the path to fast growth for churches? Why do churches, and their leaders, feel the need to possess such control on the Holy Scriptures?

It is a question for me, to be sure, and I can’t help but think that the quest for infallibility is simply a quest for human control of the God we worship, when it really ought to be the other way around. It seems a sad business, then, that these are the churches that appear to be growing so quickly. Perhaps inerrancy is not the hallmark of their work, mission and identity (I have not visited any of these churches), but it is clearly cast as part of the foundation for most, if not all of these churches. The bold claims of inerrancy, I wonder: do they fulfill the wishes of a wondrous, amazing God, or do they fulfill the needs of people, who may desire certainty and answers over questions and ambiguity?

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This Writing Life

Posted on November 8, 2015 by smaxreisert

I spent last week at a clergy writing workshop, along with eleven other participants and a leader. It was an amazing gift to spend considerable time away from the usual routine of work and family and to engage in all aspects of the writing process, with others who are also writers—and pastors too. And, to do so in a beautiful location (with the bonus of great weather), at a conference center that provided excellent food and drink.

The week offered an opportunity to reflect on my writing, especially this blog. As a group, we explored new and different forms of writing, like flash fiction and Twitterature.  We shared fiction, blog posts, memoir, poetry, prayers, and liturgy.  We wrote from the familiar and comfortable, as well as reaching out into the strange and new.

I spent time reflecting on why I post to this blog almost every week:  to say things I don’t quite have the courage to say in a church gathering; to wrestle with issues that don’t easily fit into clergy-type gatherings; to put “on paper” my hopes and deep concerns for the church, as well as my pastoral leadership in the parish and beyond; and to wonder about the church and its particular local setting in the 21st century.

During the week, I stepped back as well as forward, reviewing what I have done and pondering what might be next. The group spoke deeply and creatively about writing and the process of writing. Each of us also took that bold step of handing over a piece of precious writing and asking for honest feedback—actual, honest feedback—in a gathering of the entire group. Each of us, after presenting a piece, sat in silence for a full ten minutes while the other members of the group offered positive comments and constructive criticisms. I wasn’t sure that I would get through my first experience at this exercise, but found it to be very helpful, and even enjoyable.

One of the most powerful gifts of the week was the reminder of the significance of writing, that it’s not something that one should tuck into those rare moments of “free time.” Writing is important and valuable to the work of the pastor, for those pastors who feel called to write.

A deep and abiding thank you to the writers with whom I worked, played, created, worshiped, and laughed. Thank you especially for your writing, your commitment to the wonder and power of words, and your willingness to be vulnerable, to share of yourselves and to be good listeners as well as talkers. The week was filled with beautiful words, inspiring grammar, surprisingly animated punctuation, and certainly, the presence of God. From the bottom of my heart, thank you to the writers: Heather, Jessica, Shelly, Amy, Geordie, Andrea, Cleo, Tim, Kelli, Betsy, Jane, and Maren.

A big thank you too to those who organized and financially supported the workshop:  the Massachusetts Conference of the United Church of Christ, the Lilly Endowment, and the Collegeville Institute for Ecumenical and Cultural Research.

p.s.  Look Jane, no exclamation points!

Posted in Misc, My Life as Pastor | 1 Comment

Do I Hear the Fat Lady Singing?

Posted on November 2, 2015 by smaxreisert

In my last post, I wrote about a sermon that I wished had been preached at the recent Maine Conference United Church of Christ Annual Meeting—but was not. The scripture was Sarah laughing at the prospect of having a child in her older age. At the time, I wished that the preacher had noticed the sea of gray hair in front of him and had offered some insight regarding the possibility of new life even in the midst of older people, perhaps even the older people who sat right in front of him. But, unfortunately, this reality failed to grab his attention.

So, I decided to preach that sermon myself on that very same weekend. For Sunday worship, I announced that I was not going to read or preach on Ruth, as the Narrative Lectionary suggested, but instead, I would focus on the Sarah laughing passage in Genesis (which had been part of the Narrative Lectionary in September, but on a Sunday when I was away).

The Maine Conference writ small, Old South is a congregation on the older side of things. On an average Sunday, there’s lots of gray hair, or heads with diminishing hair, and for at least a few of the heads with no gray hair, like mine, it is only because of the wonders of chemistry that the gray hair is hidden.

I preached my sermon on the possibility of new life in the midst of older age, and the promise that nothing is too amazing for God, and for those who trust God. I preached from what was, at best, notes. Mostly, I preached the sermon that had come to mind on the previous day, when the preacher didn’t go where I thought he should go. I felt like I was really on to something powerful, and significant.

The response I received was not what I had hoped. Not even close. I even think I spotted someone in the congregation scowling at me at one point during the sermon.

On that particular Sunday, the congregation included two grandmothers who spent at least part of the service trying to control their rambunctious toddler grandchildren. I used the situation to illustrate the reality of new life. New life is hard to control, manage. It doesn’t behave in the way we wish it or will it to behave. Yet, it is wondrous, amazing, and the promise of it exists even in the midst of our advancing years.

My handy sermon illustration probably didn’t help the situation.

One person came up to me after the service is said that if she learned that she was pregnant at this stage in her life, she wouldn’t laugh, or cry. She would do something else and then opened her mouth as if she were about to scream—or shout a string of expletives. Prophetic.

New life is hard to manage. New life has a habit of behaving in its own way. And, though we continue to say it’s what we want, we are, at the same time, making it plainly clear that it really isn’t what we want at all.

I had hoped that my sermon would inspire some head nods, a few faces lit up in acknowledgement. But, nothing like that happened. The silence was not the silence of thoughtful anticipation (which I have experienced from time to time), but instead, it was the silence of just hoping it would be over soon.

New life is possible in older age, when those older age folk grasp the notion that nothing is too wonderful for God when God is trusted. What does it mean for us to trust God, and to trust where God might be leading us? What does it mean for us to open ourselves to new life, even in the midst of our weary, older age?

I realize that the specter of rambunctious toddlers may give us pause when it comes to welcoming new life, but toddlers offer an valuable focal point for reflection—as they serve as an object lesson that leads us to consider the new life that God promises. We might laugh, or cry, at this reality. But, if instead we simply endure, or scream, we might as well admit that it’s over.

I’d like to think that I don’t hear the singing that signals the end, but the reality is that the singing is getting too loud to ignore. It’s decision time: change or embrace the sunset. It’s time to be honest—with ourselves, and with God.

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New Life In the Midst of Old People?

Posted on October 23, 2015 by smaxreisert

Attend a large gathering of the Maine United Church of Christ, like the Conference Annual Meeting, and one sees a lot of gray hair. In addition, there are quite a few heads with little or no hair at all, as well as some—like mine—that would be gray, except for the miracle of chemistry. What does this mean for our churches, our associations, our conference? What kind of future will we have? What kind of present are we a part of?

Last weekend, the Maine Conference gathered for its Annual Meeting and during the course of that meeting, installed a new conference minister. One of the scripture passages chosen for the installation service was the passage from Genesis where Sarah laughs when she discovers that she will become pregnant, even though she is beyond normal childbearing years.

The preacher chose to focus on the laughter in the passage and what the passage tells us about God and that all things are possible through God, etc., etc. I was disappointed that the preacher didn’t take the opportunity to observe what seemed to me to be an obvious, and significant, message to be shared in light of the actual congregation gathered in front of him.

If I had been preaching that day, I would have pointed out that the story shows new life emerging even in the midst of the lives of older people—gray-haired people. Sarah and Abraham were older, to be sure. The story makes that abundantly clear. There are a number of lessons to be gleaned from the story, but the one that jumped out at me on Saturday with remarkable clarity was this: the promise of new life, the wondrous nature of what can happen one God is trusted, is possible not just among the young, but among the old as well.

Perhaps even in the Maine Conference of the United Church of Christ.

In the sea of gray hair that is the Maine Conference United Church of Christ, we may find ourselves laughing at the notion of new life in our midst—or, more likely, we are apt to find ourselves crying and grieving for the life that we once had but have no longer. For the most part, though, we seem to expect that new life will come from the young. Worship at the Annual Meeting was planned by the “20/30” group (clergy in their twenties and thirties) and reference was made, at least a couple of times, to the sizable gathering of young people from the State Youth Council that was spending the weekend at a Conference camp facility not far from Augusta, where the Annual Meeting was taking place.

It is indeed important to raise up the young in our midst, especially since they are in short supply in this state that is the oldest state in the country. But, the story of Abraham and Sarah reminds us that new life is not solely for the young. It is for the older too. And, when God is trusted, new life can emerge even for those who think that they are beyond such productivity.

Sarah, even as she laughs at such a remarkable moment, also demonstrates other important aspects of faith: doubt and fear.

We have those too.

To have faith, to trust in God, requires that we believe the unbelievable and travel the unbelievable path. For those of us with gray hair, or no hair, or hair that’s been cleverly altered, the life of faith is one that never gets easier, or more manageable—or at least it shouldn’t. We might laugh, or we might cry, but when we trust in God, we just might find new life. Is there anything too wonderful for God?

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You Can’t Control Your Own Resurrection

Posted on October 13, 2015 by smaxreisert

Gaze upon the current reading lists of pastors of old, struggling mainline churches, and you are likely to find books about church vitality, church growth, and the changing outlook and circumstances of the Christian Church in the twenty-first century. These books offer advice, counsel, new insights into “post-Christendom,” and other perspectives on Christianity in the United States, and in the world. Some books even offer bold resurrection-suggesting pronouncements like “How Our Church Came Back from the Dead and Yours Can, Too.”

The problem with these books is that they can be perceived as “how to” books for a certain kind of “success” that always seems to be associated with getting more butts in the pews. There is a calculus to these books: follow the steps proscribed and your “problems” will be solved—unless they aren’t, which likely means that you are doing it wrong.

These books tend to focus entirely, or almost entirely, on the “patient,” on the church—as if each church is somehow separate and not entirely attached to, or influenced by, the community in which it exists. For some churches, though, the context—demographics, population, the changing face of employment opportunities, etc.—ought not be ignored. The context is very serious, and significant.

Some areas of Maine, for instance, have experienced profound changes in population, driven by large employers downsizing or shutting down entirely. For example, in places where the paper industry was once the driving force, there is likely a very different picture these days. Many paper mills have closed down; others are much smaller. Drive around these communities, and you can easily see what is left in the wake of the shrinking paper industry—homes up for sale for long periods of time, some homes even abandoned, properties boarded up or left in disrepair, town centers with more empty buildings than full. One only needs to read Richard Russo’s Empire Falls to get a sense of what it’s like to live in a dying mill town.

For churches in these communities, it’s just not right or appropriate to try to sell them some kind of program or path to that particular form of “success” that involves growth of people. The community as a whole is in decline and so too, the church.

In other communities in Maine, where the population decline is not so steep, but the face of employment has altered from one sort of industry to another (or several others)—from paper mill to call center, for instance—other community dynamics are important to understand. In Hallowell, where Old South is located, the median age has risen from 32 in 1980 to 50 in 2013. Central Maine, as it is right now, is a not a good place for many young adults to thrive. Well-paying jobs, with upward mobility, are not widely available in a variety of professions. Two-career couples especially, often find this area difficult for both partners to find meaningful employment.

Part of the calling of each and every church is to share the good news of Christ, to offer the love of God, and to practice radical welcome and hospitality. No matter the reality of the community in which we live, we must be about the work of evangelism. But, the local church ought never tie its “success” to how many cars are in their parking lot on a Sunday morning, or how many people gather for worship each week. “Coming back from the dead” should not simply be equated with numbers of people, or the health of the church bank account.

Church vitality, measured by reflecting on faithfulness to the Gospel instead of through numbers—whether people or bank account—should be the focus of every church. We cannot control, or orchestrate, our own resurrection. But, we can focus on what really matters: the good news. Whether we live, or whether we die, we belong to Christ.

Posted in Maine Cautionary Tales, Studies, Demographics, Reality | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Unexpected Consequences of New Life

Posted on October 3, 2015 by smaxreisert

I spend a fair amount of my time as a pastor thinking about the significant challenges of being church in the middle of Maine in the 21st century, while also considering what it means to lead a local church in such difficult times as these. This week, I’ve been thinking a lot about an old story, about a couple I knew a long time ago. The story of this couple, and the lessons they taught me, may seem to have little to do with church life, yet I think about the story of this couple quite often when I find myself reflecting on the challenges that I, and Old South, face.

It was the summer of 1991. I was twenty-seven and doing my best to get through an intense unit of Clinical Pastoral Education at a large Boston teaching hospital.

During my very first weekend on call, I was summoned to help a new patient’s wife. Ben, the patient in question, had been flown to Boston to undergo an evaluation for a possible heart transplant. He was around forty and had been dealing with serious heart disease for a number of years. There wasn’t any hope for his own heart. He needed a new one, or he would die.

Ben was dealing with the sudden trip to Boston, and his stay at an unfamiliar hospital, with remarkable equanimity, despite his failing health. His wife, on the other hand, was barely able to hold it together. She knew that her husband needed a new heart, but the prospect of the process was overwhelming. In addition, she was worried about their young son, whom they had left with family at home, many miles away.

We spent much of that afternoon talking, about their lives and what they were facing. I found their story compelling and I was immediately drawn in. Even though my areas of focus for CPE did not include transplant patients, I decided, in consultation with my supervisor, that I would continue to follow Ben when he was at the hospital.

After a few days of assessment, Ben learned that he had the most rare blood type, among other issues. But, he was on the list. He was sent home to wait.

A few weeks later, I learned that Ben was back in the hospital. His health had deteriorated so much that he could not stay at home any longer. He was admitted to the hospital—where he would receive a transplant or die.

I got the news near the end of my shift. Instead of going to see him right away, I went home—to think. Along the journey in the med school shuttle, I came to the realization that to spend time with Ben, and his wife, and sit with them in prayer meant praying not just for the death of another, someone who would die suddenly with an otherwise healthy heart, but also for a family to have the wherewithal to donate the heart, and perhaps other organs, during a time of unimaginable grief. I was unsure of how to proceed.

The next day began with a lecture for all of the CPE students in the program—another way of delaying my visit. When I emerged from the lecture hall, one of my colleagues who had been on call the night before, grabbed me and pulled me aside, telling me that he had been looking for me.

Ben had received a new heart overnight. His wife had been asking for me. I rushed to see her, finding her in a surgery waiting area. Just after I sat down next to her, the surgeon arrived and told her that Ben was doing well.  The surgery had gone as planned.  The surgeon also shared the news that Ben’s new heart had come from a teenage boy who had died in an accident.

Ben’s recovery was, for me anyway, nothing short of astonishing. It didn’t seem to take long at all for him to be up and around.  I suspect he hadn’t felt so great in a very long time, perhaps for all of his life. His tall frame found new vigor. His face was bright and cheerful.

Good news all around.

Until, that is, I started to take more notice of his wife. Though she tried to hide it, she continued to be shaky and apprehensive. It seemed clear to me that while she donned a smiling face of a happy woman, she was anything but. She knew that she was supposed to be happy—happy with the new heart, happy with her husband’s recovery.

But, she was not.

During a long chat over tea in a quiet corner of an otherwise bustling hospital, I learned that Ben’s wife was truly struggling. She wanted to be happy, but just couldn’t get there. She had grown accustomed to her life as caregiver. She had got herself settled in her life with an ailing husband, and as primary parent to their young son.

Now, she couldn’t keep up with her husband. Ben, literally, experienced new life and all that came with it—energy, excitement, a life to live with purpose with the extraordinary gift of a teenage boy’s heart. His wife, though, struggled with the unexpected consequences of new life.

As they prepared for Ben’s discharge (about a week before my eleven-week program ended), I strongly encouraged Ben’s wife to seek out support at home—to find a church, a therapist, a group, perhaps all of those options. It seemed clear enough that she couldn’t handle the struggle by herself.

I don’t know what happened to Ben and his wife, and their son. But, I think about them often. I think about the lessons that I learned from traveling that journey with them, and I often think about those lessons in relationship with the church I lead.

Old South, like other churches, says that it wants to grow, that it wants new people, that it wants to experience new life. I suspect that those wishes are genuine. But, I also sometimes wonder if the church finds ways of undermining these oft stated “goals.” New life has consequences after all and, truth be told, we are not always so excited about those consequences, even though we know we should be.

As Ben’s wife discovered, new life has an energy and movement of its own. It takes us away from our comfort zones and pushes us out of those places where we’ve settled into familiar routine. New life can be hard to keep up with. It’s impossible to control and manage.

We say that we want new life, new people, new energy, yet do we also find ways to resist that new life, to keep it at bay—simply because we don’t feel prepared, emotionally or intellectually, to get pulled into what new life brings? It’s easy to say that we want new life. Perhaps, we even know that it’s something that we should be saying. But, do we really want it? Are we prepared to welcome it? Are we willing to let it capture us, to push us out of our settled, comfortable routines?

I often wonder about this.  We gather in worship week after week, and praise the God who brings new life, but are there limits to that praise and limits to what we say we want?

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In the News: Religion in American Public Life

Posted on September 26, 2015 by smaxreisert

Religion looms large in the news right now. The Pope’s visit, of course, offers a lot to think about and talk about. And, there’s presidential candidate Ben Carson’s comment regarding whether or not a Muslim should be elected president, ultimately concluding that Islam is “inconsistent with the values and principles of America.” And, we can’t seem to escape (even if we wish to) Kim Davis, the Kentucky county clerk who won’t issue marriage licenses to same gender couples because such marriages are not “ordained by God”—despite her own difficulties in following scripture when it comes to relationships and marriage.

In the media attention that follows these stories, and others, there’s an interesting array of assessments and perspectives. I’ll admit that I’ve actually been trying to avoid media saturation, especially regarding the Pope’s visit. I’m not listening to the radio as much and it’s been a long time since I watched television news. Instead, I’m choosing online sources, ones that I feel I can trust.

When it comes to the Pope’s visit to the United States, it is indeed fascinating to read and occasionally listen to how reporters, pundits and others consider the topics that the Pope has raised. It seems that whenever the Pope speaks about a subject that is not important or significant to a pundit, or where the pundit holds an opposing view, the response is that the Pope is “politicizing” the topic. Or, that those who are covering the Pope’s visit aspire to “politicize” certain topics for their own, or their network or newspaper’s gain, or their “cause.”

In our separation of church and state, we’ve somehow got to a place where many seem to think that religion is solely for private devotion and private salvation, set off from how one actually lives one’s life in interacting with one’s community and the world. There are others, of course, who in their pronouncements that the United States was founded as a Christian nation, seek to infuse laws and practice with “Christian values,” with all of those “values” closely tied to their own understanding of what it means to be “Christian,” as if Christianity is a singular monolith (or it is that their church that is the one and true).

The Pope’s visit, especially, but the Kim Davis and the Ben Carson stories too, offer a window into the troubling, perplexing and problematic reality of religion and specifically “Christianity,” in American public life. We simply don’t seem to know how to consider the role of religion, faith and spirituality in the public domain. Some wish for religion to be banished from our public lives, and others try to make their own beliefs into laws and practices for all.

Religion and spirituality, for those who practice, cannot be placed in a sort of special “box,” informing only our own private devotion and ensuring our own private salvation. Faith is a part of who we are. It informs many of our decisions, as it frames and supports our values, our priorities, our interests in all aspects of our lives—including politics.

Yet, somehow in all of this, those who are religious fail to balance religious zeal with humility, that to worship God is to know that one is not God. Therefore, even some of our most closely held priorities may not actually be shared by God.

To be people of God is to strive for common purpose, despite the bickering tribes of political parties. Through the Pope’s visit, we have an opportunity to consider and reflect on where some common ground might exist. We may not agree on climate change, but we Christians ought to be able to agree that we are stewards of this creation. Creation is not just for our exploitation, but must be cared for. We may not agree on abortion, but perhaps we can find some common purpose in lifting up the value and dignity of children who have entered this world in the midst of horrific violence, hunger and poverty.

There is common ground, and more than that, if we take our faith seriously, we ought to be able to transcend the divides of political squabbling, and to work for a higher purpose, a world that God points to, to blend our values with a good dose of humility. We ought to strive to recognize that it is more important to be about the work of God’s people than to stand firm in our own posturing. It ought to be Thy will be done, rather than my will . . .

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The Younger People Problem

Posted on September 17, 2015 by smaxreisert

Old South is an older congregation. Average age is probably somewhere in the low 70s. Like other congregations of its age and size, there is a general sense of fretfulness about our circumstances. How long will we be able to continue? Where are the younger people? Do we have any hope in attracting younger people?

Hallowell, the small city where Old South is located, is an older community (median age around 50), but there are some young people around, especially in the neighboring communities (even though Maine continues to be the oldest state in the country). Occasionally, a single young person (and by that, I mean anyone under the age of 40), a couple, or a young family, will join us for worship. They look around, notice the gray hair and wrinkles, and we never see them again—most of the time.

Though not often, there have been times when I’ve been able to have a follow up conversation (or email exchange) with one of these younger people who has come to worship at Old South only once. Usually, they report that the congregation was friendly enough, and the service fine (though traditional), but they want to be somewhere where there are other younger people.

So, we have a problem. We can’t attract younger people without younger people already present, and we haven’t been able to convince enough of those younger visitors to stick with us and to help us change things. If only we could convince all of the younger visitors we’ve had over the last year or two to come on one particular Sunday, we would look different. We would have, though not a large group of younger people, certainly a noticeable number of younger people. And, I don’t think it would take long for us to feel and act differently too. But, younger people don’t seem to want to be a part of the transformation of an established church.

It’s difficult to inspire an older congregation to act “younger,” when they are not. In fact, I have a very vivid memory of an argument I had a few years ago with a long time Old South member. At the time, I was experimenting with some new things in worship (though I can’t remember what it was exactly) and had convinced the congregation to use a little extra pledge money to hire a Christian Ed director (even though we only had a few children). It was an experiment in “If we build it, will they come?”

The long-time Old South member was angry, and angry with me. He asked pointedly, “Why are trying to minister to people who aren’t even here? You should focus on the people you have instead—before you lose them.” He was, obviously, not interested in a “if we build it, will they come” experiment. And, yet this same person frets a lot about our dwindling numbers and our aging congregation.

It’s hard for good church folk to understand that, if they want the church to continue, then they must be open to change—and more than that, they must be willing to be leaders in change, as well as willing participants.

But, I also share their irritation regarding that occasional younger visitor who is looking only for a church that already meets her/his needs, rather than being part of the transformation of an older church. While significant changes will be hard for Old South, there are at least a few who would be willing, I think, to engage in collaborative, transformative work with younger people. It’s frustrating that Old South’s commitment and eagerness to be friendly to newcomers—young and old—is not enough for our younger visitors to convince them even to consider a longer commitment.

Posted in Doomed, My Life as Pastor | Leave a comment

Let Go, But Hang On

Posted on September 11, 2015 by smaxreisert

It’s back to school time and time, in our household, to settle into a new routine. Our daughter is off at college, for her first year. Our son is a sophomore in high school.   And, my husband is getting back into teaching after a year of sabbatical.

One of the bigger changes we are facing at home is figuring out chauffeur duties for our son who does not yet have his license. Last year, my husband and I grew quite accustomed to our daughter driving her brother around—to and from school, to sports practices, golf matches and swim meets, etc. But now she’s six hours away, and we are left to learn anew how to get him to where he needs to be.

At church, we also settle into routines or, at least, search them out. We sit in a certain pew. We are comfortable with certain roles, but not others. We look forward to the familiar rhythm of worship and singing our favorite hymns. And, after worship, talking to our friends, and getting caught up.

The problem is that faith really shouldn’t be like that, and we fool ourselves when we settle into our predictable worship patterns and practices, as if that’s how to live our lives of faith.

It may sound cliché, but it’s true: faith is a journey, rather than a destination. We must then resist our tendencies to settle into routine. It’s not that routine, in and of itself, is a problem, but when we allow routine to close us off from the promptings and presence of the Holy Spirit.

If we haven’t experienced a moment of discomfort recently, if we haven’t faced an obstacle, we should not take it as some kind of sign that everything is going well.  Instead, it is likely a mark that our faith is not where it should be, and our relationship with God is out of synch.

In churches that are struggling—struggling with declining attendance, and financial challenges, etc.—this is an unwelcome message. Church is where we want to feel comfort and familiarity. We desire predictability, to settle in and know that God is God, and that we are God’s people, in a way that feels warm, safe and secure.

Yet, it is in that settling in where we make our biggest mistake, and send ourselves only further into the struggle spiral. It’s not that church ought only feel off-kilter, but that we open ourselves to the new things that God is up to in our midst. As it has been made clear in scripture: God rarely works only in safe, predictable ways.

We ought not lose hope in our struggling, but to find in that struggle a new sense of what it truly means to be God’s people: to know that God’s people are always seeking and searching, always on a journey that offers a few surprises.

Whether we think about it as a roller coaster ride, or a ride on the Harry Potter Knight Bus (“Clench your buttocks! It’s going to be a bumpy ride!”), the life of a faith is an adventure, rather than an afternoon on a comfy recliner.   You want new life? Then live it, breathe it, welcome it, and know that it will be different, sometimes strange, often challenging. It may not seem the path to security, but it is. The Bible tells us so.

Posted in Misc, Worship | Leave a comment