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.

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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 . . . .

Posted in On the Hopeful Side | Leave a comment

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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We’re Doomed #3: No Joke

Posted on April 17, 2015 by smaxreisert

The Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, in Madison, Maine (about 40 miles north of Augusta) closed its doors at the end of last December. The building was then purchased and turned into event space. Last weekend, “Somerset Abbey” opened its doors for its first public event, a comedy show.

The venue itself provided fertile material for the comedians on the show. Although I was not there, the local paper provided coverage. The title of the piece on the front page of the Local section in The Morning Sentinel was called, “Laughing Their Praises.” One of the warm-up comedians quipped, “I think this is the first time there’s been this much excitement in church in a while.”

At some point, someone yelled out something that I might have yelled out if I had been there, “It’s not a church.” But, the comedian snapped back, “But it looks like a church. I don’t think anyone is driving by saying, ‘I think that’s a raised ranch.’”

This is a big problem for a lot of us who remain faithful and committed to a church community. It’s all too easy to equate “church” with “building”—for those outside the church community, as well as inside. For too many Christians, especially old mainliners in the United States, we think of our life of faith as inexorably linked to the building in which we worship. And, so the community at large thinks the same way.

As we’ve discovered in little Madison, Maine, it’s all too easy, then, to become the butt of the joke. If we have any hope for the future, this must change.

The early Christians made a mark for themselves, NOT by building large, imposing edifices in which to gather, but by being communities of love and care, by being communities that looked out for each other, and by feeding and caring for the poor and marginalized. The early Christians were distinctive by who they were, and how they were inspired, instead of where and how they gathered for worship.

Making the transition, though, from one way of thinking to another is very hard. At a church like Old South, where the average age of the worshipping community is somewhere around 70, many of those who worship are “builders.” The building is an essential piece to how they understand and express faith. The building is how they experience and connect with God.

So, we find ourselves in a precarious place—watch our worshiping community get smaller and smaller until we can’t pay the bills and then have to sell the building (for condo conversion, or “event space,” or for the making of hard apple cider) or we need to learn how to let of the very thing that holds such deep meaning for us.

This is another angle of what fuels my concern that we are doomed. When the building is so precious to us, we can’t possibly believe that our church will continue well into the future. It is clear as day that the wider community is not where we are, and even more than that, we have become at best a nostalgic token of something that is no longer.

It’s going to take real effort to make the kind of changes that are necessary. The problem is that it may be too late.

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We’re Doomed #2: The Problem No One Wants to Talk About

Posted on April 9, 2015 by smaxreisert

It’s post-Easter and perhaps not the best time to return to my take on our “doomed” problem. But, it’s something that I’m now thinking about almost all the time. In fact, I’ve lined up at least four weeks worth of “We’re Doomed” blog posts. They are not meant to be completely negative and depressing. Instead, I would hope that we can see what we do, and why we do it, in a more positive and “faithful to the Gospel” way, even if it means that our church won’t survive well into the future.

This week’s “doomed” topic actually goes back quite a few weeks. During Lent at Old South, we followed the Narrative Lectionary, which focused on the parables of Matthew. Not far into Lent, we encountered Matthew’s parable of the wedding feast. It’s an ugly, difficult parable.

In thinking about that parable, I found the perspective of David Lose to be particularly helpful and meaningful. You can find his column here:

Pentecost 18 A: Preaching an Ugly Parable

Lose essentially encourages his readers to refrain from a simple Christian-Jewish antagonistic reading and to see the harsh tone as more reflective of an internal family debate, that in the increasingly distant divide between Jews and Christians in the first century, there were not just two distinct communities, but communities in which and through which people knew each other and were even related to each other: “On the whole, Matthew’s version is darker, more violent, and pushes even the typical parable’s tolerance for absurdity to the edge. Why? Because at this point in the family conflict, he is willing to say that God not only rejects those cousins and kin of his that rejected Jesus but actually sent the Romans to destroy the Temple as punishment (a conclusion not uncommon to Matthew, but intensified in this parable).”

While we, in the 21st century, might not choose the kind of violent imagery that Matthew employs to level judgment against those “in the family” who chose a different path than our own, we can probably understand where such animosity might come from.

Mr. Lose, then, suggested that we bring the parable to our current day, and ask our parishioners to consider their own feelings in light of their own family members who have chosen not to attend church, or to attend a very different church or religious community. In this part of the world, there are lots of people whose family members do not attend church—not even on Christmas Eve or Easter.

On that particular Sunday at the beginning of March, I wondered about our feelings about this problem, a problem that we would rather never talk about. Our decreasing attendance numbers are not just about “out there” kinds of problems—sports practices, busy people looking for a one morning when they can sleep in, etc. Our decreasing numbers also involve our own family members who no longer attend church, our own family members who are no longer swayed by the Good News, who no longer feel bound by covenant as we do.

Some family members have moved away, but there are others who are still right here. And they don’t come to church.

We might not think about such notions as casting them into the outer darkness, but if we allow ourselves to go to that place of thinking about it, we may find ourselves with feelings of guilt, shame, loss, and regret.

As I come myself to the realization that my own daughter, now eighteen, has no meaningful tie to the church, I have my own complicated feelings. Did I do something wrong? Did the church?

These are issues that really ought to be in the forefront of our thinking about who we are and why we do what we do. If our own family members choose not to attend church, is it our fault or is it that we are finding in our own families the significant divide of religious and spiritual experience? If my daughter goes down a different spiritual path than mine, is it that I’ve done something wrong or that what feeds her spirit is different than what feeds mine?

There’s a lot to these question. It may be that we are doing something “wrong,” that we have not adequately shared our experience of the good news or the love of God. But, there’s also something to be said for recognizing that things change. How and why we practice the faith as we do may not be right or wrong, good or bad, but it might just be that we are finding that it doesn’t hold up well over time.

In a place like Central Maine, where there really are more older people than younger people, and many younger family members who choose to move away, it’s not even so easy as to suggest that we start practicing the faith differently. That still may not do much to ensure a future.

My feeling is that we should consider and explore what is meaningful and to be about sharing the love of God in reckless, wanton ways—even in our staid, private, old fashioned, New Englandish kind of way. Just let’s make sure that we remain bound to the Spirit, that we embrace that we are likely “doomed.” But, that we are taking that right to the cross, knowing that even in death there is life.

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To Take Up One’s [Chocolate] Cross

Posted on April 2, 2015 by smaxreisert

I’m taking a week off from the “We’re Doomed” series in order to spend a few moments to rant a bit over Holy Week and mass consumer culture. It’s bad enough at Christmas, when the holiday feels almost completely detached from its religious significance. With Easter, I’m increasingly concerned, and appalled, by the elimination of the religious significance of the holiday.

Can’t Christians keep Easter for themselves? Why can’t the mass consumer culture come up with something else through which people can be lured into the purchasing of things that they don’t need? What about May Day? Or Arbor Day? They would make great days for mass consumerism.

Sure, there’s lots about Easter that is not connected to Christianity. Those eggs, for instance. And, the bunnies. Not in scripture. So, making those things into something sweet and ready for buying, giving and eating isn’t all that bad. But, now much clearer Christian symbols have been making their way to product shelves:

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What does it mean to eat a chocolate cross?  What does it mean to give one?  Will children who find this item in their Easter basket have any idea of its meaning or significance?  I can’t help but all of those kids who encounter the Christmas manger scene and have no idea what it means or how it’s attached to the holiday.  Can one take up one’s cross and eat it too, without having any idea of what the cross signifies?

Easter has become the holiday of spring. Get a new colorful outfit. Buy some pastel colored treats. Give a basket filled with toys and gifts. Gather with friends and family and eat ham or lamb. But, why? Does anyone ask why everyone is gathering on a Sunday in early spring, on a date that changes year after year?

Christmas has been given a whole other secular storyline. There’s Santa and the gift-giving that is entirely separate from the religious significance of the holiday. Though I am loathe to admit it, one can celebrate Christmas now without anything having to do with religion. I don’t like it, but my complaining isn’t going to change anything.

But, Easter. Really? I know my complaining isn’t going to gain much traction here either, but this really bothers me. There really is no secular reason for celebrating Easter. While Easter has adopted symbols over the years that are pagan in origin, the holiday is religious. It is Christian.

Please don’t make the Easter Bunny into Santa. Easter ought to get some respect. On Easter, we celebrate and ponder one of the great mysteries of our faith.   PLEASE, let us Christians keep this for ourselves. I don’t want to share it with everyone, watering it down so that it has its own separate, secular storyline.

If you aren’t going to church on Easter, please don’t celebrate it. Please don’t. If you are yearning for a celebration of spring, take the vernal equinox or Patriots Day (for those in Massachusetts and Maine) or maybe Cinco de Mayo. Or, use your imagination and come up with something else.

Leave Easter alone.   And let it be religious. Let it be Christian.

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