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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I Don’t Feel That Funny

Posted on May 22, 2014 by smaxreisert

One of my favorite television shows is, or was, Modern Family. It makes me laugh, and that’s especially important on Wednesday evenings when I return home after a church meeting.

Last night, though, I may have come to the end of my love of Modern Family. It was “Part 2” of the big Mitch and Cam wedding– the event we’ve all been waiting for. Like most of America, I was wondering what kind of ridiculousness, along with a bit of sentimentality, would accompany the big day.

I got a little nervous last week,  during “Part 1,” when we learned that Mitch and Cam’s old friend, Sal, played by Elizabeth Banks, would be officiating at the wedding. Granted, they didn’t exactly ask her. She just stepped in, thinking that they were about to ask her. Never mind that she appeared to be about ten months pregnant.

So often these days, it feels like the officiant of television and movie weddings is a clownish figure. Perhaps we can blame The Princess Bride for that. But, when we’ve encountered Sal in the past, she’s been the hard-drinking, promiscuous, fun-loving former close buddy of Mitch and Cam, reminding them of their rowdier youth before they settled down and adopted a daughter.  So, it was bad enough that she was officiating at Mitch and Cam’s wedding.  But, then it just got worse.

Of course, Sal went into labor just as the first attempt at a wedding service was getting underway (there were about four attempts to get the job done).  And, this is where my heart just sank, because who came to the rescue?  There was the goofy but lovable, Phil Dunphy, ready to jump in to save the day, finally able to use his recently purchased “ordination,” purchased for $35.00 on the internet.

Really?  Is my vocation and my profession really just a big joke?  Do pastors really make such a good punchline?

Would we find it just as funny if there was the need for a physician, who had purchased her or his license online?

I realize that Modern Family is trying to be humorous, but I’m tired of pastors serving as the go-to punchline.  I’m frustrated that ordination is cast as no harder than clicking a button and submitting a small payment.

Some of us take ordination very seriously.  We also take marriage very seriously.  Yes, there is humor, and sometimes we are the ones being funny, whether that’s our intention or not.  But, properly trained and educated pastors are not cartoonish, nor are the rites we perform ridiculous.

Pastors help us navigate some of the most profound moments of our lives, from baptisms and naming ceremonies at the start, to weddings somewhere in the middle, to dying, death, and funerals at the end.  Sometimes, we don’t do the job well.  But, most of the time, I would hazard a guess, we do.  We help bring language and ritual, sacredness and holiness, to life’s most profound moments.

Could we get a little respect, please?

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Uneasiness at the Graveside

Posted on May 12, 2014 by smaxreisert

It happened again. I was asked to officiate at an internment for someone associated with Old South (it’s not uncommon, in this cold climate, that people who pass away in the winter months are not buried until spring, months after their funeral) and when I arrived, I discovered that I was really just the “opening act” for the local Legion graveside service. The last time this happened, I was also not told in advance.

I kept my portion short and then handed the service over. There were a couple of older men who led the service, along with an honor guard and a couple of other younger men who were there to fold the flag that was draped the casket and to hand it to the widow.

On the one hand, it is very moving to watch and listen to the older men pay tribute to a fallen brother in arms. Although I can’t remember the number of services that they told me they’ve done in recent years, I think I actually gasped when they told me. It is humbling not only to realize the number of veterans who have died in this little part of the world, but that the men who lead these services make themselves so available to honor those who have passed away, despite the fact that they are quite elderly themselves.

But, on the other hand, it is deeply troubling to me to hear the seemingly seamless blending of Christian language and military language. It feels like these two things are melded as if they were just meant to be together. It’s like the Foxification of funerals for veterans—the perfect amalgamation of Jesus and patriotism.

Yet, that’s not how I experience my faith tradition. Christianity does not hold for me such staunch, unfiltered militarism and patriotism. There are no recorded sayings, I’m quite sure, of Jesus blessing the United States, or our flag, or our military.

In fact, Jesus didn’t bless any nation, flag or military. When he had his big chance to really show everyone who he was, when he entered Jerusalem (on the first Palm Sunday), he somehow chose to enter on the back of a donkey, without a sizable army, along with a vast array of weaponry, marching with him. Presumably, being the Son of God and all, he could have done so. And could have really shown the Romans who was boss.

But, he didn’t. Instead, in that moment and in so many others, Jesus spoke—literally and figuratively— of peace and of a staunch, nonviolent resistance to oppression (see the real meaning of “turn the other cheek” at  http://www.cpt.org/files/BN%20-%20Jesus’%20Third%20Way.pdf ).  Jesus was no doormat, but he also wasn’t a big cheerleader for massive armies or weaponry.

I am moved by those serve, and have served, in the military and who give of themselves so freely, and especially those who have actually given their lives for this country. They deserve honor and respect.

But, I draw the line—or at least wish to draw the line—when it comes to the military getting involved in showing honor for the deceased by adopting so much Christian imagery and vocabulary.

Even if we were to believe that the United States is somehow uniquely blessed by God to serve some kind of honorable purpose above all other nations, I am unsettled by the lack of reflection that our reliance on vast and powerful military weapons actually demonstrates more of our human folly and limitations than it does our connection to the God of the Bible, or a risen Savior, spoken of in the New Testament.

While I am deeply moved by the service of the men who offer themselves to lead graveside services, and especially those who clearly must exert an effort to get their own frail bodies moving and going each day, but I just wish that we could have a more respectful separation between the values of the military and the basic tenets of the Christian faith. Because they are profoundly different. Profoundly and significantly different.

We would all be better served by a recognition that, while we may recognize that we live in a world that relies on weapons to maintain peace and/or to bring “peace,” such a system is certainly not what Jesus envisioned or hoped for. Even a cursory reading of the New Testament tells us this. It’s not damning to recognize the gulf that exists between what Jesus preached, and how we actually live. In fact, I suspect that we might be a lot further along in the quest for a more peaceful planet, if we found the courage to be more honest about that gulf and what propels its continued vast existence.

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Lessons from the College Tour

Posted on May 3, 2014 by smaxreisert

I recently returned from an almost weeklong college visiting tour with my seventeen-year-old daughter, who is currently a high school junior. Our tour took us from our home in Maine to Massachusetts, Connecticut, Pennsylvania and New York.

If this blog were about liberal arts colleges in the northeast and the journey of touring and attending information sessions, I would have to break up my observations into several blog entries. We had an exhausting, but utterly fascinating, trip.

But, this blog is about religion and faith and the attempt to discover some “hope in the wilderness,” where Christianity seems to be slipping away. It seems to have slipped away on many liberal arts campuses in the northeast. Where college chapels exist in some kind of building form on campus, these chapels seem mostly like vestigial organs, casually pointed to during the admissions tour like some kind of artifact to be viewed but not touched, and sometimes not mentioned at all. Although most of them still offer some form of religious services (Christianity, Judaism, Islam, etc.), they appear to be more useful in non-religious ways, probably to justify keeping them heated through long winters.

Initially, this didn’t cause concern for me during our touring. In my own experience, many years ago, I found that attending to my spiritual life on campus was not meaningful to me. Fortunately, I found a group of students that attended a local church, where I found a caring community, with a much, much wider range of ages, etc.

So, it’s not worrisome on the surface, that college campuses don’t seem to have much in the way of religious life going on. And, truth be told, I suspect it is not what my daughter will be looking for anyway. She attends church, mostly without complaint, about two to three Sundays each month, but I know that the church experience does not speak to her like it spoke to me—at least not at this point in her life.

But, I am increasingly concerned with religious familiarity and literacy among younger people. My husband, who teaches at the college level, often comments that most of his students have no knowledge of even the very basics of major religions. When so few young people have any attachment to the practice of religion, even tangentially through friends and parents, waves of ignorance follow. Since religion is not only a powerful experience for so many of the world’s people and has been a major influence in the very structure of government and society in the United States, religious illiteracy is a real problem.

In his column in last Sunday’s New York Times, Nick Kristof noted—as he has in the past—that religious illiteracy runs deep in the U.S.—even among those who claim to practice a religion, especially Christianity.

College chapels, then, should be one of those places that actively strives to engage young people in learning not only about religions in an intellectual way—although that would be a good start, as in encouraging a world religions course in distribution requirements—but also to help young people understand and appreciate religious practice. This is not about proselytizing, but about sharing important aspects of how many of the world’s peoples live, where religion is lived out and practiced. Without such knowledge, an appreciation of culture and society—including the culture and society of many communities right here in the United States—is stunted.

Religious practice is not just for the unenlightened. For many people, religious practice is what offers meaning and purpose; it provides a foundation for how one understands the world and one’s place—and the place of others—in it. To be ignorant of this—or worse, to actively consider it not worthy of study or learning—is—and I don’t think this is hyperbole—dangerous.

Many of the small, “highly selective,” liberal arts colleges in the northeast—at least all of those we visited—proudly declare that they are training the very best leaders of the future. Yet, those leaders are lacking important knowledge of how many people in this world live, and what motivates them—in good and bad ways. What kind of “global” leader can one be without knowing some of the basics of why many of the world’s peoples do what they do and why?

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Has Music Become a Problem?

Posted on April 20, 2014 by smaxreisert

In the week or two before Easter, Old South receives at least a few phone calls or emails that ask about whether or not our bell choir will be “performing” on Easter Sunday. No one ever calls and asks about whether or not there will be a sermon . . .

Over the years, I’ve come to believe that there’s a sizable percentage of those attending worship on Easter who are there only because of the bell choir and to a lesser extent, the regular choir. The rest of the service they simply endure.

I realize that those familiar with Protestant worship probably assume that there will be a sermon, so I shouldn’t take it too hard that no one asks about it. But, I have a growing feeling that many who come to worship on Easter would prefer that I just step aside, and keep the speaking to a minimum.

Like Christmas Eve. When I arrived at Old South in the fall of 2005, I learned fairly quickly that it was a “long standing tradition” that Christmas Eve mostly belonged to the music program and that both the choir and the bell choir were expected to “perform” five or six musical pieces EACH. Certainly preaching on Christmas Eve was “not traditional” at Old South, so really needs to be avoided. Most years I’m told that the music program will run for an hour to an hour and fifteen minutes. It’s clear that it’s my fault if the service runs longer than the average attention span of the Christmas Eve worshipper.

Long ago, I gave in to Christmas Eve. Over the years, the music director and I have been able to work together to reduce, slightly, the emphasis on music for that service. The service is usually a lovely service.

Easter, though, is starting to become a problem for me. This year, the choir has two pieces and the bell choir has two pieces. I’ve eliminated the “Faith Story” (the part of the service focused on children) and I know that if the sermon strays much beyond twelve minutes that I’ll begin to see fidgeting, glazed eyes, and a few will actually look annoyed.

The music, though, will get applause. The applause, in fact, has become a problem itself. It used to be that applause during worship was frowned upon, but then a few years ago, there was one particular woman who started applauding in the summer, when we had “special music,” a solo, duo, or small group. That seemed fine. But, then, the applause bled into the fall. And, soon, there was applause after the anthem for almost every worship service.

When there are multiple musical pieces, though, the applause is a problem. Last Sunday, when we started the service with “Palm Sunday,” but transitioned to “Passion Sunday” in the middle, it was especially jarring—to me at least—to have a round of applause after the bell choir’s postlude, “Go to Dark Gethsemane.” By the end of the service, with its difficult story (John’s version of the first Good Friday), I was exhausted and emotional. Apparently, I was alone.

Music is important to me, too, and I’ll admit that there are worship experiences that are on my “top ten” list that would not be there but for the music. A significant problem arises, however, when worship becomes simply “performance” or something along the lines of a music club.

Somehow, it seems that we’ve—at least in this part of the world—lost sight of the notion that part of the worship experience ought to focus on exposure to the scriptures—to hear the stories and to have a trained person share insightful information about scripture and how scripture ought to inform our individual and collective lives. To the extent that scripture is significant in these days it is in order to back up views already held. Rarely does scripture get under the skin, so rarely does scripture offer a path to something new.

I’m not sure why this is, and I know that this is not just about Old South. Other clergy share similar stories with me.

In this holy season, though, I am especially aware that there are not only profoundly important stories to be shared and heard, but these stories require context and additional information, beyond what is contained on the page. Yet, as I’ve tried to tackle the difficulties and complexities of the Gospel of John and the days leading to the crucifixion, I get little sense that the information I shared is considered vital, critical to lives of faith.

This is frustrating, to be sure, and sad. As we become more aware of the lack of younger people in our midst, I wonder about our capacity to spread the word, and to share why church is important to us. If it’s just about music, we are not terribly unique. Church needs to be about something more. The risen Christ, anyone?

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