The Church Without Its People

Posted on September 27, 2014 by smaxreisert

In worship last Sunday morning, we had 35 people—a little lower than average for this time of year, but about average for the past several weeks. In the afternoon, though, we had more than a couple of hundred people in the sanctuary. For a funeral.

At Old South, funerals have become the big services—even bigger than Easter and Christmas Eve. For Sunday’s memorial, we knew that there would be a lot of people. The woman who died had family and a lot of friends. She had been an active presence at Old South until a few months ago when disease finally took the upper hand. And she was only 73.

As I gazed out at the assembled crowd, I wasn’t surprised that I didn’t recognize a lot of people. Although I knew a few of Judy’s friends, there were many I had never met. I was surprised, though, by the number of people I did recognize. There were quite a few people who are on the membership list at Old South, but rarely, if ever, attend worship. I see them at funerals, or the occasional wedding.

If I had a little more courage, I’d like to ask each of those people about their expectations for their own funeral, and services for their loved ones. My guess is that they expect that their own service, and the services for loved ones, to take place at Old South. But, with an average of 35 in worship on a Sunday morning, Old South won’t be around into the distant future.

This isn’t just a money issue, it’s also a time and energy issue. For those who expect the church just to be there when they need it, it’s time to get involved—before the crisis sets in. Churches don’t exist by some kind magic, just because they are tied to the Divine. They exist because of the care and commitment of actual, real human beings.

A few years ago, there was a Roman Catholic church in Waterville, just up the interstate from Hallowell, that the diocese had closed, tried to sell (but couldn’t) and then decided to demolish. A group of people gathered to protest and to try to “save” the church. Many of them remembered the church from long ago, many of them had attended mass there as children, had been baptized there, perhaps married there. They had fond memories. But, they hadn’t set foot in that church, or in any other, for a long, long time—except for maybe a funeral or a wedding. Somehow, though, the church was supposed to just continue to exist, without their support, as a monument to important family memories and a time when almost everyone in Waterville was a practicing Catholic.

At the reception that followed Sunday’s memorial, I spoke to many of those who only rarely attend worship at Old South. I heard it then, as I’ve heard it before, these people feel that Old South is “their” church. They feel badly that they don’t come to worship much, and many of them no longer have a good reason to stay away (their children are grown and out of the house). The say that they miss worship, the music and sometimes even the sermons! Although I encourage them to come to worship and tell them how much I would love to see them, I know that I probably won’t.

I can’t help a moment of despair: if I can’t convince people who already like Old South to come to worship and to engage its life, how can I convince anyone else? If people who already know about the church, and feel good about it, don’t come, how can we expect others to come?

Some of those who show up for the occasional funeral send occasional checks to support the ministry of the church. While I am grateful for that, I know that it isn’t nearly enough. The body of Christ isn’t a pile of cash and an empty shell of a steepled building. It’s bunch of human beings, working together, committed to the Gospel and seeking to support and encourage one another on the journey.

There is no magic wand that can be waved to keep the church in operation—its building or its ministry. Those who feel a connection to the church, and deep down inside expect that their very last service will be held there, must understand that it’s time to step up and to make the church a priority in their lives. The generation they have been counting on to keep it all going is beginning to pass away.

Church buildings cannot simply exist as monuments to memories or as funeral “event centers.” For a church to be a church, it must have a life beyond its building—and that life relies on a collection of actual, real human beings who feel a connection to that church and to the faith. It’s called the Body of Christ.

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The Meaning In Meetings

Posted on September 19, 2014 by smaxreisert

I wish that I had had the foresight when I was young to have started a tally of church meetings that I attended—though I’m not sure if I would be impressed or depressed by the number. I started attending regular church meetings when I was in high school, when I was the youth group representative to the Christian Education Committee at First Parish Congregational Church in Wakefield, Mass. Through my life in the church, and my career as a parish minister, I’ve attended a vast number of meetings.

Here in Maine—at the local church and conference levels in the United Church of Christ—there’s a lot of talk about reducing church meetings. For many churches, like the one I serve, there are fewer people to fill committee slots. People seem busier than they once were and don’t have as much time to devote to committee work. And, any younger people around clamor for more “doing” of ministry, getting outside of the walls of the local church.

In the work that I do with my local church as well in the Conference, I hear the rally cry among the younger lay people and clergy for fewer meetings. At Old South Church in Hallowell, we have begun the process of reducing committee work. At the Conference level as well, we are working on a process to bring about a different way of being the wider church. For the Conference, the number of meetings probably won’t change much, but the meetings will be different. Especially at the governing level, a new proposal that will be voted on next month will reduce the number of people on the Council—from 25-30 to 12. The hope is that volunteer time can be better spent in other ways, in the “doing” of ministry.

The problem is, as I listen at the local and the conference levels, that some of the older folks who have remained faithful and active in church life seem perplexed at the notion that meetings should be reduced. At one particular conference meeting, I heard someone suggest that we should actually have more meetings, instead of fewer.

One of the more active members of Old South is someone who spends about half the year two hours north of the church—“at camp,” as we say in Maine. During those months away, he rarely if ever attends worship, but he does attend church meetings. When I first started serving the church, this habit of attending meetings, but not worship, bothered me a little.  How could meetings be so much more important than worship, that they were worth a two hour drive each way?

Over time, I’ve come to realize that for some in the church, especially those in the “older” segment of the population, the meeting is the doing. Meetings are where ministry happens. Through church meetings, people get to know each other. They work together to solve problems. They share fellowship and find purpose in their shared love and commitment to the church. There are some good church folk who, through church meetings, connect with their faith, with the holy, even with themselves. Good church folk don’t always bring their best selves to church meetings, but many of them—the ones I know—try.

In the nine years that I have served Old South, we have faced some significant challenges. Many of those challenges have been discussed, wrestled with, and solved, at church meetings. Just a few months ago, during a church council meeting, the treasurer shared her concerns about paying the church bills through the lean summer months. This year was feeling even leaner than usual. She was worried. The people around the table nodded their heads and expressed sympathy and support. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as all that. Then, we moved on to the next agenda item and the next. But, then something remarkable happened. The church moderator stopped the meeting and said something like, “I’d like to go back. I think we need to try to do more to make the treasurer’s life easier.” And, so we did.

It’s not all glamorous, or fun. It’s not all exciting, or heady with spiritual fireworks. But, there are times when church meetings are important, meaningful experiences. There are moments when people are able to work together, in unexpected ways, to offer a little witness to God’s love and hope.

In a time when political partisanship runs so deep and so little gets done by our elected officials, perhaps we in the church should be doing more to raise our profile and to show our witness for how things can get done. There are churches—Old South is one of them— where very different people gather around tables in church basements and parish houses, and somehow manage to work together despite differing opinions and perspectives. There is a living out of loving one’s neighbor. Ministry is done.

While it is important that we church people get out more, reaching out to share God’s love with those outside our church walls, we ought not be quite so quick to dismiss the good, old church meeting, or to relegate it to a place where only “governance” and “business” happens. Ministry can be “done” anywhere—even around a table in a church basement.

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Time Gone?

Posted on September 11, 2014 by smaxreisert

Spoiler Alert! If you haven’t seen the film Calvary, and you are planning to, be aware of spoilers ahead.

In the opening scene in the film Calvary, the main character, a good priest played by Brendan Gleeson, is told while in the confessional booth, that he will be killed in one week’s time by a tortured soul in his parish who was abused by a priest (a different priest) as a child, from the age of seven through twelve. The tortured soul has decided that no one will care if a bad priest is killed. Besides, the abuser priest is already dead. A justice, of sorts, can only be achieved through killing a good priest, and the unseen man is targeting Father James.

This begins a horrible week for the “good” priest, Father James. Not only is his life threatened, but his church is burned to the ground and his beloved dog is killed. His adult daughter (he was married before he became a priest) has just arrived on a visit, after a failed suicide attempt.

It’s no wonder, then, that Father James finally ends up in the local pub, drinking a lot. By the time he ends up in the pub, we are aware of a drinking problem in his past. So, his “falling off the wagon,” is especially poignant. During a conversation with the bartender (who’s no fan of the priest, or of the Church in general), the bartender declares, “Your time is gone and you don’t even [expletive] realize it.” The good priest, with his world-weary voice responds, “My time will never be gone.”

I’ve been thinking about that little exchange a lot since I saw the film. What exactly is the bartender talking about? Whose time is gone? Father James? Priests in general? All clergy in general? Christianity?

Father James is quick in his response, “my time will never be gone.” I’m not so sure that mine would be so quick. I sometimes wonder if my “time”—as a clergyperson, as a Christian—is essentially “gone,” that the Church is hardly relevant any longer.

I haven’t cried at the end of a film in a long time, but by the time Calvary ended, I just wanted to sob—for a whole bunch of reasons. One of the most important of those reasons is that we—and by that, I mean the Christian Church—have only ourselves to blame for the irrelevance that we encounter. Jesus, I suspect, weeps often over the life of the Church, the followers who gather, supposedly, in his name.

The abuses of the Church, and the failures to respond in meaningful ways, are shocking and horrific. Although my own denomination, the United Church of Christ, is not known for its abuse of children, we are so often just lumped together with everyone else as Christians. Bad enough.

Even in Calvary, our “good” priest does not exactly display a clear compassion upon the tortured soul in the confessional booth. He does not apologize, on behalf of the church. He does not weep. Granted Father James has been threatened, but he doesn’t seek to reach out to the pained person just a few inches away, on the other side of a thin veil. That man has experienced some of the worst of what the human experience can offer, over a significant period of time. Though Father James suggests a formal complaint, he doesn’t really offer much help to someone so deeply and profoundly wounded.

More difficult still, is the response of the bishop, who seems only concerned with superficial motivations, that the man wants to be loved, admired, maybe feared.

I have faith that the Church is more than its clergy, that the Faith is more than its followers. But I worry about the credibility of the big “C” Christian church, its present and its future. I continue to be sickened and sorrowful about the harm not only of abusive, predatory clergy, but the continuing difficulty that churches and clergy have in trying to heal the wounds of the church. This is about those abused individuals as well as the Body of Christ.

I hope our time isn’t indeed “gone” and that we just haven’t found the courage to notice, but that our desire to be part of the healing will begin to show itself more fully and that we Christians will all find a renewed sense of purpose, and a renewed commitment to never let such abuses happen.

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Will Anyone Pay to Visit My Church?

Posted on September 2, 2014 by smaxreisert

This year’s summer vacation included a two-week trip to Europe. The family and I started in London, a familiar place where we lived for a few months about ten years ago. Then, we were off to Portugal for a week, where we met up with my husband’s family. The last few days were spent in Madrid. Both Portugal and Madrid were new, and exciting, places for us to visit.

Since we really only had two and a half days in London at the start of our trip, we had to be strategic. We couldn’t possibly see everything we wanted to see, so we prioritized and set up a plan. In the end, we managed to accomplish almost all of our top sites—the Tate Britain, the Tate Modern, the National Gallery, the Victoria and Albert Museum, and St. Paul’s Cathedral. We decided to visit St. Paul’s over Westminster Abbey since it was closer to some other sites we wanted to visit and it has a great tower to climb that leads to a commanding view of London.

It was also cheaper.

Both St. Paul’s and Westminster Abbey charge admission to visit. And, the price tag is, in this humble tourist’s opinion, quite steep. For a family of four, Westminster Abbey charges 44 GBP. St. Paul’s charges 40 GBP (about $66 USD). That’s a lot of cash.

I understand the theory behind the decision to charge admission—something that is broadcast loudly and clearly in the admission materials, and in the audio-guide that is available for “free,” once you’ve paid your admission fee. In the U.K., many important cultural and tourist destinations receive government support. The admission charge for such places as the National Gallery, the Victoria and Albert Museum, the Tate Britain and the Tate Modern is voluntary—because they are subsidized by the government. Churches like St. Paul’s, however, are not supported by the government.

Given that places like Westminster Abbey and St. Paul’s Cathedral are popular sites—and they are enormous, cash-sucking machines that need to be maintained and staffed, etc.—I can understand the need to charge admission. But, the high price is striking, nonetheless.

St. Paul’s offers a “free” audio-guide, as well as a guided tour, for visitors. Our family chose just to follow the audio-guide. The guide is a fascinating mix of history, theology and factual tidbits about the church. On the one hand, the church is committed to helping a diversity of people encounter the “transforming presence of God in Jesus Christ,” but on the other hand it is tied inexorably to the royal family, and other famous people (the audio-guide offers several examples). On the one hand, it places its baptism font at the entrance to the church, signaling baptism as the beginning of the journey for Christians (“promoting dignity and justice for everyone”), but on the other hand, that baptism font is an enormous piece made of rare, expensive Italian marble.

It’s like St. Paul’s wants you to know all about the “transforming love of God through Jesus Christ,” but to also feel fortunate that you are walking upon the same ground as the royal family, and other famous people. Yes, they strongly encourage visitors to take a seat in the ginormous sanctuary, and to reflect (whether or not you are a Christian—the guide is sensitively set up not to assume that the visitor knows anything about Christianity), and to wish you a renewed sense of peace and connection before you leave. But, don’t forget that even the royals turn to St. Paul’s.

I wonder if the royal family is chipping in for the cost of maintenance and upkeep? Are all of those “famous” people that the church likes to reference, are they contributing? Or, is it just the simple tourist like myself, who is somehow meant to be enchanted by the idea of sharing the same space—though not at the same time—as royalty? Is the royal family benefiting from the “transforming love of God through Jesus Christ”?

During my visit, I couldn’t help but wonder about other churches. What about those churches, perhaps even just a stone’s throw away from St. Paul’s, that are not connected to the royal family, that have held no weddings or funerals for famous people, and have no tower to climb, or cannot claim a famous architect for its own? I can’t imagine anyone paying admission to visit some no-name church. Does St. Paul’s share of its fame, distributing proceeds from admission with their more lowly friend and acquaintance churches?

And, finally, I couldn’t help but take a moment and wonder about my own church, and its buildings. Will Old South one day be just a sight on the Hallowell historical parade? Given that we haven’t hosted a wedding or funeral for anyone “famous,” will anyone even care about visiting? Would anyone pay admission?

I doubt it. But, maybe it’s better that way.

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A Short Trip to a Distant Place

Posted on August 9, 2014 by smaxreisert

I’m about to go on vacation for a couple of weeks and will take a break from blogging during that time.  Here are few thoughts from the first few days of my vacation this year.  Thanks for reading and enjoy the last weeks of summer!

My husband and I just returned from a few days with some friends who spend a week each summer on an island off the coast of Maine, not far from Acadia National Park.  The island is privately held and shared by a group of people, who divide up the summer so that only one family is on the island each week.

The island has no electricity and the only running water is rainwater that is collected in cisterns (and used only for washing dishes). Drinking water must be collected from wells—with buckets. There are several buildings on the island—an old farmhouse at almost the highest point on the island, an elderly “cottage” next to the farmhouse, and a not nearly so old cabin that sits on the water’s edge, close to the dock and across from the lighthouse on Swans Island. Perhaps you’ve guessed by now: there are no bathrooms; only outhouses (several to choose from).

It’s not all completely 19th century. There are gas-powered fridges in each of the buildings, along with a gas stove/oven. And, you can get at least some cell phone service—so long as your battery holds out.

I look forward to this trip every summer. It’s great to see old friends, whom we don’t see much, if at all, during the rest of the year. It’s great to get away and to be so close to the ocean.

But, it’s also great to be away—at least mostly away—from technology. Although I must admit that my smartphone (with back-up battery) makes the trip with me (mostly because one of our kids is at summer camp and the other was home alone this year), my computer stays home.

Life slows way down during our visits to Harbor Island. A meal is a more complicated and communal affair, and clean up is even more intensive (there’s no gas-powered dishwasher), but it’s all so worth it.

All of a sudden there’s time for games and a long, slow cocktail hour. There’s time for walks, and for sitting on rocks to watch the lobstermen doing their work. There’s time to read that book that’s been sitting on my bedside table and for writing in my journal. There’s time for helping with a little trail maintenance, or making sure there’s gas hooked up for the next visitors. There’s time to eat one’s lobster very slowly, a lobster perhaps caught that very day, delivered by the island’s caretaker.  There’s also the telling of stories.  What is it about candlelight that makes stories so much better?

This year, we tried our hand at identifying the island’s mushrooms. Armed with two identification books, we walked confidently into the woods. Although I had certainly noticed that the woods contained mushrooms, I had no idea how many different kinds there were, until I arranged our samples.  Here are just a few:

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Unfortunately, we discovered that identifying mushrooms is a lot more complicated than we had thought. We didn’t feel like we could, with any certainty, identify any of them. Alas.

My annual trip to the island reminds me of how important it is to slow down and pay attention to other things for a while. There’s a lot of this wondrous world, God’s amazing and mysterious creation, that we miss with our noses stuck in our laptops and our eyes fixed upon our smartphones. It seems not quite enough simply to try to slow down from time to time, but to make the effort to take that trip, even if it isn’t far, to a place where one is set apart from the normal routines of life.

Rocks, mushrooms, trees, thistles, butterflies and birds are remarkable things and should be considered from time to time. And, good friends too.

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Perhaps a Little Clue Into Lower Church Attendance

Posted on August 1, 2014 by smaxreisert

The beginning of this post will seem not at all about church life, but bear with me. I’ll get there.

My fifteen-year-old son goes to summer camp for seven weeks, and has done so for the last four or five years. When I tell friends and acquaintances, at the gym or around town, that my son is away at camp, and for such a long time, I very often hear the comment, “Well, I like having my kids home for the summer.”

As if I don’t?

I don’t send my son to camp to get him out of my hair. I send my son to camp because that’s what he wants.

We are a very fortunate family; we spend our summers on a lovely lake in Central Maine. When my son was very young, unbeknownst to me, John became enamored of camp life, by paying attention to the boys camp not far from our lake house. During the day, the boys from the camp can be seen sailing, canoeing and kayaking. At night, we can hear them chanting, joining together in one loud voice across the waters of Great Pond.

One day when my son was quite young, he raised his arm and pointed at the boys’ camp and asked, “When will I go there?” My first instinct was to say, “Never.” We lived on a Maine lake, why would I send him away to camp? But, John kept asking. When he turned nine, I sent him for a week at church camp and for a week at a 4-H camp. It wasn’t enough; not nearly enough.

When he was ten, I remember picking him up from a week of camp and in my conversation with him about his camp experience, I had a revelation. I was limiting his camp experience because of my needs. I wasn’t paying any attention to his needs.

I started investigating camps, and finally chose to send him to a wonderful camp in the western part of the state, Birch Rock Camp (the camp near our lake house seemed just too close). It’s now hard to imagine John’s life, or our family’s life, without Birch Rock. It has become an essential element in our lives, a place where John is not only kept busy in the summer, but where he’s also learning a lot about himself, in a supportive community of boys and men.

Sure, I’d love to have John home in the summer, but I’ve learned to put aside my own needs and to focus on his needs.

So, this has got me thinking. As I listen to my friends and acquaintances, especially in their responses to John being away for so long, I can’t help but notice how completely focused they are on their own needs, instead of the needs of their children.

I’m thinking about a variety of situations, and though my “sample” is small (this is not a well-populated part of the world), I cannot help but notice the needs of parents coming before needs of children. And, I wonder if this has something to do with what’s happening with church, and the reduced attendance and association with church community. It’s not about what the kids need. It’s about what the parents need and want.

And church just doesn’t fit. Church doesn’t fit in terms of timing and scheduling. But, perhaps even more important, church doesn’t fit in terms of what parents are hoping for and looking for—especially well-educated, intact, ambitious families. These good, conscientious parents are seeking certain experiences, for themselves as well as their children. It’s not just that the children like to be involved in sports, for instance, it’s also that parents like the glory that their children experience, as well as enjoying a sort of status and the sense of community on the sidelines.

When I mention that John goes to camp for so long, I hardly ever hear a comment about concerns about the expense, or possible homesickness. It’s almost always about what the parents want and need. And, I think that’s a little clue regarding the reduced association of these families with church, at least in this part of the world. Until the church becomes a place of glory and status—and that goes against everything we stand for—it may be that those good families will continue to stay away.

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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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