What Happens When Someone Dies?

Posted on July 27, 2013 by smaxreisert

Many years ago, when I was still in divinity school, an old friend from college called me to tell me that her father had died. After sharing my condolences, my friend launched into something of an angry tirade. “Do you know what religion is all about?” she asked in a hostile tone. Without offering an opportunity to respond, she answered her own question, “It’s to tell little girls where their father’s go when they die.” Then, she began sobbing; I could hear her so clearly even though she was many, many miles away.

I knew enough to let her cry and to be angry. It was not the time to share with her my thoughts on the matter. I remember, though, the question that was going around in my head, as she chastised religion for setting her up and offering an answer to her grief that was less than satisfying. “So? What’s wrong with that exactly?” I wondered in my own head.

I was thinking about my old friend during my long drive home after attending the memorial service of a distant relative this past week. The relative, though raised in a church, had stopped attending church as an adult. His memorial service was a “celebration of life,” “a tribute,” and though it was held in a church sanctuary, it was not at all religious—no scripture, no homily. At one point, the funeral home director who led the service encouraged the members of the congregation to find comfort in their own religion or belief system.

But what about the guy in the box at the front of the sanctuary? What about his widow, his adult children, his grandchildren?

I understood the family’s desire to honor the dearly departed by keeping religion, especially Christianity, out of the service. But, to gather for a memorial service and only share memories seemed so empty to me. Is his life beyond death held only in the funny stories that his relatives and friends will share now and into the future?

I thought, too, of my many friends, who are so pleased that they have unfettered themselves from the shackles of organized religion, that they have rejected Christianity and all of its hypocrisy and unbelievable stories. I mean, what intelligent person can abide such nonsense?

But, what about the end of life? What hope do they turn to? What comfort is there for them? Is it really enough to say, is it more fulfilling to declare, that the entirety of a person dies when the body dies, that we live on only insofar as our loved ones talk about us? Is faith all about stupid fairy tales to keep people from asking the really difficult questions?

Faith and organized religion, like Christianity, are far from perfect and they don’t fully and neatly answer all of life’s big questions, but the modern equivalents don’t either. Can hope and comfort be found on the sidelines of a soccer field or at Sunday morning brunch with the New York Times?

I wonder about the trend to reject organized religion and all of its trappings. I wonder about the desire to be rid of mystery, to be rid of that which tugs at the spirit and whispers to us that there is more to life, and that life really ought not be arranged neatly with everything making sense to human intellect.

In my own personal moments of doubt, when I look at my faith and realize how absurd it all sounds, it’s the end of life part that is the hardest to consider letting go of. There is something in that story, in all of its ridiculousness, that I find compelling and hopeful, mysterious and life-affirming. In my moments of doubt, that is enough for me—the powerful message that despair and even death never have the last word for those who trust and live in faith.

My faith doesn’t keep the grief away. But, it does provide a sort of safety net, of hope and comfort, of some sense that there’s something that lives on even when my body finally gives up. My faith provides a sense of meaning, and a comfort in the familiar rituals of scripture, of hymns of promise, of connection with a Savior who experienced death himself, and isolation, and then of the empty tomb and, finally, those wonderful stories of his very real presence, like when Jesus joined two of his followers on the road, but they did not recognize him until they sat down to dinner.

What happens when someone dies? I’m not sure exactly, but I’d rather struggle with that question in the midst of faith, rather than in the limits of human intellect.

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Can My Soul Be Nurtured by Cookies?

Posted on July 19, 2013 by smaxreisert

I love cookies. I love eating them and I love making them. But, a few days ago, I found myself needing to buy some cookies. An old favorite came to mind—Milano, made by Pepperidge Farm. I had no idea that I would face so many choices of Milanos on the Milano shelf, but I finally settled on Milano Dark Chocolate.

When I got my little bag of cookies home, I put them on the counter in the kitchen. And that’s when I noticed what was on the back of the Milano package: “Can a cookie be good for the soul? We think so.”

Really? Is that what we’ve come to?

As organized religion recedes and/or is shoved to the sideline (at least where I live), it is fascinating to watch what is filling the void. We are spiritual beings, after all, and there is something in our souls that does need to be fed and nurtured, something in us beyond our intellectual and emotional selves that calls out for attention. I have a lot of friends who have either recently or long ago turned away from organized religion (just too full of crazy, unbelievable stories, or too full of hypocrites) and have, instead, turned to yoga, or other forms of exercise, or just taking solitary walks in the woods, or journaling. None of them, at least so far, has admitted that they’ve turned to cookies to nurture their soul.

It’s not that these endeavors are not good for one’s soul, and perhaps cookies too have certain benefits for one’s inner sense of well-being (so long as, I suppose, one does not overindulge). But, modern pursuits of the exercise of one’s soul seem rather flimsy to me. Sure, they can be done, more or less, on one’s own schedule, and they don’t involve dealing with a lot of difficult people with ideas of their own and who don’t practice what they, or their religion, preach.

Like lots of self-help programs, there are limits to what one can do oneself for one’s soul. There’s a reason why most successful addiction programs involve groups, gatherings of people. When people gather in groups weird and complicated and even unpleasant things can happen, but there’s also something strangely constructive about being around other people, especially people whom you might never meet otherwise, except in a place like a church. When people gather in an intentional way in a place or circumstance where they are encouraged to look after their own selves as well as the people around them, good things happen to everyone’s soul.

I enjoy cookies, perhaps sometimes a little too much, but they really don’t do anything for my soul. I like to exercise and take walks and, on occasion, I even find a moment to write a little in my journal. But, I can’t say that any of those things really feed my soul, certainly not in a deep way. It seems to me that to feed one’s soul, one needs to connect to another soul and to a group of souls, in a way where everyone recognizes their imperfections, yet everyone is striving to do better, to be a more giving and complete soul. This is difficult, perhaps impossible, to do on one’s own. A mirror is not an especially life-giving instrument.

I’ll keep eating cookies, although I may not buy more Pepperidge Farm Milanos when I’m stuck needing to buy cookies. I’ll remember that cookies do nothing more than feed my need for a sweet treat. I’ll keep the care of my soul to my faith, where it’s in much better hands, and in much better, though imperfect, company.

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The Things We Don’t Talk About

Posted on July 13, 2013 by smaxreisert

My sermon series at Old South this summer is focusing on evil. Where does it come from? How does it interact with our faith? What does it mean to say that God is good? Why do bad things happen to good people (and why do good things happen to bad people)? Is the “evil one” a “one,” an entity,” like we think of God, only the opposite? What, if anything, should we, can we, do about evil?

Evil is one of those topics that I believe is woefully lacking in mainline/progressive church and faith dialogue. In the wake of this lack of engagement, we get some profoundly problematic views on what evil is and how it operates in our lives and in our world. For lots of good, faithful church-goers, evil has become something that is a force that is completely separate from themselves. It is something that sometimes acts upon good church people (especially when something bad happens in a personal way to them or to someone close to them), but is not really a part of good church people. Evil is “out there,” and there are “evildoers,” but they too are wholly separate, different people, as if a completely different breed of humanity.

Not talking about evil and bad things has also created a repertoire of horrible responses to those times when bad things do happen—“God only gives you what you can handle,” “God needs [your child, your loved one] in heaven,” “Everything happens for a reason.”
Not talking about evil and bad things has also helped to empty our pews. Younger people hear those empty responses and, as well, feel that their deep questions, including questions about good and evil, are not welcome in most church environments. And, so they have left.

I probably would have left too, except that I was fortunate in my journey to find communities of faith and faith leaders who allowed deep questions to be spoken and who identified those horrible responses to terrible things as the horrible responses they were.

At Old South, our series is up to week 4. The first two weeks focused on Genesis 2 and 3, especially that serpent, the “craftiest wild animal that the LORD God had made.” Last week, because it was a communion Sunday, we considered lessons that might be gleaned from the communion table. Tomorrow, we’ll compare two passages that speak of “evil” in some way, one from the Old Testament (Isaiah 58) and one from the New Testament (the temptation of Jesus from Matthew).

While the series has not exactly raised the attendance numbers, which are low in the summer, I am finding that those who are coming to worship are really paying attention to my sermons and asking questions or responding with comments during coffee hour—and doing so in ways that are not typical. If my small sample community is any indication, there is a hunger and a desire to engage with difficult topics. There is interest and capacity to consider topics that are not tidy and neat, topics that raise more questions than answers.

It may be too late to make the kinds of changes that will turn the tide of church attendance, especially in a place like Maine where so few have any interest at all in going to any kind of church, but that doesn’t mean that we should not engage in these profound topics, such as evil. Even if all we do is alter the perspective of those few who still go to church, that will be enough.

And, for the clergy too, we need to tackle, in a public way, the problematic influence that the lazy mainline church has had on the larger culture (it’s not just church-goers who say problematic things when bad things happen). Who knows how our small numbers might influence those around them, sending out wave after wave of a deeper engagement with the “problem of evil” and how evil is not simply “out there,” but much closer to who we are and how we live?

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Flag Waving in Church

Posted on July 6, 2013 by smaxreisert

I like the 4th of July . . . when it lands in the middle of the week. That way, I can fairly easily get away with not including any patriotic songs during worship on one of the Sundays closest. Memorial Day, always observed on a Monday not long before the 4th, is a lot trickier. I usually observe both patriotic holidays by including something appropriate in a prayer during worship, but I try to avoid singing songs like “My Country ‘Tis Of Thee” or “O Beautiful for Spacious Skies.”

When the 4th of July is in the middle of the week, I can get away with not including one of those patriotic songs. Nobody says a word. The same cannot be said for Memorial Day, or when the 4th of July is near (or worse yet, on) a Sunday or when Veterans’ Day is near or on a Sunday. At least a couple of people will actually ask me about my “mistake” or “oversight” by not including a patriotic song during worship. Others grumble more quietly, keeping their unhappiness to themselves. The songs, I am reminded, are in the hymnal, after all.

I have, on occasion, tried to explain why patriotic songs are not appropriate in worship, but my arguments mostly fall on deaf ears. I try to explain that we are not a state religion. The church, instead, must be clear about its ultimate loyalty to God, and Christ and the Holy Spirit, and that there are times when good Christians need to recognize the tension in the relationship between God and country.

Just because “My Country” and “O Beautiful” are in the hymnal in our pews (actually, just one of the hymnals; the hymnal that was published in 1957), doesn’t make those songs appropriate for worship. Patriotic songs are problematic in worship because they undercut the whole purpose of worship, which is to orient the faithful to God, to focus us on God.

I am profoundly grateful to live in a country where I am able to worship God openly and freely. But, I don’t think it’s a good idea to show my gratitude by worshipping my country. That’s what patriotic songs do—they show loyalty to and worship of country. I show my gratitude by maintaining distinctions, by appreciating that loyalty to God and loyalty to country are different things.

And one is more important than the other.

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A Big Week?

Posted on June 29, 2013 by smaxreisert

On Wednesday morning, as I was helping my daughter with the last of her packing for summer camp, we were watching the coverage of the Supreme Court’s decision to end the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA). My 16-year-old daughter asked about DOMA and why there were so many excited people on the TV outside the Supreme Court. In our discussion, I mentioned that this was a bigger than normal decision for SCOTUS, one that she would likely remember and that her children would learn about in school, like she had learned about cases such as Brown v. Board of Education.

During our discussion, I realized that my daughter was completely bewildered by the whole thing. For her, it was mysterious that there had to be this “big day” regarding gay marriage. For her, gay couples are a normal part of her life. She knows quite a few gay couples, and one of our closest family friends is transgender, and still in her original marriage when she, as a man, married a woman.

My children know gay couples in almost all aspects of their lives—in their family, among family friends and neighbors, among their teachers, and even in church. Old South, which is an open and affirming UCC church, has a few gay couples that regularly attend worship. One of the things that I know that these couples find so satisfying, and I do as well, is that they can just be who they are, that they can sit as a couple, talk to other couples—gay and straight—about all of the normal things of life, without hiding or pretending they are something else.

Yet, most of the Christian church is not anywhere near where Old South is, and that is very sad. And, more than that, the Church is in a difficult place. Many young people are like my children. They know gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender people who are just a completely normal part of the landscape of their lives. It’s hard to demonize people who seem just so normal, and sometimes even—dare I mention it—kind of boring.

The Church is in a difficult, and interesting, place. My hope is that we can move beyond the debate about gay marriage to more critical issues. After all, the world is full of very significant problems in which the Church, and its members, ought to be more involved: poverty; hunger; domestic violence; exploitation of children; etc. Getting more involved in these issues, and holding them in the center of who we are and what we do, is not just something good to do. It also re-aligns Christians with the pertinent issues contained in our holy scriptures. The Bible has remarkably little to say about homosexuality, but it does have a whole lot more to say about poverty, hunger, homelessness, etc.

Maybe there really is something to that verse where Jesus declares, “whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” (Luke 18:17) Let the children lead indeed.

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What About Marketing?

Posted on June 22, 2013 by smaxreisert

Today is Packing Day. We are packing up the trunk of my teenage son. Tomorrow he leaves for seven weeks at a traditional boys camp in western Maine. It’s a place that he loves and is a home away from home. In a few days, my daughter will leave for a music camp, just a town or two away from where her brother will be at camp. In August, my husband and I will head out to western Maine and spend an entire weekend at a lovely bed and breakfast for “camp pick up weekend.” We’ve done this for the last few summers and we’ve stayed at the same bed and breakfast, completely full of families who descend upon this sleepy part of Maine to pick up children from various area camps.

At the bed and breakfast where we stay, most of the parents (some the same year after year, so we’ve gotten to know them a little) are picking up their daughters from an entirely different camp, a camp whose name, when uttered, requires that the chin be raised a little and, without even trying, one finds oneself clenching one’s jaw and speaking with a Beacon Hill accent (remember that Mass General doctor from MASH?).

After that first “pick up” weekend when we encountered these other families whose daughters were clearly attending a much posher camp than the camps that my children were attending, the very first thing I did when I got home was to find that camp’s website. Yes, the camp was yet even more expensive and more exclusive sounding than the expensive camps my children go to summer after summer.

In perusing the website of this much posher camp, I was struck by the amazing way in which the marketing firm they hired managed to describe this “extraordinary” camp that provides an experience like no other. They even managed to spin a little tale on why parents should essentially want to pay more for a camp that proudly and unapologetically refuses to allow electricity in camper cabins.

Is it really all about marketing? Should churches and denominations do more to focus on how they sell themselves and their mission? Should we find ways of spinning our “old fashioned” ways of doing things to lure people into the fold?

One of the newer members of Old South, a man about my age, has been talking a lot about marketing and how Old South needs to do more to sell itself. He offers these comments boldly and without hesitation. I’m not sure, though, that he sees the confusion and terror that his comments bring to those who are listening to him. I’m not even sure that he appreciates the silence that accompanies the comments he so enthusiastically shares.

Churches talk a lot about wanting more people to come and join them on the journey. Yet, when it comes to engaging in ways that might actually do just that, there’s hesitation, confusion, fear.

First, there’s just that difficulty that many in the mainline have about concepts such as “marketing.” Should the church really lower itself to engage in such activity? Isn’t marketing unseemly for a church?

And, then there’s the long-standing hesitation when it comes to evangelism. There are certainly some at Old South who feel that the sign on the front of the church offers just plenty of evangelism. Who could want anything more than that? Never mind that many people in our community cannot even pronounce “congregational” let allow define it.

We juggle two very important things in my part of the world. One is the reality that because of demographics, we may simply not be able to survive—even if we do everything well. And, the second is, that we need to engage in a very uncomfortable place and start telling the community about who we are and what we do and why we think people should join us.

I’m hoping that the first one doesn’t offer enough of an excuse to ignore the second. Whether or not we are able to encourage others to join us, we should at least know for ourselves who we are and why we do what we do.

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The “D” Word

Posted on June 15, 2013 by smaxreisert

In those moments when I allow myself to consider my most worrying concerns about the present and the future of the church, I often think about one particular couple I know. Whenever I think of this couple, I cannot escape the notion that the church is doomed, at least in its current form. And more than that, I wonder about what it means to pair the words “doomed” and “church.” When a local church closes, for instance, is it similar to a business that ceases to exist or does something else happen? Can something else happen?

This particular couple that bring such despairing thoughts is a pair of people who were once quite active at Old South. Now, they are Christmas Eve and Easter people. To be fair, they are a bit more than that, as they don’t just attend worship, but participate in the music program, including the rehearsals leading up to Christmas Eve and Easter worship. About five years ago, I bumped into them at a non-church function. They shared with me their story. They loved their years of active service and connection to Old South, but one of my predecessors had driven them away from more regular, active involvement. They couldn’t quite give it all up, so they continued to be involved in the music of Christmas and Easter. Through my early years serving Old South, they came to feel much more positive about the church. They liked that the church had become “Open and Affirming.” They found that they liked the worship leadership I provided for Christmas Eve and Easter. They liked my preaching and they liked what they were reading in the church newsletter.

All of this renewed good feeling was leading them to consider coming back more often to attend worship. They were thinking that, maybe, they were ready to be more than Christmas Eve and Easter people. Since this conversation took place though, about five years ago, I have not seen them even once outside of the their annual, music-related visits to Old South.

I wonder: if we cannot lure this couple into the fold, how will we be able to lure anyone? This couple likes what they experience at worship. They also have that big important piece of church involvement: friends. They know the church, obviously—how to get to it, when worship is, what to expect. Yet, they just cannot move beyond the commitment they’ve held since one of my predecessors chased them away with a more conservative theology.

And, beyond just thinking about this one couple, I cannot escape thinking about what it all means for Old South, and churches like it. Are we doomed? Will we eventually, inevitably close? What does that mean for us, for the church, for God’s presence in this little part of the world?

How do we experience and live the promise of new life of the Gospel as we consider that our future may very well involve a smaller group of people not worshipping in our beloved building? For a church like Old South, will new life feel in any way connected to our old life—in our buildings, the church organ, our staffing? How do we prepare for the possibility that we will need to let go of our buildings while still hanging on to our identity?

This last question is the one that I wonder, and worry, about the most, because I think it is connected in a very important way to my job. In what ways can I help inspire the transformation of a group of people to seeing themselves as part of something that goes way beyond the buildings in which they gather?

For pastors like myself, this is where the subtle and not so subtle conversation and leadership must find a home, and where we must find ways of inviting grief and even anger. Not an easy task, especially when people want to come to church to feel good.

Ultimately, I believe that the church as a group of people that gathers in a building with a tall steeple with an organ, etc., is doomed. Yet, I remain hopeful—sometimes even despite what I experience on a regular basis at church—that the church is capable of opening itself to the transformative grace of Christ, and has the capacity to see itself as the embodiment of Christ on earth even if it isn’t connected to its beloved building. Though hopeful, I am aware that this transformation will not just happen, nor will it happen without pain and deep heartbreak. Nor will it happen without recriminations hurled at the pastor. Time to strengthen the inner armor and focus anew on the work of the Gospel, which really doesn’t have anything to do with buildings, but setting free the abundant love of God.

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When a Church Falls, What Sound Does it Make?

Posted on June 8, 2013 by smaxreisert

A Roman Catholic church in Waterville, Maine (where I live) was torn down recently. It had been closed as a church several years ago and then put up for sale. Although some suitors came along to consider buying the building and converting it for an alternative use, no one ended up purchasing the property. The Diocese eventually decided to tear it down in order to build senior housing on the site.

Before the building was torn down, a campaign emerged and a petition was drawn up, to try to convince the Diocese to change its mind. I have no idea how many people signed the petition, but it was obviously not successful. The church building is now gone.

What was especially interesting in the campaign to save the building was that it was started and encouraged by a local businessman who admitted in his pleas that he no longer attends church. For me, this is both sad and pathetic.

I understand that church buildings hold important and valued memories for people. Weddings, baptisms, confirmations, funerals—these are among the most emotional moments in our lives. Yet, it is crystal clear that these large sanctuaries cannot be preserved simply for the occasional big moment in the lives of the people who live in the area.

Waterville was once a place where many Roman Catholics lived, many of them coming from Canada to live and to work in the area mills (paper and textiles). At one point, fourteen priests served Waterville. But, now the mills are closed and the community is smaller than it once was. And, like other communities, church attendance among those who remain has declined significantly. There are now only three priests who serve the Waterville churches, and one of them is part-time.

The businessman who started the campaign to save St. Francis church referred to the episode as a “wake up call.” Did he “wake up” and begin to attend church again on a regular basis? I doubt it.

Churches are not sustained by attendance at “big” events in life. Churches are sustained by the regular attendance and participation of people week after week. And, I’m not just talking about the sustaining power of money in the offering plates.

If the “big” moments really mean something when they take place in a church, then the smaller moments must be acknowledged and celebrated as well. “Preservation” of church buildings is simply not enough. For without the faithful inside, the building is, literally, an empty shell. And, empty shells are, in the end, really not worth saving.

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Change

Posted on June 1, 2013 by smaxreisert

The Maine Conference United Church of Christ is holding their annual meeting this weekend in Farmington. The big word of the meeting is “change,” with the overall theme hovering (literally) over the stage: “Moving Forward in the Midst of Change.”

In bits and pieces, we have talked about changes that we have experienced and are experiencing—more churches calling less than full-time pastors, church members getting older, and some of the other various challenging aspects of being a mainline, progressive church in Maine, which is, according to at least one study, the least “churched” state in the country (with only27% of the population self-identifying as Christian).

But as we talk about “change” and the necessary requirement that we engage in “change,” which in truth has been a reality throughout the existence of the church, I hear questions such as these:
1. What does “change” really look like and where do we begin?
2. How will we know when the changes we make are “good” changes, and are faithful to the Gospel?
3. How do we engage with change in a congregation full of older, and more tired, members (this isn’t MY question—I’m not sure I would characterize many of my older members as “tired”— but I heard spoken by several people).

One of the most significant observations was offered by the General Minister and President of the United Church of Christ, Geoffrey Black, who suggested that many of the most meaningful and important changes we need to make won’t do anything to help with the bottom line. They won’t help to bring growth and stability to our finances. It’s important, he offered, that churches understand this dynamic, and its consequences.

I should add that money and finances should not simply be cast off as “worldly” and unimportant, as if we ought to boldly institute changes without any consideration of money. When I have money conversations with Old South’s church Treasurer, especially when money is tight and she is having difficulties paying the bills and making the payroll, I am reminded that money has a faith component.

The road ahead hints at a change that will be profoundly challenging for those currently in the pews. And that is that we may find new paths to religious and spiritual fulfillment that may not actually allow us to remain in the building(s) we have, or to maintain our staffing configurations. Essentially, we must explore what it means for us to be “church.” For the church that I serve, what does it mean to be “Old South”? Is the building essential to our Old South identity or not?

If we were to answer that question today, I suspect that the answer would be, for Old South, that the building is essential to our identity. We must not then, at this time, focus on the role of the building in our lives of faith, since that may very well be completely overwhelming for church members and friends. But, the conversation ought to be guided in such a way that the role of the building is a conversation that we will be ready to have when it is time to have that conversation. For church leaders like myself, we should assume that the time will come when we cannot escape this conversation, so let’s not find ourselves unprepared.

The questions, conversations, and changes ahead must be engaged, and guided, in hopeful ways, helping people to begin to pray over and think about their religious and spiritual lives in new and thoughtful ways. Many churches are already in this place, and some churches have even closed. For many, a church closure essentially means an end to that church. For the future, we must think differently. Otherwise, we will be experiencing closure after closure, not only losing the church, but the voice and expression of our faith. We must not fail, then, to take seriously the challenges ahead, and to clothe ourselves fully in God’s grace which will bring us to where we need to be.

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Acknowledging Our Vulnerability

Posted on May 25, 2013 by smaxreisert

Last week, Old South—the church I serve in Hallowell, Maine—experienced two deaths—one was a man who had moved to the area a few years ago and enjoyed singing in the choir until his health began to decline a few months ago, and the other a woman who had attended Old South for a while after her beloved church in a nearby town closed several years ago. For those who are faithful members and friends of Old South, it seems like we are in the midst of a very long drama of loss.

After years of relatively stable attendance and membership, we find ourselves in a more vulnerable place. Last year was an especially painful year, with five deaths. And, last year and the year before also featured a significant number of people moving away. In the midst of all of this loss, we don’t have much on the “gain” side. Even though we have a steady stream of visitors, no new members have joined, nor have many of the visitors become regular Sunday morning worshippers.

It may be difficult to say the word, but we are definitely feeling vulnerable. And, truth be told, it’s not just in the new empty spaces in the sanctuary, next to old empty spaces, places that were, until recently, occupied regularly by a good friend of the church, we are also seeing it in our finances.

Pledges for 2013 are below what we had hoped for, but when you look carefully at the numbers, it’s not hard to figure out what the deficit is all about. It’s not that people are giving less; we have real loss of actual people who, until they died or moved, gave faithfully—and generously.

We are in a vulnerable place, yet it is difficult and challenging to acknowledge that word, or even articulate it. And, it is yet more difficult still to embrace it, to focus on it, keep it in prayer, and to wonder what it means for the future.

For most of the long-time members of Old South, they still clearly remember the good old days of Christendom, when Old South was a vibrant part of the community, when the mayor attended the church, and when one had to arrive extra early on Christmas Eve to get a seat for the service.

It’s not easy to let go of those perceived good old days. For many, it is impossible.

But, our strength is not measured by the number of people who fill the sanctuary, nor is it measured by the money in the offering plate each week. Instead, our strength is more likely to be found in those moments when we are able to speak of our deep concerns and worries, when we find the grace and courage to acknowledge that we feel vulnerable.

One of the long-time members of Old South has recently started to remind people of the church of a long, long time ago, back in the earliest days, when followers of Christ met in homes. So far, she isn’t getting much traction. She shares her hopefulness that even if, one day, we must relinquish the buildings, we will still be “Old South,” meeting in the homes of members and friends. Old South will still be Old South, whether worshipping in its lovely sanctuary or in someone’s living room. Her words so far, though, don’t seem to be of much comfort to anyone. Nor has she found anyone willing to join her. But, my hope is that that will change, that people will find something much less scary and “defeatist” in the thought that we can still be “Old South” without “Old South,” and instead live in the midst of that very hopeful and faithful notion that the church is not the building, the church is not a steeple, the church is the people.

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