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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Getting Out of the Bubble

Posted on August 7, 2015 by smaxreisert

In the minor news this week is the continuing drama of Caitlyn Jenner, whose “docu-series” is currently showing on E!. The second episode of the series was shown this past Sunday and featured, among other things, Jenner’s more conservative, Republican views, especially as they clashed headlong into the views and opinions of her new transgender friends.

In a follow up to the show, Jenny Boylan, a college professor and transgender activist who appears on the show, declared that Jenner can be just as conservative as she wishes to be, but that the transgender community is concerned about how well she will fare as the community’s most visible spokesperson. Boylan further shared with the world the following:   “my best friend on the Colby faculty is probably its most conservative member.”

When I read this, I couldn’t help but gasp a little. In that statement, Boylan is talking about my husband, Joseph. Joe is indeed a conservative, and is certainly among a small group of conservative faculty members at Colby College in Waterville, Maine. In reading Jenny’s comment, I felt kind of exposed and vulnerable. Would some random media person show up on our door step, desperate to meet not only this “conservative” friend of a transgender activist, but a conservative who has actually been “outted” as a conservative and still manages to maintain employment at a liberal New England college?

Joe and I have been friends with Jenny Boylan, and her wife Deedie, for many years, since even before we knew of Jenny. Jenny and Deedie are among our closest, dearest friends. What an interesting foursome we make. Three women and one man. Two college professors, one social worker, one clergyperson. One goes to church some of the time, two all of the time, and one never. One activist, one loving spouse, two supportive, married friends.   Two sets of parents to wonderful children (who are smart, interesting, and talented, of course).  Sounds like the basis of a crazy sitcom script that gets dumped in the trash for being completely unbelievable.

Yet, there it is.

When I think about our friendship, I am aware that ours is not a typical group, in several different ways. And, that’s a shame. It seems common now and “normal” to be friendly only with those who share one’s own beliefs and opinions. This happens in so many aspects of our lives. Groups of friends and even congregations tend to be places where there is a strong current of shared attitude and opinion.

There is much to be gained, however, by gathering and seeking friendships with people of differing views and life experiences. There’s something to be said for learning about other points of view as well as having one’s own opinions tested.

It’s not always easy to maintain such friendships. There are times when lines are crossed, when something unintentionally hurtful is said or done. But, we learn from those experiences as well. Under it all, is a deep well of the important things that we do have in common, in our shared values—respect, the significance of the family, a good sense of humor, love of life (with good eating and drinking, of course), and the desire to make this world a better place than we found it.

In I Am Cait, it is clear that Caitlyn Jenner has much to learn about her new community, and about those who have walked this journey, more anonymously and more dangerously. The question will be whether or not this “docu-series” can not only help people learn about the range of experiences of those who are transgender, but can also help open up new paths of conversation and openness to the wondrous variety of life, transgender and otherwise. As we are already discovering, the transgender “community” is not a monolith. Nor should it be.  In that range of experience and expression, there should be respect, an openness to articulate why and how one believes what one believes, and a desire to listen to and learn from others.

Caitlyn Jenner has been encouraged to get out of the “bubble” of her own making, to listen and learn from others, to share of herself and her experience, to deepen her understanding, and to grow as a person. That’s good advice for everyone.

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When They Don’t Come to Us

Posted on August 1, 2015 by smaxreisert

Old Hallowell Day is a big deal in this little city just south of the state capital. Every year, on the third Saturday of July, Hallowell swells with, it seems, just about everyone who was born here or ever lived here. At the Saturday morning parade, local dignitaries, including the “Citizen of the Year,” along with local businesses, organizations and neighborhoods, and the usual fire trucks, slowly make their way down Water Street with large crowds of people on both sides of the street. In this small, mostly sleepy, kind of place, it’s quite the sight.

Like many other organizations in town, Old South tries to find some way of making its own mark over the course of the weekend. This year, we decided to march in the parade and then to do something we’ve never done before: hold an open house in the sanctuary building for a few hours in the middle of the day. We gathered a few volunteers to greet visitors and we served refreshments.

For me, this seemed a great idea. It was not too great of an effort for our small church. Plus, it was a good way to feel that we were taking part in an important day in the community. I wasn’t expecting any huge crowd, but I thought it likely draw some old friends who wanted to visit—just what Old Hallowell Day is all about.

During the course of the open house, though, I discovered that the others who were helping out with the event had grander ideas. Perhaps people who have been harboring a curiosity about Old South would now feel that they could visit, and then they might want to come to worship. Perhaps our open doors would attract newcomers who were looking for a new church.

During the course of the three-hour event, we had a slow, but steady stream of visitors. Many of the small groups that came were led by someone who had gone to Sunday School years ago. That person had long since moved away, but was eager to show off the church to family members and friends.

The few volunteers who helped out that day were disappointed. There were no clear new visitors who would soon join us for worship.

This is part of the problem for old mainline churches like Old South. We still have that old sense that just the right program, the right event, will turn the tide, and will attract new people. We just need to keep trying and at some point, the miracle will happen. Everything will change. And we’ll be saved from having to do the work that we don’t really want to do, the work that makes us squirm: evangelism.

The basic fact is that there is no one event, no one program, that will change anything. The basic fact is that the old mainline must stop thinking that people will somehow start to figure out that they want to come to church. Instead, those within the old mainline, like Old South, must figure out how to go out—out into the community, out into the neighborhoods. And, still be the church—sharing the love of God, responding to needs, bringing hope and love.

We must stop thinking that there’s some magic thing that will get people to come to us. Rather, we must be willing to go out, taking Christ with us, allowing Christ to lead us.

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