When the Meeting Is the Meaning

Posted on July 25, 2014 by smaxreisert

The Maine Conference of the United Church of Christ is in the midst of considering a new governance and staffing model. A “New Dimensions Team,” of which I am part with other clergy and lay people from around the state, has been working together for more than a year—discussing and envisioning a new way forward as the Conference prepares to search for and call a new Conference Minister.

In July, the Team met with the Coordinating Council, the Conference’s current governing body, to share the current draft of our plan and to get feedback. One of the elements of the plan that is especially exciting to many of us on the New Dimensions Team is a plan to reduce the size of the primary “governing” body, and to focus more time and energy of the Conference on “ministry.” The current Coordinating Council—a large, mostly geographically representative body—spends a great deal of time giving and hearing reports of conference staff, state-wide committees and commissions, etc. The New Dimensions plan replaces the Coordinating Council with a smaller “Mission Council.” Plus, we have suggested various and different ways of engaging in ministry around the conference, for individuals and for groups. The hope is that we, as a conference, will be spending less time “reporting” and more time “doing.”

While the New Dimensions Team eagerly shared our ideas for the future of the Conference, we did not receive an obviously eager response from everyone on the Council. While a couple of younger pastors expressed enthusiasm, the many more older people around the table (the Maine Conference clearly and perhaps even over-emphasizes that Maine is the oldest state in the country) seemed more apprehensive.

On my way home, I thought about the meeting with the Coordinating Council, as well as similar experiences at the church that I serve, Old South Church in Hallowell, where I have worked on reducing the number of meetings for a church of its size and have been surprised by some of the resistance I’ve encountered. As I pondered, I experienced an epiphany of sorts. It occurred to me that for some people, the current arrangements are deeply meaningful—so meaningful, in fact, that they drove hours to attend that July meeting in Augusta, which just happened to be on a gorgeous summer day, after a few days of rain (in Maine, where summers are very short). One person argued that we should actually have more meetings, and not fewer.

While there are some good church people who find meetings enervating, there are other good church people who experience the exact opposite. While there are some who are eager to be “doing” more, there are others who like meetings.   For some, particularly older members of the church, I’ve come to realize that meetings are meaningful. They are the ministry.

I’ve been thinking about the hundreds of church meetings I’ve attended over my long career in the church. Through meetings, church folk get to know each other. They work together. They seek to solve problems. And, from time to time, they actually get important things accomplished. Through meetings, relationships develop and there is a sense of the holy—of different sorts of people gathering around a table and trying to strengthen the church. It’s not especially remarkable to determine who will set up communion, who will offer snacks after worship, who will figure out who’s going to plow in the winter. There’s not much excitement around the church budget or negotiating salary with the pastor, especially during lean times. But, in the midst of all of this work, some good church people find meaning—significant, sacred meaning. Somewhere in there is a connection to faith.

For those of us who wish to have fewer meetings, those of us who see more ministry in doing other things, especially the doing of things outside of the church, it’s important that we recognize that some resistance to change is not just resistance for the sake of resistance, or stubbornness. Some resistance is about not wanting to let go of something that is actually deeply meaningful.

Reporting and policy meetings may not be all that exciting to me, but through them, some people have not only come to know others better, but I suspect they’ve also come to know themselves better as well. Through that journey, they have found a closer connection to the holy. They have experienced ministry.

It’s not that we should not change, or alter our structure as church or conference, but to ensure that we maintain and expand varied routes of ministry, and refrain from a judgment that “ministry” only happens outside of church meetings. One person’s meeting is another person’s meaning. It’s not exactly scriptural, but it’s an important truth to bear in mind, and an aspect of the life of the church for which we should have respect and understanding.

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Which Country Do I Belong To?

Posted on July 18, 2014 by smaxreisert

A couple of weeks ago, a columnist for Slate (Reihan Salam) posed the question, “One Nation Divisible? Is America in Danger of Fracturing into Two Countries, One Secular, One Religious?” In his piece, Mr. Salam wondered, “Could America break apart along religious lines, with devout Christians going one way and the rest of us going another?”

Which “country” would I belong to in such a scenario?

While I often find myself leaning more toward “secular” arguments and approaches when it comes to public policy and governing, my faith is very important to me, and does guide me in the decisions that I make and in how I view myself, the world, and how I see myself as part of this world. So, where does a progressive liberal Christian belong in a potentially divided country?

At first glance, this may seem a silly question, but I’ve found myself thinking about it a lot lately. Perhaps because of the Hobby Lobby case, or through what’s happening in the immigration debate (I recently heard a Boston-based very conservative radio personality not only refer to immigrants as “vermin,” but he then went on to bash Glenn Beck—in strong, vicious language— for suggesting that we use some “Christian values” in thinking about and dealing with the current immigration crisis), I’ve been wondering a lot about what it means to be Christian in the United States, and especially what it means to be a Christian who doesn’t conform to the what’s generally cast as “Christian” in the media.

To the extent that we have a “religious” divide in the United States, I fear that we don’t have so much a divide between “secular” and “religious,” but rather a growing and more obvious divide within Christianity. I’d actually like to see such a thing find a place in the public square, as we ought to have some public discussion regarding “Christian values” and “Christian teachings.” Instead of simply filing into the church that supports my own views, perhaps we should do more to mix things up a bit, and to encourage a different kind of Christian conversation.

It doesn’t take much focus to realize that the range of beliefs for Christians is very wide. And, for many of us, we have a hard time being consistent, in keeping a solid Christian foundation for all of our opinions and perspectives. After all, the Bible itself is not exactly consistent itself.

A more public discussion, then, might be a good thing. It might help us to be clearer about why we believe what we do, instead of simply finding handy Bible verses, and churches, that magically support our own prejudices. We might also become more knowledgeable about the Book we call Holy, yet about which so many seem to know so little (according to a number of studies).

I’d like to think that I can be both devoted to my faith, while also progressive in both my faith and my politics. I suspect that more dialogue across rather than within would provide more opportunities for the discovery of common ground, instead of the continued feeding of the fractious field of assumptions.

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Are You Serving Cheese with that Whine?

Posted on July 11, 2014 by smaxreisert

At a lot of church related meetings, with both clergy and lay people, on the local level but especially when more than one church has gathered, I hear a fair amount of whining: Why don’t people go to church anymore? Why don’t parents bring their kids to church anymore? When will someone do something about sports practices on Sunday mornings? Why does the church get so little respect these days?

Are you serving cheese with that whine?

When the whining begins, I feel like I ought to tape record the ranting, and then play it back, asking, “If this is what you are offering, why would anyone want to join you?” If this is how you talk at church, from the pulpit to fellowship, why would anyone want to be a part of that?

The old Mainline has become the whine-line. And, it simply baffles me that people don’t hear themselves, or those with whom they gather, in such a way that they are inspired to stop. Somehow, they don’t hear the whining. They don’t sense the soul-crushing droning on and on.

When I find myself in the midst of one of these “whine”-fests, and can endure long enough for there to be a break in the action so I can ask the big question, “So, if the only reason people used to go to church was because there was nothing else to do on a Sunday morning, does that really speak well of us?” I find that most people in the conversation look at me like I’m speaking a foreign language.

I know it’s not easy to point the figure back at one’s self or one’s own beloved church, but we – those of us who are still part of the old Mainline – must do so. We must be brave enough to take a close look in the mirror and to see ourselves for what we are, and then to find the grace and courage to change what is not very flattering.

The church cannot be an institution of whiners that simply rests in a comfortable place of complaining about the “good old days,” especially since the “good old days” really were not all that good for us. Just because our pews were filled, doesn’t mean that we were doing God’s work. Being a part of the religion of the Empire, doesn’t mean that we were being faithful to the gospel of Christ.

Clergy, especially, should be mindful of their own whining—and should find ways of stopping themselves from engaging in it. Whining is not transformative. It’s not faithful. It’s not redemptive. It’s not healthy. Did Jesus whine? I don’t think so.

So, stop the whining. Please stop.

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Frozen and Freedom

Posted on July 4, 2014 by smaxreisert

I may be the last American to watch Frozen, but I am certainly aware of the frenzy over the animated film and its main song, “Let It Go,” belted out rock anthem-style by Idina Menzel. I’ve now heard the song joyfully sung by little girl toddlers several times in stores around Central Maine.

As I watched the movie and listened to the lyrics of its hit song, I was struck by one part of the song that offers this sentiment: “It’s time to see what I can do/To test the limits and break through/No right, no wrong, no rules for me I’m free!”

In her new found “freedom,” Elsa, whose special power to bring cold and ice has long been suppressed, leaves her quaint village and forms an ice castle for herself in the mountains, where she can be alone . . . and “free.” It’s an interesting, and troubling, path on the road to girl empowerment. Granted, she does finally, at the end of the film, learn how to deal more constructively with her “special power”—if only her parents hadn’t been so quick to tamp it down and conceal it, perhaps she would have discovered earlier how to keep from spreading only ice and cold (it’s interesting that parents view this film in such a praiseworthy fashion, given that her parents seem to be the primary problem in poor Elsa’s early life).

At Old South this summer, we are examining freedom and rules by spending a few weeks focusing on THE rules, the big Ten, the Ten Commandments. Early in the series, we looked at the beginning of the Ten Commandments from Exodus. I noted that the commandments are rooted in freedom: “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.”

The commandments, from the beginning have a foundation in freedom. But, then we went on the very next part: “you shall have no other gods before me.” Someone in the congregation actually quipped, “Well, there goes our freedom.”

And, then when we got to the rather long-ish section on the Sabbath (many of the commandments are really quite brief, but the one on the Sabbath goes into quite a lot of detail). Some in the congregation were quick to wonder about the animals. What does, or did, it mean that one’s livestock should have the opportunity to observe the Sabbath, to rest on the holy day? But, then finally someone raised a hand and asked, “Are we going to talk about the slave part? It looks like not everyone’s free.”

True enough.

Freedom is a complicated thing. At Old South this early summer, we are wondering about what freedom means in the context of faith. Quite a few have articulated the parent-child relationship, that children need “structure” and “boundaries,” especially in families and communities. What would complete and total freedom look like, feel like? Would we really want to live in such a way? Others in the congregation have shared the thought that without limits, how would we know what freedom is?

As churches here in Central Maine continue to face decline, I wonder about where such conversations will take place, in wrestling with important issues of human family and community. Will we all be content to hand over the interpretation of the human condition to Disney?

I realize that the Christian Church has not been, nor is it today in many corners, fertile ground for dialogue on freedom and girl empowerment. I realize that many of the “rules” have often been used to suppress freedom and to tamp down gifts and talents, especially in the case of girls and women. But, I struggle with the notion that this new thing, with churches and religious organizations shoved into the corner, is a better way, or even more empowering, or liberating.

Perhaps it’s more empowering to damn the rules and set out to express ourselves in whatever way we want, but even Elsa from Frozen discovers that the way to curb her icy tendencies is to let go of her fear and to embrace love. And, as the movie also demonstrates, love is about putting the needs of others before one’s own needs.

Sounds an awful lot like some of the lessons that that Jesus guy taught, and an awful lot like the lessons that we preach at Old South, and try to live out.  And, I’m sure other churches are just the same. So, why is it that we feel like we subscribe to an old fashioned, out-dated set of ideals?

I wish I could say that I could “let it go,” but instead I’m frustrated by the lack of connection that characters like Elsa come to a realization that is not new, or unique, but instead embedded in a long and abiding story—one that goes back all the way to the beginning.

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The Folly of Fear

Posted on June 26, 2014 by smaxreisert

Last winter, when Old South was contemplating a new vision for organizing itself, especially its governance, I heard a certain question posed a number of times that asked whether or not other churches had tried such a system. How had it worked? How did people like it?

Last Saturday, I attended a “feedback session” for the draft document of the Maine Conference New Dimensions Team that offers a new vision of governance and staffing for the Conference. Again, I heard that question about how such a plan had worked elsewhere. What other conferences have tried the kind of model that is being proposed and how did it work?

It all sounds to me like we are buying a car. What is the safety rating? How will it hold up? How have other people liked it? How has it worked for them? Is it reliable?

It’s one thing to ask for such data when buying a car or an appliance, but why is it so important to us in the church? I’m reminded of that question my mother (and many other mothers) asked when I wanted to do something that all of my friends were doing, “If all of your friends wanted to jump off a cliff, would you want to join them?”

Why does it matter so much to church folk that we do something or try something new only because someone else has done it? Why does it matter that we use a “tested” model? Can we really find something that’s similar to a Carfax for our churches, our associations and conferences? Maybe we should ask Consumer Reports.

Our fearfulness when it comes to engaging in something new is certainly a big part of our problem in the old Mainline. At a fundamental level, it demonstrates a lack of connection to the Spirit as well as to our scriptures and the stories of our faith.

Did our ancestors in faith survey others before setting off for the new world? Did Martin Luther or Jan Hus, or Ulrich Zwingli or John Calvin, ask about how new patterns for faith and following worked among others before setting a new path?

We stifle the creative Spirit of God when we ask too many questions about how new models have worked out in other places. After all, it will always be different with a new cast of characters.

While it’s certainly useful and important to engage in deep and thorough dialogue about new possibilities and new patterns, and to connect with others who have tried new things, to try to learn from failures and triumphs, we must never let our fear of the new get in the way of the new things that God is up to in our midst. We are not called to tread just the tried and true paths of others. We are called to walk the path that our Savior stretches before us, even when we are led to places that are completely outrageous, strange, and unfamiliar.

We are, supposedly, a people of good news. And there is good news. After all, our faith is grounded in an unspeakable death that actually revealed new life.  Why is it so hard, then, for us to walk the new road, and to try that new thing?  What are we so worried about?

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In Sheep’s Clothing?

Posted on June 19, 2014 by smaxreisert

In its little corner in the extreme northeast, Maine is, at least in terms of a U.S.-centric point of view, at the “end of the road” or on a “road to nowhere” (apologies to my Canadian friends, just to the north of Maine). We feel tucked away up here, with only the very brave venturing this far into the outer-reaches of the country.

In our extreme northeastern perspective, it may come as no surprise then that some Mainers tend to view the South as starting somewhere around Hartford.

And so it is perhaps understandable that when Southern Baptists come to town, they are very quiet and even secretive about it.

This is what is happening in Central Maine. The local Southern Baptist Convention affiliate, the Kennebec Community Church, doesn’t even include “Baptist” in its name. On their website and on their Facebook page, they offer no reference to their affiliation with the Southern Baptist Convention—none whatsoever.

The Kennebec Community Church is, as they describe, a “young, active church.” They are thriving, recently moving into a renovated church building that was once a Roman Catholic Church. On the first Sunday of worship in their new space, this past Palm Sunday, I was told that they had eighty children in attendance. For this part of the world, that is a lot of children to be in one church at one time.

Given what I know about this part of Maine, with its difficult demographics and secularism, I realize that to be able to describe a church as “young” and “active” is remarkable. But, I can’t help but be concerned that they are, perhaps, thriving under less than full disclosure of who they are and what they believe.

Years ago, when I was a young pastor in Cambridge, Mass., I was part of a clergy group that included a Southern Baptist pastor—a truly rare thing in such a place. But, I found my friendship with this pastor to be interesting, enlightening and valuable. Although we were on opposite ends of the Protestant theological spectrum, we were able to have thoughtful and engaging conversation. Though I am sure that both of us thought the other to be “doing it wrong,” we were able to foster a friendship. Why or how? Because we were honest, and authentic, and because each of us employed a good dose of humility in our lives of faith.

This is what I find troubling in what I encounter in the Southern Baptists who have moved in to Central Maine to “save us” from being “lost.” They are not being fully honest about who they are. Though I can’t say that they are “lying” (I have not attended worship there, so I don’t know what is said during worship or what kind of information they have posted in their building), it feels like there’s a deception born of conscious omission—at least in how they communicate on the web. I can’t help but ask questions when I notice how many “free” things they offer—concerts, sports camps, etc. Along with a newly renovated building and staff, how do they manage financially without some connection to an outside entity?

The local Southern Baptists, this far north, may have found success in saving the “lost” by downplaying their denominational attachment, especially when “Southern” is part of that attachment. But, I wonder about the consequences of this way of doing business. Is it ethical to save someone’s soul by deceiving him/her along the way?

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The Church in Decline: The Southern Baptists Show How Unchristian Christians Can Be

Posted on June 12, 2014 by smaxreisert

The Southern Baptist Convention, the largest Protestant group in the United States, recently approved a resolution regarding transgender people. In this resolution, Southern Baptists affirmed such things as: “Gender identity should be determined by biological sex and not by one’s self-perception,” and, “We call upon all judges and public officials to resist and oppose the efforts to treat gender identity as a protected class.” And, somehow, the Southern Baptists believe that they can affirm such things along with the following: “That we love our transgender neighbors, seek their good always, welcome them into our congregations [as they repent and believe in Christ].”

Who are the truly delusional in this picture?

As the diversity of human experience and circumstance continues to show itself and to seek to be fully integrated into culture and society, we find Christians desperately trying to sweep the diversity of human experience back under the carpet.

Shame.

No wonder the Christian Church is in decline in the United States and that people have begun to lose faith in the institution.

On the one hand, we boldly assert the love of God and the love of neighbor, as preached by Jesus, grounded in the foundation of his Jewish faith and law, and on the other, we find all kinds of ways of denying that love to those who seem different.

If Southern Baptists took a brief moment to spend some time with transgender people, they would find that transgender people are really not all that different, that they are people trying to reconcile their inner sense of themselves with the body they inhabit (just as many of us non-transgender people do). And, as they have found the two to be not in sync, they seek to bring the two together.  As it turns out, it’s easier to change one’s body than it is to change one’s soul. And, they don’t do this on a whim, or lightly, or wantonly.

Southern Baptists do themselves, as well as the whole of the Christian Church, a great, and powerful, disservice, by somehow believing themselves to be in possession of the mind of God, when they make such statements as they have done at their annual meeting this year. They have put on full display the deep problems of putting written words above the Word of God, Jesus the Christ.

I understand that it’s easier to live, and to expect, life and humanity to be neat and tidy, with most people falling into easily defined categories. But that’s simply not the reality of human existence. And, the long-held notion that we can just dictate or legislate people into those neat categories is simply not the way that Christians ought to believe or act.

To believe in God, and to seek to be people of deep faith, is to know genuinely and profoundly that one is not God and that one cannot fully know the mind of God, or the complete intent of God’s creation. Christians must, therefore, be more humble, and willing to accept the limited nature of our understanding and appreciation for God’s wondrous universe.

But, in thinking about our scriptures that we hold dear—literally or not—we ought to consider carefully the beginnings of Creation: “So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.” (Genesis 1:27, NRSV) When you really think about, it sounds kind of . . . transgender, don’t you think?

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The Church of the Sick and Tired, Literally

Posted on June 10, 2014 by smaxreisert

There have been times when, over the course of my almost nine-year relationship with Old South Church, I look out at the congregation on a Sunday morning and I get very close to being overwhelmed when I think about the people who are gazing back at me, as well as those who are not, because they are missing. I’m in the midst of one of those seasons once again at Old South. It has become difficult to look out and think of someone who is NOT sick, or tired, or caring for someone who is sick or elderly.

I can hardly have a conversation these days that does not involve an up-date on someone’s illness, or the illness (or aging) of a loved one, or the significant feeling of being tired, mostly tired of doing the same old thing. Lots of Old South folk seem to be doing the same things, year after year, without much of a break. While we have some new faces taking up some of the tasks of church life, we don’t have enough new faces to experience a real shift in leadership. We still rely on some of the same people to do a lot of the work of the church.

It’s draining—for them and for me.

And, the level of sickness, directly and indirectly, is approaching distressing proportions for this small community. It’s not too hard to keep track of those within the congregation who are dealing with some kind of illness or medical problem, though the list is long for a community this size. But, trying to keep track of those who are dealing directly with the illness of a loved one, whether near or far, is getting difficult and complicated.

It’s the church of the sick and tired—literally.

This past Sunday, on Pentecost, I was trying to get engaged in the power and the extraordinary nature of the story of the birthday of the Church, that some of us may have lost sight of in its familiarity. But, then, I also had a moment of wondering if I should just send them all home for the summer, telling them to rest and to be ready to come back in the fall for a season of learning and growth, and productivity—like we might be doing if we were a public school. So many of them looked tired. And, then, there really was no getting away from the fact that attendance was low. A few people are away or involved with more fun family activities of this time of year (graduations and weddings). But, there were noticeable absences from people I know to be sick, or just too frail to get to worship (it was a rough winter).

Where is our Pentecost spirit when we are tired and sick? Does the mighty wind blow through us in a fresh and exciting way, or does it feel like we are just getting knocked over?

We already have lots of concerns about our present and future, and the difficult nature of being the church in a part of the world that is not thriving. But, now we are worried in considerable ways about significant numbers of people. It’s hard to think about evangelism when one is sick, or caring for a loved one who is sick, or worried about the missing pew neighbor who is struggling with cancer.

I see the remarkable nature of caring and compassion in the congregation of Old South, but I’m also beginning to see the signs of caring fatigue. There’s just not enough good news to balance all of the troubling and concerning news. So, despite the warmer weather and the blossoming of trees and flowers all around us, we—as a church—are not really experiencing much of a spring. We are still in winter—at least in spirit.

And hoping that summer will bring some healing, and relief, or at least a better sense of God’s grace and hope.

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School Lesson

Posted on June 3, 2014 by smaxreisert

I live in the city of Waterville, Maine, just west of the mighty Kennebec River. On the other side of the Kennebec is the town of Winslow. These are struggling communities, but once they were not. This is mill country, or more precisely in these days, closed mill country. On the Waterville side, the mills were textile mills—Hathaway Shirts, for instance. On the Winslow side, the mill was paper—Kimberly-Clark being the last owner and operator of the large mill that runs along the river.

This is the part of the world that was so expertly depicted by Richard Russo in his 2001 novel Empire Falls—a place with many broken and heartbroken people, whose family ties were close to the mills, but who either could not or would not move when the mills began to decline and then close.

Census data offers a sad picture of this area. In Waterville, the population in 1980 was 17,779. In 2010, that population had declined to 15,722. In Winslow, during that same time period, the population went down from 8,057 to 7,774. In Winslow’s case, the decline seems not all that extraordinary. But, in the public school system, both places experienced significant erosion. In Waterville, there were 2,848 children in the system in 1980. In 2010, the number had declined by almost a full thousand students, to 1,856. In Winslow, the numbers went from 1,735 to 1,211.

Despite sharing the same zip code and local phone exchanges, Waterville and Winslow are fierce rivals, especially when it comes to school sports. So, when there was talk, about fifteen years ago, of tackling the shrinking public school numbers by consolidating the two high schools (one in Waterville and one in Winslow), along with the construction of a brand new, state-of-the-art high school, the response was an unequivocal “no”—especially on the Winslow side.

But still, the school systems eventually joined to become an Alternate Organization Structure (AOS) that shares, among other things, administrative functions.

This collaboration between two rival school units has produced some interesting, if “under the radar,” opportunities for students, particularly at the high school level. Students may, with a fair degree of ease, choose among courses at both high schools. It’s certainly not perfect, since it requires traveling from one high school to the other (and then back, with no public transport options), but it allows two shrinking high schools a little more flexibility when it comes to scheduling, and meeting the needs of their students.

My daughter, who is just finishing her junior year at Waterville High School, has taken math this year in Winslow. Limited choices to meet her needs, and some scheduling problems looked dire about a year ago. The solution? An honors calculus in Winslow that worked with her schedule—and the schedule of a group of Waterville students. Out of about 13 students in the class, 8 of them were Waterville students.

In the face of adversity, some institutions are able to figure out creative solutions for meeting the needs of the people in their community. Wishing away problems doesn’t ever seem to work and neither does “having faith” or setting up one more promised great program or finding that one “turn the corner” kind of leader.

There’s an important lesson here for churches.

In the more than fifteen years that I’ve lived in this part of the world, I’ve often been both amazed, and troubled, by the fact that while many institutions have been forced into new ways of doing what they do—from schools to hospitals—area churches somehow see themselves differently, immune from the forces around them. Churches are generally not looking at creative solutions to the shrinking numbers that they, too, are experiencing. Instead, there is some kind of strange hope that lies in the next program, or pastor.

I realize that in a world of uncomfortable change, the church may be a refuge for these people, a place that is constant and reliable. But, that means that the refuge isn’t likely to exist well into the future. The “refuge” is already facing serious issues and problems that require new and creative solutions. This part of the world is shrinking in population, while at the same time becoming more secular. Reality.

Good church people could learn some valuable lessons from the institutions around them. In the face of adversity, there are creative solutions. Sure, the solutions aren’t all great, but they are significantly better than the alternative. Local churches should not continue to lag behind. Instead, we should be actively engaged, excited about new ways of doing what we do and being who we are. What does it take to take seriously our transformative faith??

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Let’s Get Real

Posted on May 28, 2014 by smaxreisert

I serve on a small team examining and considering possible new models of governance and staffing for the Maine Conference. We’ve been meeting regularly since last summer, wrestling with a variety of issues, working with a consultant, and finally coming to a place where we have a draft document that’s ready to be shared with the Conference’s representative body, and then the Conference as a whole. For the next several months, we’ll be gathering comments and suggestions, and working on new drafts, with new insights and details of where the Conference might focus its resources and its energy in the future.

One of the issues that I’ve brought to the table is an issue that continues to feel like my issue, and my issue alone. In the work of others on the Team and in the drafts they’ve proposed, my “issue” is always left out.

I realize that “my issue” is not fun or glamorous, or exciting—at least in how we want to be thinking about the future of the Maine Conference of the United Church of Christ. But, it is critical, I believe, and so I keep bringing it up, inserting it back into the work that we are doing, sometimes with a note about how strongly I believe that it needs to be there. Although I’m starting to feel like a broken record, I continue to try to drive home my point. It’s been feeling a lot like a trip into the wilderness.

My “issue” is the simple truth of demographic realities and trends in Maine—at the local and state level. Demographics is not simply a matter for the local church, but ought to be a focal point of our Conference, especially since there are a lot of UCC churches that exist in shrinking communities. And, as well, there are growing communities where no UCC churches exist in any form.

Here are some examples:

In Augusta, there is a large, almost cathedral-like building home to a not so large UCC congregation. In the city of Augusta—Maine’s capital—population declined from 21,819 in 1980 to 19,136 in 2010 (12.3%). Within that shrinking population, there was an even steeper decline of children, from 5,649 under 18, to 3,309 (41.42%).

In Waterville, about 20 miles north of Augusta, there is also a large building home to a shrinking congregation. In that city, the population declined from 17,779 in 1980 to 15,722 in 2010 (11.5%). The “under 18” population fell from 4,158 to 2,893 (28%).

And, then there are these communities:

In Belgrade, a lovely lake area, west of Augusta and Waterville, the population increased from 2,048 in 1980 to 3,189 in 2010, and the “under 18” population increased from 605 to 785, although the median age rose from 31 to 44.

In Manchester, another lovely lake community just west of Augusta, the population increased from 1,949 to 2,580 between 1980 and 2010, while the “under 18” population decreased from 574 to 525 and the median age went up from 33 to 47 during that same period.

In Sidney, the town that separates Waterville and Augusta, the population increased from 2,052 to 4,208, while the “under 18” population increased from 700 to 1,047 and the median age went up from 28 to 40.

There are no UCC churches in Belgrade, Manchester or Sidney, or in other towns like them—small town communities, many of them with lakes and variable populations (probably more in summer than winter) and which may or may not be dealing with an increase of children. But, all of them, like so many other communities around the state, are dealing with significant increases in median age.

No surprise there, really, since Maine is the oldest state in the country.

This ought to be key Conference business. It ought to be a part of the work of Conference staff to help us, on the local, association and Conference levels, to understand demographic changes and trends. We should to be thinking about where our churches are located and wondering if this is the best way to “be church” in this part of the world in these days. We should be thinking about how to spread the good news, in ways that are flexible and nimble (no new church buildings, for instance), into communities that are growing. We should be spending quality time considering our concept of “Sunday School” and whether or not it should be so focused on children.

I realize that it’s not much fun to dig deep into census data, especially when the information one finds is not really what one would like to find. It’s not a lot of fun to unearth and try to disseminate information that many good church people would rather ignore.

But, when information is not only so crucial to how we think about ourselves and how we should be thinking about ourselves, but is also readily available, it seems ludicrous to ignore the reality that, for many of us, is right in front of us. Spend time wandering around Waterville or Augusta, and one cannot help but notice the prevalence of older people, and the dearth of younger people. Drive around these cities and notice how many homes are for sale, and have been . . . for a while.

This isn’t just about learning to close churches in communities that are shrinking or dying (though we should be doing a better job in that regard), it’s also about being engaged in transformation and the ways that our God may be guiding us, in these communities that look different than they did thirty years ago. Evangelizing to retired people is different—and will look and feel different— than evangelizing to young families, but for many places in Maine, that’s where we, as churches and as a denomination, could be doing good and welcoming work.

Changes and trends are not always welcome, but they are what they are. Ignoring them isn’t good, nor is it healthy. In those changes and trends, there are opportunities—opportunities to be the kind of Christ-centered people we say we want to be.

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