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.

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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.

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Where Have All the Organists Gone?

Posted on September 5, 2015 by smaxreisert

At Old South, we are in search of a new organist/choir director. Our search is now several months old. In the first round, we had only a few applicants and only two that we thought were good candidates for Old South. One of two, though, lives very far away and it seemed an unreasonable cost to cover travel expenses for an in-person interview, especially for such a small church that could offer not much in terms of compensation. The other organist lives much closer and is a talented musician and a promising candidate, but ended up turning the job down because of the commute involved, which is especially difficult in the winter.

We are back to square one, although it feels like we are actually even further back than that. In our quest, we—a fairly well-connected little search committee—have spoken to, reached out to, emailed, phoned, etc, etc, every possible person who might be able to give us a lead on a potential candidate. And, now we are discovering that it’s almost impossible to find an organist in central Maine.  We are not alone.  We’ve actually learned that there are very few active organists in our area.

It probably shouldn’t be any surprise. The church, while it was lulled into complacency with an organist and choir director who served well for about a dozen years, missed out on what’s been happening “out there”: the steep decline in church organists. Not just in central Maine. Everywhere. Back in 1997, the Los Angeles Times published an article, “Churches Suffer Notable Shortage of Organists.” The article pointed to low pay and the lack of full-time jobs as the primary reasons why young people stay away from the profession, leaving a vacuum where older organists have retired.  The organist is a species in the midst of extinction.

What’s even more worrying is the dearth in the numbers of pianists as well. As we have discovered, when we thought to call around for a possible pianist who might be willing to learn the organ, pianists are just about as hard to find as organists.

What’s a good church, with a small but enthusiastic and talented choir, to do?

It’s another piece of the decline of the church.

At Old South, we are fortunate in this extended season of searching to enjoy the talents and gifts of a former organist and choir director who’s been willing to fill in for a while.  Though we know he won’t stay forever.  Now, we face some choices:

  1. We can bury our heads in the sand and keep up the search as if it’s only a little bad luck that has kept us from finding someone so far;
  2. We can commit ourselves to feeling sorry for ourselves, as if some wayward organist may find it in their heart to take pity on us; or,
  3. We can continue our search, while we also opening ourselves to the movement of the Holy Spirit, and a whole new way of thinking about music in our worshipping.  Maybe it’s time to do something different with our music.

I realize that #3 is not what we want, and if we were something like an “organ club” perhaps it would be time to declare our mission over and done. But, we are not an “organ club,” we are a church. And, the church has learned over the years—sometimes kicking and screaming—that changes are not only necessary, but they are the way that God works.

I hope it won’t come to “kicking and screaming,” but that we will discover, through God’s grace, a new openness and awareness that God does indeed work in mysterious ways and there might just be some new and wonderful way for us do music. After all, there’s nothing in the Bible that states that an organ is a requirement for singing, or for making a joyful noise.

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A Partially Unwrapped Gift

Posted on August 29, 2015 by smaxreisert

I don’t remember who suggested it first. It was at a church budget meeting, a few years ago, and we were analyzing the church budget, trying to figure out what we could cut or trim at a time when it felt like we had already cut and trimmed everything to bare bones status. At some point, a suggestion was offered: to eliminate the “supply” line, the line that funded payment to other ministers who filled in for me on my vacation Sundays.

What did the suggestion mean? No more vacation for me? No. The suggestion continued: could we rely on church volunteers to lead worship for those Sundays when the minister is away?

We tried it and cut that line on the budget. Saving money turned out to be just the beginning of this great idea.

Since we cut the funding for supply pastors, I’ve had almost no trouble at all filling my vacation Sundays. This year has been especially impressive. I not only have my four regular vacation Sundays, plus two additional (to help balance my three-quarter time schedule), but there have been another four Sundays of sabbatical time. So far, all of my “away” Sundays have been filled by Old South people (with only two more Sundays to go—one in September and another in November).

This is a remarkable testament to the life of Old South. Not only do we have a variety of people—amid a small congregation— willing to lead worship, but we also have a few parishioners who come specifically on those Sundays when a layperson is leading—to support them, to encourage them, and to satisfy a curiosity of what new insights might be offered and gained. Thankfully, we also have a retired American Baptist pastor in the congregation who eagerly covers a Sunday or two.

The stories that the worship leaders share with me—as well as those in the congregation—reflect a sense of new connection and insight, a heightened awareness of faith and the presence of the Holy Spirit. It’s all good, and interesting.

I can’t help it, though. I want more.

It’s wonderful, and humbling, to have people who are willing to lead worship. It is something to behold in wonder, appreciation and awe.

But, it feels like a gift only partially unwrapped, partially given.

I’d like to see a greater willingness and ease in sharing faith and connection to church outside of church, outside of worship. Then, the gift might be more fully realized and offered.

It is truly wonderful to have people who are willing to wrestle with a Bible passage, and to consider their own theological journey. And, then to get in front of a group of people, use a microphone and speak. It’s something that I certainly don’t want to take for granted.

But, the sharing of faith, of connection to God, of love of church, cannot simply remain contained in that worship space, shared only in that familiar, comfortable setting. Now that we know that there’s a willingness to lead worship—by at least a few—I hope that we can find a way to move our courageous spirit outside the doors of our beautiful church.

And, to share—out there. In the community. In our families. You know, like those early followers did. Let’s unwrap the gift in all of its wonder and glory.

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I Am Not on Vacation!

Posted on August 22, 2015 by smaxreisert

I’m on sabbatical this month. Although the pace and nature of my working is a lot different than when I’m not on sabbatical, I’ve had to make something of an effort to make it clear that I’m not on vacation. It doesn’t help that there are a few clergy colleagues in the Maine Conference who have taken more “vacation-like” sabbaticals, with time spent with family and friends rather than with ministry-related activities.

But, I am working. My main project is to try to organize this blog. I’ve printed off every entry—quite a stack—and have sorted and re-sorted, read and re-read, trying to find a way of organizing them all into a few neat-ish categories. This is a bigger project than I envisioned, but I’m hopeful that I’ll most, if not all, of it will be done by the end of the month.

I’m also visiting, and chatting, with other churches and church people. On my first Sunday without worship leadership responsibilities, though, I did what lots of other people do where I live, and I didn’t go to church. I went to the local farmers’ market instead. It was a beautiful early August Sunday. And, the place to be was the farmers’ market in Belgrade Lakes Village. People were everywhere. Cars lined the street.

As my husband, son, and I wandered around, from one end of the village to the other, spending some time at the market in between, I found myself wondering if this was really enough. It’s social, to be sure, and helpful in boosting the local economy and all that. But, is it enough? Enough to satisfy spiritual hunger? Enough to bring meaning, connect people both to their own selves as well as a larger context?

Last Sunday, I went to worship at the largest UCC church in Maine. The worship experience did not disappoint. I’ll admit that part of the appeal was the opportunity to be in a big sanctuary with a large group of people (it may have been a small summer crowd to the regulars, but to me, it was a sizeable congregation). I grew up in a large, suburban Boston congregation. I sometimes miss that full sanctuary, large group feeling.

The associate pastor at the church had just returned from a three-month sabbatical, and preached on what he had done, which nicely seemed to be meaningfully connected to his calling as a pastor. And, he managed to talk about his journey in a way that invited the congregation into some of the insights he had gained in his travels and experiences.

I may not be in the office, but I’m not on vacation. I hope that the work that I’m doing will prove to be valuable not to just for myself, but also for the congregation I serve. It’s been a good thing to review my thoughts that I’ve shared through this blog, and to reflect further on what lessons may be gleaned from them. Active ministry can be like running a marathon—you just keep going and going, without taking time to appreciate one’s surroundings, without reflecting deeply and meaningfully on where one has been. Ministry, though, should involve more reflective time—especially now, when the landscape is considerably different than it was just a short time ago, even as it continues to change.

My goal this month is not just to gaze longingly at the past, but to slow down and spend some significant time in pondering, thinking about where we have been and where we might be headed, considering how the Holy Spirit has shown itself to be in our midst—and where the Holy Spirit may be pointing us. Such pondering is hard to do when the phone is ringing and one’s “to do” list seems a mile long. So, I am grateful for this time, and for the fruit of this very different sort of labor.

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What Is Worship?

Posted on August 14, 2015 by smaxreisert

“If there’s no music, people won’t come.” That was the declaration. The conversation was about worship and, more precisely, what we are going to do about music next summer. The assessment: no music; no people.

At Old South, we are in the midst of a search for a new organist. In order to make the feeble salary that we are offering seem a little more reasonable, we made the position a September through June position. When we made the plan, we didn’t figure out exactly what we would do about next July and August (and the following summers). We’ll talk about that at budget time in the fall.

Already, though, there is concern about next summer. “If there’s no music, people won’t come,” was announced and left hanging in the tense air between the speaker and myself. The sentiment was not unknown to me. I’ve heard similar decrees several times over my decade of ministry at Old South. But, still, each time I hear it, it feels like a slap across the face.

What is worship? What is worship without music? What is worship without spoken word, without the Bible, without some sort of lesson, interpretation of scripture story, without prayer, without silence?

Don’t get my wrong. Music is important to me too. Many of my best worship memories have something to do with music. But, with no music, would it really feel like no worship at all? With no music, would the congregation stay away?

As we deal with the many questions and challenges of being the church in these days, it seems to me that one of our greatest challenges is make sure we focus not just on certain components of worship, but on the worship experience as a whole. Worship must not become something of a “concert” or a recital, with a few words strung in between. Worship is the place for prayer and praise. It is the place to learn and explore what it means to be God’s people—individually and collectively. It is the place to hear scripture story, and to consider who we are in the ongoing narrative of God and God’s people. It is the place to listen for God’s voice in our lives, and to speak the language of prayer and wonder.

Music is important, to be sure, but it ought not be set upon a pedestal, the one thing without which we cannot go on. When we place music above everything else, we set music as the object of our worship, instead of God.

The elements of worship point to that which is part of us, but also beyond us. It’s okay to be fretful when we are unsure about how one element will be expressed and offered, but we must strive to keep our fretfulness in perspective, and not to allow it to distort our perceptions, or to close ourselves off from the movement of the Spirit in our midst.

I can’t imagine that we won’t be able to come up with a reasonable plan for music next summer. But, even if we have some difficulties, I feel confident that we will find a way to sing and to offer a joyful noise in worship. Our faith will lead us there, if we trust in the One who brings us together.

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