You Can’t DIY Everything

Posted on July 9, 2015 by smaxreisert

One of my “younger” parishioners (just a bit older than I am)—I’ll call him Henry— came to chat with me a couple of weeks ago. Part of our conversation included the sharing of information regarding yet another Old South member—“Sally.” Henry had run into Sally and they chatted about several things, including Old South. Sally rarely attends worship anymore, although she was a very active member until about eight years ago.

These two people are in a category of people who cause me a lot of worry. They are Baby Boomers whose children have grown and left the house. And, somehow that has translated into a sense of uncertainty about how church fits into their lives. In this case, Henry still feels that church is important, while Sally has drifted away.

Henry had a few things to talk about when he came by to chat, but when he brought up Sally, he mentioned that he had asked her why she didn’t attend worship anymore. Sally replied that she has discovered that she doesn’t need church to be a good Christian.

Without getting angry or harsh, I let Henry know that it is my strong feeling and opinion that you can’t really be a Christian if you don’t go to church, or at least have some significant connection to an organized Christian community (like Bible study). Any person can be a good person, an ethical person, a spiritual person even. But, you can’t be a Christian if you don’t go to church.

As a good progressive/liberal, I don’t subscribe to a whole lot of absolutes, but of this I am sure: a Christian can’t be a Christian without going to church, or being a part of some kind of Christian community. That’s just the way it is. It’s how this whole Christian thing works.

Community is essential to the Christian faith, not a nice extra if you’ve got the time. The Christian faith is to be lived and shared with others, in a practicing way. It is through worship and prayer and study—and even the occasional meeting (!)—that we learn and grow in faith. We simply cannot “Do It Yourself.” A DIY faith is one-dimensional, stilted, self-centered.

In and through church and worship, we explore and practice the faith. We learn about the Bible, and struggle with lessons that are both easy and difficult to understand. We reach out to others, and discover the realities of what it means to love one’s neighbor as oneself. In a church like Old South, where different kinds of people gather with different life experiences and political persuasions, we learn critical lessons about what it means to be a Christian community, by listening and speaking and through wondrous moments of silence. Where two or three are gathered, there is where Christ is as well. We experience this reality in and through church, worship and community.

Through the sharing of the sacraments as well, we are invited into a sacred and holy space. We experience the grace of God in a unique way.

DIY is good for some things in life, like home renovations, but it just doesn’t work for good Christian faith and practice. I know that it can be a challenge to reorient oneself when a significant aspect of one’s reason for going to church is no longer present (like when the kids grow up). It can also be a challenge to be in the midst of different people with different ideas and different ways of wanting to do things. And, it certainly can be a challenge to go to worship on Sunday mornings, when lots of your friends and family are doing other things, or when it just seems like the perfect time to get a little extra sleep.

But, without Christian community, Sally shouldn’t be fooling herself. She can’t be a Christian without church.

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Roots in the Rainbow

Posted on June 27, 2015 by smaxreisert

On this day after a very big day, as I reflect on the SCOTUS decision in favor of marriage equality, I can’t help but consider what an amazing change that has taken place in this country in such a relatively short period of time.

When I was in college in the mid 1980s, I remember taking an English course that focused on the literature of gays and lesbians. It was a controversial course that was mocked by some members of the college community. It was also a course that included the telling of a few personal stories from members of the class. The instructor shared her experiences of harassment. A few students spoke in whispered tones about their own awareness of their homosexuality, and when it started. The straight students in the class, like myself, were sometimes very moved, and alarmed, at the stories that were told, of the lives lived in secret and the concerns of threats and violence.

Although things aren’t perfect, we live in a very different country—just thirty years later.

As we reflect on these changes, and as we also listen to a lot of chatter on the national stage, I suspect that there will be some references to the “Christian Church” lagging behind, and perhaps even being an impediment to this progress.

Except that that’s not entirely true. The United Church of Christ has long been an advocate for those on the margins, including the LBGTQ, etc. community.

In my many years of belonging to the United Church of Christ, twenty as an ordained clergyperson, it’s really been the commitment to the humanity of all—including the LBGTQ community—that has kept me in the denomination. Over the years, I can count a number of times when I have dangled on the edge, when something has made me want to run from the UCC, when something has made me so angry or when I have felt so disillusioned.  But I’ve stayed, mostly because of its long commitment to LBGTQ folk.

I’m not an LBGTQ person myself, but I have many friends who are, as well as parishioners. I can’t imagine being a part of a church that does not welcome and affirm all people. It’s also hard to imagine, for me, being a part of a denomination that has only recently changed its tune in this regard. It’s been significant to me to be a part of a church that adopted this open, welcoming and affirming view a long time ago, when it wasn’t popular, but oh so necessary to the life of the Church.

Ever since I took that English course at Colby College, I’ve felt connected to how important it is to recognize the humanity of all people, and the humanity of those who may at first seem different but who are really not so different. It’s important to recognize those who live on the margins, and to welcome them in—as Jesus did.

In the midst of all of the changes we are experiencing, I also hope that there will be a change in how we understand the “Church,” that the “Christian Church” will not be spoken of as one, single entity. And, not only that, that there will be some acknowledgment that some Christian churches have been right there in the middle of the struggle to bring about change, living out the love of the God we worship.

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Should I Stay Or Should I Go?

Posted on June 19, 2015 by smaxreisert

Darling you got to let me know

Should I stay or should I go?

If you say that you are mine

I’ll be here ’til the end of time

-The Clash

Last week, I read a blog post called “Letter to a Colleague (On Leaving the Parish)” by Peter Boullata, which I found through a link on RealClearReligion.com. In the post,  the Rev. Boullata writes about his departure from parish ministry to enter another form of ministry. His reasons are various, but include well-known doomsday predictions regarding religious affiliation as well as a sense of exhaustion at the demands of ministry in the twenty-first century struggling church.

I read the piece with a great deal of sadness, and knowing. It occurred to me a few years ago that I will likely not be able to continue to “do what I do” in parish ministry until I am ready to retire, especially if I continue to live where I live. I suspect all United Church of Christ churches in this part of Maine will, in the not too distant future, be unable to afford much clergy time at all, unless they are willing to dig deep into endowments, raise funds in non-traditional ways, employ bi-vocational clergy, or a combination of such options.

It is certainly true that parish work has become exhausting.  I particularly notice the exhaustion on Sundays when attendance is very low, especially when it’s not expected.  It can be quite challenging for me to put a smile on my face and deliver a hearty and enthusiastic “Isn’t It Great to Follow Jesus” message. It’s important to encourage the faithful remnant, but it feels like we have “faithful remnant” Sundays way more often than when I first came to Old South ten years ago. And what’s happening at Old South is happening at other churches in the area. One local UCC church closed about seven years ago.

It’s not simply about numbers. After all, I’ve been preaching for several years now that we shouldn’t be so focused on the numbers, that churches with full parking lots are not necessarily “doing it right.” Our lives as Christians must be about more. Our lives must be about faithfulness to the Gospel, even if it turns out that there are not a lot of people where we live who want to join us. But, still, the struggle, the wondering, the disillusionment, and the disappointment (for me and the congregation) take a toll.

Every once in a while, my husband asks if I’ll be the one to turn the lights out at Old South. This is a question I never dreamed of thinking about when I was ordained twenty years ago. But, now I think about it. I wonder if I have it in me to venture to that place, and be the one to shepherd a congregation to its end—or at least to a sale or closure of its building (it would be nice to think that they could continue on, perhaps as a house church). I also wonder if I should figure out how to get out soon so I don’t have to be that person.

The studies and the polls show what we know and experience in Central Maine. It’s a hard place to be church, especially the liberal, progressive kind.

Yesterday, I read a summary of a talk given by Nadia Bolz-Weber, at the annual meeting of the Massachusetts Conference United Church of Christ. In her talk on the “postmodern church,” Bolz-Weber is reported to have said that “people shouldn’t take the Pew Research Center surveys showing fewer people are attending church to mean that they don’t care about Christianity anymore. That would be like saying because there are no phone booths, no one cares about talking on the phone anymore, or because there are no more Blockbuster stores, no one cares about being able to watch movies at home, she said.” (http://www.macucc.org/newsdetail/1346475)

Rev. Bolz-Weber obviously hasn’t been to Maine. From my vantage point in this part of the world, there are fewer people who care about Christianity (see my post from last week). I also look around and realize that many of my friends and acquaintances don’t participate in any organized religious activity. For the few that do, they are either Jewish or Unitarian. I have friends who were once practicing Christians, but they aren’t anymore, and  I’ve noticed that they no longer talk to me about thinking that they ought to go back to church.

The tide continues to turn. It’s time to start thinking seriously about whether or not I have it in me to do what I never imagined doing, in shepherding a church to its end (or to a radical change in how it gathers) or whether it’s time to think about doing something else.

But, so far at least, there’s really nothing else I can imagine doing. Plus, I like Old South, its people and its community.

It’s not that I think it’s all about giving up.  We must continue to evangelize, while we also think seriously about the realities that surround us.

If I do end up staying, I just hope that I’ll have it in me to finish the marathon—because that’s what it will be—and will include joyful moments as well as plenty of grueling moments of discomfort and pain. (Is there some kind of morphine we can take?) And, the exhaustion. Like Peter Boullata, that’s probably what I fear the most. It’s bad enough that I get more tired more easily now anyway, in all aspects of my life, but to live my life as a mind-numbingly exhausted clergyperson, that’s not good for anyone. So, let’s pray for the wisdom to know—before it’s too late.

 

 

 

 

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The Concern on the Other End

Posted on June 12, 2015 by smaxreisert

I ran into an older friend of mine at the gym the other day. I hadn’t seen him in a little while. He recently had some significant health problems, but is now well on his way to recovery. For a man in his early eighties, he’s doing remarkably well.

During our little chat, my friend found a way of indicating to me that he was feeling great, not necessarily physically, but because he had finally freed himself from the shackles of organized religion. Although his wife still attends worship occasionally (not at the church I serve), he’s officially done with the church. Our brief conversation (he was on his way out; I was on my way to class) didn’t provide much in the way of explanation. But, it was fairly clear that this was something that he’s been wanting and now, perhaps because of his illness or his advancing years that have offered a new-found courage (though I really don’t know), he’s happy to be rid of his attachment to church.

For someone who is not only still connected to the church, but serve as a pastor, it was yet another depressing little moment. It’s one thing for people to leave, it’s quite another when they seem so gleeful about it. It’s also one thing to deal with the nonexistence of certain people, it’s quite another to witness actual flight from church.

But, this is something I’ve been noticing for a while. It’s not just about older people getting older and more frail, unable to attend worship or participate meaningfully, it’s that more and more active and able-bodied older people are disengaging.

It turns out that we in Maine, being the hip trendsetters that we are, are right in the middle of (or perhaps at the forefront of) a national trend. In the recently released Pew Research Center study America’s Changing Religious Landscape, the news was not just about Millennials at the center of the religiously unaffiliated movement (the “nones”), the study also contained significant information about older Americans.

The Pew study found that between 2007 and 2014 the percentage of the “Silent Generation” (born between 1928 and 1945) who identified their current religion as “atheist, agnostic or nothing in particular” rose from 9% to 11%. For the Baby Boomers, the percentage rose from 14 to 17.

This isn’t really news here in Maine, but it’s still troubling. It’s especially troubling since those are the groups who live here. Out of all of the states in the U.S., Maine has the lowest proportion of population under the age of 18, so perhaps we can cut ourselves a little slack when we notice the absence of young families in church. But Maine has the highest proportion of population in the Baby Boomer category, so their increasing absence of is something that we really can’t ignore.

In all of this, we are not just talking about people who haven’t been exposed to organized religion during childhood (like many Millennials). The Baby Boomers (and the Silent Generation) are actively leaving the Church, disengaging, freeing themselves. And, like my Silent Generation friend I ran into at the gym, they seem to be quite happy doing so.

It’s yet another depressing moment, not to mention a difficult one. For those of us still within the fold, it’s getting to be tough to absorb all of the news that is coming at us—even though it really isn’t news. We see it. We feel it. We know it. Yet, we would prefer not to.

The challenge is to refrain from fretting about those who have left and, instead, to ponder why those of us who stay, stay. It is in that pondering that I am sure that we will find what we need: the courage to join my older, gleeful friend and admit that it’s over, or the grace to be the church in new, bold, and marvelous ways.

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Upending the Tyranny of the Popular Girls

Posted on June 4, 2015 by smaxreisert

My daughter is graduating from high school this week. “Tradition” brings us a full four-day palate of activities and festivities. Last night was Class Night, an evening of graduating seniors giving thanks (to teachers, administrators, and parents) as well as delivering syrupy, sentimental senior speeches. And, then there was the “Senior Slide Show,” which was really a 35-minute parade of photos of one particular foursome—the popular girls. Some photos just had one or two of them, but many of the photos had all four. Interspersed among the photos of the always smiling popular girls were random photos of other seniors from the graduating class—after all, how can you be the “popular girls” without a supporting cast of clearly “not so popular” and “unpopular”?

Somewhere in the middle of this really unpleasant experience, I found myself having a series of flashbacks to my own high school experience. I was definitely not a “popular girl” and, on top of that, I often found myself needing to explain my presence in many of my classes. I was a “smart kid” who landed in classes with other “smart kids,” but I wasn’t from the “smart kid” part of town (where the local professionals lived). Instead, I lived in a “middle” part of the town (there was definitely a part of town that was even lower down the economic scale), where “middle” smart kids lived.

After surfing through my flashbacks, and letting myself actually think about them, it occurred to me that those awkward teenage years are very likely the most important in terms of my connection and relationship with the church. During my high school years, church was a refuge—a place where I could be and become myself, where I met caring adults, where I found friendship among peers, where I learned and explored leadership, and where my relationship with my Creator grew and flourished. Through church, my awareness of being loved, of being a part of something much greater than myself, and discovering that my life had purpose and meaning, all became essential pieces in my life.

I didn’t need to be a “popular girl,” and perhaps more than that, I didn’t want to be a “popular girl.” Who would want to be at the center of teenage life? Who would want to invite such scrutiny?

At church, I found a home. I taught Sunday School, helped lead the youth group, and served on the Christian Education Committee. I developed significant and meaningful relationships with peers and adults.

The “popular girls” didn’t hold much sway over me at all. In fact, I don’t even have a clear memory of who they were in my own graduating class, although I do remember that there were “popular girls.” They didn’t capture my imagination, or much of my interest. And, now they are a muted, distant memory.

I hope for the same for my own daughter. Although she has a very different relationship with the church, and has not found the same attachment as I found, I want for her the same sense of her own self-worth, that her life has meaning and purpose, that she is loved and is part of something much bigger than herself.

The popular girls may have found a sense of love and purpose, but not the kind that will hold up well through the ups and downs of adult life. I hope for those girls too, those “popular girls,” an awareness that popularity isn’t what brings life’s biggest joys and it doesn’t provide the kind of foundation that one needs to live a life of meaning. May they, too, discover what good community can, and should, be—not based on a rigid social hierarchy, but instead on love, respect, dignity and the essential humanity of each and all.

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On Trinity Sunday and the Gloria

Posted on May 29, 2015 by smaxreisert

I grew up in a very congregational church, in a church that kept its attachment to the wider church, the United Church of Christ, in parentheses (literally) and in small print, left to languish at the bottom of the front of the bulletin every week, probably unnoticed by almost everyone. The church was fiercely independent, and though it had a preacher who had a flair for the drama (half of the lights in the sanctuary were turned off just before the sermon in order to highlight the pulpit, and him in it), it was not an especially liturgically minded church—at least that I can remember. There was Christmas Eve and Holy Week, of course, and Pentecost, but my memory is dim to nonexistent on the other big days of the Christian year.

The church I serve now, Old South, is not especially tied to the liturgical calendar either, although I’ve been there long enough that they are catching on to what’s not in the liturgical calendar—Mother’s and Father’s Day, the 4th of July, etc. “Yes, we know, Susan, that the 4th of July is not on the liturgical calendar, but can’t we still sing a patriotic song during worship? There are some in the hymnal, after all.”

So, it came as a surprise that, during a recent Worship Team meeting, there was some enthusiasm for Trinity Sunday. It’s turned into a whole weekend thing at Old South. There’s a “Trinity Potluck Breakfast” on Saturday (which, sadly, I will be unable to attend because of Maine Conference responsibilities, but I’m looking forward to hearing about how the “trinity” is expressed in french toast casserole and fruit salad—will everything be in threes?).

The Worship Team meeting also included some conversation about actual Trinity Sunday. Enthusiastic suggestions filled the conversation: We’ll sing trinity hymns! Let’s sing the old Gloria Patri (we left behind the traditional Gloria, with its “Father, Son and Holy Ghost” about a year ago)!

I couldn’t help but feel all of my decade of work with Old South slipping away, that though they have gone along with my “new age” language, and my attempts at including hymns from the New Century Hymnal (though we have retained the Pilgrim and still sing at least one hymn each Sunday from it), that they really just miss how we used to do it, which somehow, to the extent they are willing to reflect on what is the truly complicated and mind-boggling subject of the Trinity, it’s really just all about “Father, Son and Holy Ghost (or Spirit).”

Here’s the question: do I just, in the words of everyone’s favorite frozen princess, “let it go” and go headlong into the past, bringing back all of the traditional language? Or, do I use the occasion to talk more openly about the trinity, and the limited language we use to express such a massive concept?

I’m not sure, yet, though it is now Thursday before Trinity Sunday. I also realize that I may be overreacting. Perhaps this is just a brief visit to the past—even though I feel like they ought to be ready to shake off the past without wanting to go back. But, it lingers with me.

I think it lingers with me, and bothers me as much as it does, because I can’t help but feel that this church—a church community that I have come to love, trust and rely on— is more eager to wrap itself up in the comfortable, fuzzy and safe, rather than truly venture forth into new territory. It is more willing to settle into the comfort of a well-worn faith, with its familiar (even if not well understood) language, rather than think deeper, more disruptive, thoughts about what it means to have a transformative faith—that isn’t just about transforming someone else, but about transforming each one of us and all of us together.

For me, it’s not just about singing or not singing the old Gloria for one week, but realizing that that the “old” Gloria, though so familiar that it rolls right off the tongue when I hear that music, no longer has deep meaning for me. It is no longer what I want to sing to express my praise and wonder at Creation, and my part in it. It is no longer how I wish to sing to and speak to the God I worship. And, it certainly isn’t something that elicits enthusiasm of any kind.

My hope is that when we sing that old Gloria on Sunday, that there are at least a few others who find that it just doesn’t quite fit anymore, that it just doesn’t express the faith that we feel now. My hope is that at least a few catch a glimpse that we have experienced transformation, and that will inspired us to continue to move forward—in ways that are life-affirming and wondrous.

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How Can We Compete?

Posted on May 21, 2015 by smaxreisert

Last Sunday was a busy day, so I was looking forward to curling up in bed and sparking up the DVR to watch the season finale of Call the Midwife. When I got ready for bed and turned on the television, the first show to pop up was the broadcast of the Billboard Awards and, more precisely, Hozier singing his hit song, “Take Me to Church.”

The song was not new to me. My eighteen-year-old daughter is a fan. I was aware, then, that the song is not a positive song about the church. Instead the lyrics feature this chorus: “Take me to church, I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife. Offer me that deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life.”

Hozier is an Irish singer who is distressed about the dominant church of his homeland and, in particular, the treatment of homosexuals and homosexuality in the Roman Catholic Church. The problem is that the song conveys a sweeping brushstroke that fails to capture that his complaint is against just one aspect of the Church. These days, many of his listeners are likely unfamiliar with Christian churches and denominations. And worse, they will take his lead in deciding that all of the Christian “Church” is bad and unwelcoming of lots of different kinds of people, especially homosexuals.

This is completely wrong and false. Those fans singing along ardently are misled and misinformed.

NOT ALL CHRISTIAN CHURCHES AND DENOMINATIONS ARE THE SAME. NOT ALL CHRISTIAN CHURCHES AND DENOMINATIONS ARE UNWELCOMING OF HOMOSEXUALS. NOT ALL CHRISTIAN CHURCHES AND DENOMINATIONS REQUIRE A PROFESSION OF A PARTICULAR DOCTRINE OR DOGMA.

But, how can churches, especially small churches like the one I serve (which is welcoming of all, including homosexuals), and small denominations, like the United Church of Christ (also welcoming), compete with the powerful images promoted by such hugely popular singers like Hozier?

Why is it so difficult to recognize that the Christianity is made up of a diversity and variety of styles, beliefs, approaches and perspectives?

Or, is it that it’s just more convenient to continue to cast the Christian Church as one universal, singular entity with one system of belief, and that one system be the easiest to criticize and mock?

I’m sure musicians like Hozier appreciate that listeners have some understanding of the diversity of expression in music, and that even within “categories” of music, there are differences and varieties, and that the public should have at least some level of respect for such diversity.

I ask only the same sort of respect for Christians. We are like “musicians.” We might have something in common in terms of an umbrella concept of what we are about, but under that umbrella, there are many different kinds and many different forms of expression. I don’t expect everyone to understand completely the differences, but at least to acknowledge that they exist.

Posted in LBGTQ, Other Denominations/Christians | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

The Reality of the Tide

Posted on May 12, 2015 by smaxreisert

A few years ago, during a vacation on the Outer Banks of North Carolina (a place where my family and I go every couple of years), my children were playing with their cousins on the beach. I was taking photos as they frolicked in the gentle surf along the wide expanse of seemingly endless ocean. There were sea and beach creatures, along with colorful shells, that also caught my photo snapping attention.

Somewhere in the midst of my attempts at capturing as many “Kodak” moments as I could, I lost my footing, and fell. The surf was not much of anything that day, but as I let my body fall into the sand, in the hope of keeping my camera out of the water, I couldn’t help but sense the pull of the tide. I didn’t get pulled far at all, but I could still feel the tide. Its gentle force was unmistakable.

There’s a similar force to the human condition, a sort of “tidalness” in how we gather, paying attention to certain things at one time and then not at all, but something else instead. The tide comes in. The tide goes out.

For Christians, there’s a tide too, and we seem increasingly to be on the wrong side of it.

The Pew Research Center for Religion and Public Life has published more bad news for those of us not only within the Christian tradition, but especially those of us who practice it by going to church. In the released study, America’s Changing Religious Landscape, the subheading really says it all, “Christians Decline Sharply as Share of Population; Unaffiliated and Other Faiths Continue to Grow.”

Major findings of this extensive study:

1. The percentage of adults (ages 18 and older) who describe themselves as Christians has dropped by nearly eight percentage points in just seven years.
2. The “unaffiliated” jumped six points.
3. While the drop in Christian affiliation is particularly pronounced among young adults, it is occurring among Americans of all ages.

The tide has turned. And, when it comes to the tide, there’s a force to it and a life of its own.

In the area where I live and serve a church, the turning of the tide is clear as day. Old South is not the only church struggling with numbers, and trying to understand why there are fewer people attending worship. Old South is not the only church looking around and trying hard not to admit that our average age is probably in the seventies. Old South is not the only church to gather on Sunday morning, and realize that most of the rest of the community is doing something else. These are common concerns among churches in central Maine.

The Pew Research Center really isn’t telling us anything we don’t already know. Yet, it’s still hard to absorb the science of it all—that changes to how we do things may very well not work to increase weekly attendance or lower our average age.

That’s how tides work. We can try to fight the tide, or ignore it. But, the tide is what it is. The tide has a force, and a life, of its own.

So, what to do? It seems to me that this is where we need to be especially attentive to doing what we do, and staying focused on the love of God. And, not fretting about what’s going to happen to us. Faithfulness to the Gospel. Sharing the love of Christ. That’s what’s key.

It may not turn the tide, but that’s really not our job.

************

The Study report can be found here:

http://www.pewforum.org/2015/05/12/americas-changing-religious-landscape/

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It’s a Shame We’ve Become Such Rare Birds

Posted on May 8, 2015 by smaxreisert

As the committee members gathered in the church parish house, one committee member came through the door from the parking lot and addressed one of the other committee members in a voice that conveyed a bit of shock and alarm, “___________, are you a Republican? Do you have that car out there that has a Republican bumper sticker?”

The man to whom these questions were asked declared happily, “Yes, of course I’m a Republican.” And, then he went on to repeat the message from the bumper sticker, “Working people vote Republican.”

There was a sort of stunned silence, as the two men (the first one is a Democrat) who’ve known and worked together at Old South for some time, settled on the news that they were in opposing political camps. As more people arrived, the meeting began and we moved on.

This is the life at Old South. And it’s real shame that there aren’t many places like this in this country—places where people with differing political perspectives gather together, in community and friendship, and manage to get work done, worship together, and endeavor to be the Body of Christ, even in the midst of wide variety of life experiences, perspectives, and political persuasions.

Old South has been, for a long time, a place where a real diversity exists in terms of political allegiances. We have, and have had, people who are strident Republicans, and strident Democrats, and even a few strident Independents. And, we have some number of people who aren’t strident at all about politics.

Yet, somehow we all manage to share this church community. For us, what we do is not all that extraordinary. It’s been like this for a long time.

But, taking a good look outside our community, it’s clear that places like Old South do not exist, at least not in large numbers. When I first moved to Maine in 1997, there was a general sense that, at the state level anyway, politicians somehow figured out how to get things done in the state, despite their differing political parties. Now, that’s not so true.

I don’t visit the state house very often, even though it is only a couple of miles up the road, but when I am there from time to time, to lead the Senate in prayer (I’ll lead the House later this month), I can feel the tension. The community spirit is not to be found.

In other places as well, it’s not hard to notice that people increasingly tend to gather with others with whom they agree. There’s no perceived value in seeking out difference, certainly political difference. In fact, it feels like the sense of value has shifted. Now, to gather or be friends with people of differing political views is perceived as problematic and even treasonous. And, to be so foolish as to marry (I’m a Democrat, married to a Republican), is seen as deeply suspect and just plain wrong.

It’s too bad that there aren’t many places like Old South. There’s a lot to be gained through relationship with people who hold differing perspectives and even opposing political opinions. It’s helpful, once and a while, to realize that the “other” isn’t evil or stupid, and that working together to make things better requires a recognition of another’s humanity, just as one expects one’s own humanity to be acknowledged. I think there’s a bible verse that goes something like that . . . .

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When the Message Is Not Enough

Posted on May 2, 2015 by smaxreisert

When I arrived at Old South Church about a decade ago, I was fortunate to have found a church home that, though it had never had a female pastor, was well-acquainted with the leadership of women. The organist/music director was a woman and women held posts in the Board of Deacons and Trustees.

There were a few women that I was drawn to almost immediately. They were smart, independent, and funny. One of those women I especially liked. In addition to being smart, independent and funny, she was also honest and forthright.

When that particular woman, I’ll call her Sally, made the decision to leave the church, she came to meet with me. Honestly and with a great deal of clarity, Sally shared why and how she had come to the decision to leave. She had started going to another area church, a much more conservative church. She had family attending that church, including a grandchild. There was something about that church that fed her in ways that Old South did not, and probably never would.

Sally left Old South with my blessing. Thankfully, though, I still saw her from time to time. Occasionally, she would show up for worship at Old South, and I saw her at church-related events. But, I never quite had the courage to ask her the questions that were burning in my brain, mostly around her experience at a more conservative church, and especially at a church that limited the leadership of women.

But, finally my curiosity got the best of me and I asked her to join me for coffee. We had a wonderful visit. I had been specific with her that I had some questions for her, mostly related to her transition from one kind of church to a very different kind of church.

As expected, her answers were honest and forthright, humble and clear. One of the questions that I posed asked about being a smart, thoughtful, independent woman in a church that put limitations on women. Sally, in particular, may not feel the pull to the pulpit, to preach, but what if she did, or what about other women? How did she not only survive, but thrive, in such a church?

Sally paused, thoughtfully. Finally she said, “It does bother me. It does.” And, then another pause until this, “But, it’s not a deal breaker.”

In churches like Old South, where we celebrate the gifts of ministry regardless of gender, (and where we welcome and affirm the gifts of ministry regardless of sexual orientation), I wonder if we are aware that our message of inclusion and love only goes so far. We would like to think that those who feel the pull of the Christian faith will realize that some churches put limits on the love of God, while other churches do not. While that does, at times, happen, I fear that it doesn’t happen nearly enough—or not nearly as often as we would like.

We want our message to be a magnet that will draw the faithful from “limiting” churches to churches like ours. But, the message may not be enough.

Sally left a church where she was among the younger members to join a church where she is among the oldest. She left a church that welcomed her gifts and talents, regardless of gender, and joined a church that teaches that women cannot preach. She left a church that is reticent about speaking of faith publicly and joining together to express faith in the community, and joined a church where she can speak freely of faith and can join with others, openly and publicly, in living out faith and mission in the community.

Clearly the latter has been more important than the former, for Sally and probably for others too.

As I’ve tried to state clearly in former blog posts, it’s important that we not get caught up in the notion that one way of doing church is “right” or “good” and that other ways are “bad” or “wrong.” But I think it can be said that there are ways of doing church that speak to more people than other ways.

On the one hand, I feel like churches like Old South need to change in order to survive. But, on the other hand, I feel like churches like Old South should feel free to continue to do what is meaningful to them—even if that means that they may not survive well into the future.

What’s important here, I think, is not to delude ourselves into thinking that our way of doing things, or any kind of slogan we might come up with (like the UCC “God is Still Speaking) will magically turn the tide and will cause people to flock through our doors. It’s important that we continue to stay close to being church, and to do what we do not because we’ve always done it that way, but because it draws us closer to God and to each other. That might mean we continue what we do, and it may also mean that we try some changes.

Let’s not lose sight of what is at stake: faithfulness to the Gospel. That’s really all that matters.

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