Thoughts on a Birthday

Posted on March 8, 2013 by smaxreisert

I recently observed a birthday and I’m trying to confront that I am now officially in my late forties—or, as my husband would insist, in my very late forties.

In terms of my age and my relationship with ministry, I have two thoughts that have been swimming around in my head in a big way.

The first is, that despite what seems like my clearly advancing age, I remain one of the youngest members of the congregation I serve.  I wonder sometimes if this could be a marketing point for my church, and others like mine.  It could go something like this:  “Are you under the age of sixty and want to feel young?  Come to church!”  “Want to feel young again?  Come hang out with some old people at church!”

You know, something like that.

The longer I serve the church, the more I notice that I am among the youngest members.  It’s like I am a member of the last wave of people to be any part of church; there’s no one following.  And now that I am getting older, it’s a lot more noticeable that there just are not any younger people coming to church—at least not many of them.

While being younger can be a positive experience, it also causes me a great deal of worry and concern.  If I’m really among the youngest—and I am a part of a small group—what really is going to happen to the church over not just the long-term, but what about the short-term?

And, the other thought that’s swimming in my head, and swims around often these days, is a related point.  I am the youngest ordained minister serving a UCC church in my association—and that’s been true for almost five years now.  And, I am the youngest by more than a decade.

It’s lonely being me.  I don’t say that to elicit sympathy—well, maybe a little—but to suggest that it may signal something much deeper and problematic.

It’s nice to feel young, certainly, but it’s also very isolating.  I’m in a very different stage of life than my colleagues.  I still have children under 18 at home, for instance.  Most, if not all, of my colleagues are grandparents.  But, in terms of years in ministry, I’m among the “oldest.”  Many of my colleagues have been ordained in the last ten years or so, while I’ve been ordained almost twenty years.

I’ve been noticing an increasing group of people who look to ordained ministry as a good “retirement” kind of thing to do.  I don’t want to suggest that these ministries are not valuable, but I do wonder about the health and well-being of a church with no, or not many, ordained pastors under the age of fifty.

Diversity of age is not only a good thing, it may be a very important thing.  So, I’m wondering about age and the church, and trying to find some hope in a not so hopeful looking future.  Might I find some people like me who want to feel younger and may want to get that feeling by coming to church or will I remain among the youngest members of my church even when I’m sixty-four, or more?

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The Pope and Memories of the Vatican

Posted on March 2, 2013 by smaxreisert

For the purposes of this blog, I was thinking that I should just ignore the resignation of the Pope. The Pope isn’t an authority figure for me, although he is for some in my family, and I can’t say I’m much of a fan. So, I thought I should just ignore the whole business with Pope Benedict’s resignation and the clamor surrounding who will be next.

But, it’s just so hard to escape. It’s all over the television and the radio.

For me, all of the broadcasts from Rome, bring up my own memories of a visit to Rome, and the Vatican, in the fall of 2008. Although most my memories of Rome are good ones, my memories of my visit to the Vatican are not as positive. I especially remember when my family and I visited St. Peter’s. We had first climbed to the top of St. Peter’s and had then climbed all the way down, to be deposited into the enormous sanctuary—along with masses of other people.

And, though we were in one of Christianity’s most sacred of places, with countless other Christians, most of whom were in tour groups, my family and I were subjected to some of the worst pushing and shoving of our whole two and a half month trip through Europe. Pilgrims from all over the world were in the same place, and they needed to stay in their group. They needed to keep within eyeshot of whatever umbrella or other waving object that their group leader was carrying—and they needed to follow that object no matter the cost. Even if it meant trampling children.

Occasionally, we would spot a pilgrim overcome with emotion, stuffed into some corner to escape the constantly moving river of people. It seemed clear enough that some people had waited a very long time to visit St. Peter’s, had perhaps saved their pennies to afford such a trip, and the experience of being in that sanctuary was emotionally overpowering. They wept in corners or in other out of the way places (which were hard to find), to keep from being overrun by the crowds of tourists, many of whom shared their faith, but acted like the most obnoxious, self-possessed, tourists.

We had with us a kid-oriented tour book, to help us, and our kids (who were 12 and 9 at the time) understand what we were seeing in the magnificently enormous sanctuary. But, it was close to impossible to read any part of that book as we made our way through the sanctuary. We quickly gave up and just kept moving at the pace of the masses.

I must admit that there was a moment in this experience (several moments, actually) that I was thankful to be a Protestant, to not have an emotional attachment to the basilica, with its bodies of former popes and relics of saints, and to be thankful that Martin Luther protested the selling of indulgences to finance it. It’s not that Protestants are without their own issues, but the display of obnoxious tourists and pilgrims at the Vatican was more than disappointing, even more so because in the midst of all that pushing and shoving, I don’t ever remember hearing and “excuse me” or “mi scusi” or “permesso.” Somehow in their quest to stay as close to possible to their tour guide, while also seeing as much as possible, those tourists ended up denying the existence of those around them—even in the place that supposedly stood in glorious recognition of the love of God.

I’ll take my little sanctuary, with my little struggling congregation, any day—where there is no pushing and shoving and where people are not ignored and where those wonderful, holy moments are allowed to happen not just in the corners, but right in the middle of everything, and where the nearness of God seems closer, unhindered by the sheer enormity of a structure that seems to endeavor to make human beings appear and feel very small and insignificant.

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How Is The Church Like a Man With a Singing Frog?

Posted on February 21, 2013 by smaxreisert

Remember Michigan J. Frog? He was the animated singing frog from a Looney Tunes cartoon. In the cartoon, Michigan J. Frog is discovered by a hapless man during the destruction of a building. In the cornerstone of the almost destroyed building, the man finds a metal box and in that box is, Michigan J. Frog, who jumps out of the box with his top hat and cane, singing “Hello my baby, hello my darlin’,” and dancing vaudeville style.

The discoverer believes that he has found a jackpot. This frog is going to make him rich.

The man’s head is so full of dollar signs that he fails to notice that the frog won’t sing for anyone but him. Despite early signs of failure, the man boldly rents out a hall to show off Michigan J. Frog’s amazing talent. The man puts out a sign, “Singing Frog! Appearing Tonight! The wonder of the world. He sings! He dances! Opening tonight.”

But no one is interested.

So the man tries a new sign: “Free Admission.” Still, no one.

There’s a strange sort of kinship between the man with the singing frog and churches like the one that I serve. We put out our signs of welcome, and await the trampling crowds, yet they never come. We certainly have something much better than a singing frog, but there’s a strange kind of disconnect between the love of God we are touting and the lack of interest from those who walk on by, uninterested in what we have to offer. How do we get their attention?

A couple of years ago, I attended a lecture given by Robert Putnam, who was speaking at Colby College about his book, American Grace, which focuses on religion in America.

One of the interesting things that he found in his research was that, while people in the U.S. tend to be involved in churches that are very clear that their way is the only true way, and pastors preach that those who follow alternate paths are not bound for heaven, the average person in the pew is not likely to subscribe to these hard-line views. The people in the pew possess a much more broader perspective on God’s love.

After the lecture, I asked Professor Putnam why he thought that people continued to attend churches that preached such a narrow view with which they were uncomfortable, instead of churches (like mine) that take a less harsh view of God’s love? His answer was, basically, that we have a problem with marketing.

I’ve been wondering about that a lot. For many in the mainline, the whole concept of marketing sends a shiver down our spine. How do we “market” what we do? How do we “sell” the extravagant welcome of God?

These are uncomfortable and difficult questions.

According to Professor Putnam, those people who attend those harder-line churches, especially the young, may begin to look elsewhere. And, that presents an opportunity for the old mainline.

But, we’ll need more than gimmicks, it seems to me, and we’ll need to get our message out in new and different ways. The question is: are we up for this challenge?

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Reclaiming Old Language

Posted on February 16, 2013 by smaxreisert

During a recent clergy meeting, I asked a question about how other clergy handle questions from parishioners that convey either a lack of understanding of a sermon, or even worse than that, when a parishioner takes the complete opposite of the intended message. In the ensuing conversation, one of my colleagues told me that I was “too controlling” in my desire to preach and teach my congregation.
I’ll admit that there’s some truth to that, but I also found in her comment, and in the nods of agreement from others around the table, another truth that seems to me to be even more important, a truth that gets at some of the difficulties that we in the declining mainline Protestant churches are having. In our efforts at extravagant welcome and in our overt tolerance for a diversity of opinions, perspectives and beliefs, it seems to me that we have missed, and are missing, a critical piece of what we should be doing: reshaping the language of Christianity.
As preachers and teachers of the Gospel, I believe that it is our calling—in the more progressive and liberal wings of Protestantism—to be more determined and conscientious in reshaping and reclaiming Christian language, beliefs and theology.
In a recent conversation with an Old South parishioner who’s been at Old South just a few years longer than I’ve been and who came to Old South from a much more conservative background, I found this person struggling to ask a question that had clearly been on her mind for years. Had she somehow managed to miss the Sundays when I preached the “salvation message” and offered something akin to an altar call?
I’ve been pastor and teacher of Old South for seven years. I was both surprised, and not so surprised, by this question. I couldn’t believe that it had taken so long for her to ask it, but at the same time, I wanted to ask her if she had been listening to my sermons over the years. I wondered not only if I had ever led her to believe that I subscribed to a theology of the “salvation message,” but how had she missed all of my messages that described a theology quite different from one that required a personal, saving relationship with a personal Savior?
Sunday after Sunday, sermon after sermon, how had she missed that I am a different kind of Christian than the kind that she grew up with?
We in the more progressive, liberal side of mainline Protestantism have been quite good at changing and reshaping Christian practices. We’ve opened ourselves to the leadership of women, the full participation of homosexuals and transgendered folk, and a welcome of the divorced, etc. But, we haven’t been very good at reclaiming the language and reshaping beliefs and theology of Christianity.
I don’t claim my own leadership and welcome homosexuals just because I’ve become soft in my standards. I believe that I am well-grounded in the Bible and in tune with the movement of the Holy Spirit.
As a pastor and teacher, I find that I need to be more open about what I am doing in trying to re-train my parishioners, especially those who have a more conservative or a very different background. While I want people to feel welcome, and welcome to wrestle with big, and little, questions of faith and belief, I also want to help them lay claim to a new awareness, appreciation and understanding, that is solidly grounded in scripture and theology.
Clergy must be more willing to guide and shape a new way, with new definitions of old language, and to bring new life to old ways of doing and believing. And, then perhaps our parishioners will find the grace and confidence to share that message, to share that good news, and to find a new and wonderful breath of life in the old mainline.

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(Almost) Everything I Need to Know About the Body of Christ I Learned at a YMCA Swim Meet, Part 2

Posted on February 9, 2013 by smaxreisert

Lessons 3 and 4

Lesson 3: Focus on individual achievement in an encouraging group format.

The Y does a great at helping kids focus on personal achievement. Those swimmers may very well have not a clue about who won or who came in second, but they know if they’ve beat their own previous best time. And, it’s amazing to see how those kids know and respond to their teammates who have expressed a desire to do better in an event that they’ve been working on, or in a new event that they are trying. You can see groups of friends at the other end of the pool cheering on their teammates.

In a meet this season, in an event that is only rarely offered because it is so long—the 1650—my daughter was in the pool, trying to beat the time she got in the one time the event was offered last season. She was in the pool with a couple of older, very strong and fast boys, and two other girls, one from her own team who’s usually faster than she is and another fast girl from a different team. My daughter ended up being the last to finish, but you wouldn’t have guessed from the look on her face when she looked up at the board. She had beaten her previous time by a minute. She was thrilled and so were her friends for her.

That’s part of what we do as the body of Christ—encourage and support each other in the development of our individual gifts and talents, and in our exploration of new gifts and talents.  It’s important that we be an encouraging presence as we gather.

Lesson 4: Everyone in the pool.

There’s a young, disabled woman who swims for another Y not too far away. She’s been swimming for their swim team for years. She’s about 19 now, and because she’s over the age of 13, there are not a lot of shorter events in which she may compete. At a recent meet, she swam in the 100 yard freestyle This is an event that takes most swimmers from just under a minute to about a minute and a half to complete. It takes this particular young woman just under three minutes and that means that she usually swims the second half of the event by herself; the other swimmers have already finished.

In a recent meet, as she made the turn to swim the final leg of the event, the last 25 yards, people started to applaud, until just about everyone in that place was applauding, for the entire time it took her to get from one end of the pool to the other. The noise was thunderous, and amazing. She may have come in last and considerably slower than the rest, but everyone recognized her effort and her place. She may not win any awards, but everyone—almost instinctively—recognized that she belonged in the pool, that’s it’s important to participate.

Those parts that seem weaker, are indispensible in the body of Christ. It’s not just about celebrating the “best” or the “fastest,” or who demonstrates particular strengths in the offering of their gifts and talents. The body of Christ is also about participating, about being a part of the body, and reflecting that God values the “weaker” and less obviously “gifted” parts of the body.

Get in the pool! And, let’s be the body of Christ.

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(Almost) Everything I Need to Know About the Body of Christ I Learned at a YMCA Swim Meet

Posted on February 2, 2013 by smaxreisert

Lessons 1 and 2 (3 and 4 next week)

Well, maybe not even “almost” everything, but important lessons about the Body of Christ, as envisioned by Paul in 1 Corinthians 12, can be learned at a YMCA swim meet.  I’ve become more aware of these lessons, Saturday after Saturday, winter after winter, as my kids have been swimming meet after meet, since they were young (they are both teenagers now and still competing on the local Y team).

Lesson #1:  Winning is not the point of the game or, better still, You don’t know who wins and you don’t care.

Heats are set up so that swimmers who have not previously competed in that particular event before swim first, then the heats are arranged from the slowest to the fastest.  But, in those heats, the swimmers are all mixed, boys and girls, various ages.  For some heats, you might have a 17-year-old boy swimming against a 15- year-old girl and a 12-year-old boy, along with others.  You know who won the heat, but you don’t know—sometimes for days—who actually won or placed in each event.  They shake everything out after the meet is over.  My kids will get ribbons days or even weeks after the meet.  I’m still amazed, as they are as well sometimes, to find that one of them had come in first or second or third in an event—in their age group and gender.  But, at the meet itself, unless you are paying very close attention to everyone’s time, you don’t know.  You don’t really know who’s the fastest until later and not only that, it really doesn’t matter.

For the body of Christ, it’s important to remember that it doesn’t matter who’s the “best” at something—after all, we shouldn’t even assume that we know who is the “best,” because God doesn’t look at the world in the same way we do.

Lesson#2:  It’s important to develop your strengths, but it’s also important to explore talents that are yet untapped.

Swimmers usually find, over the course of their swimming “careers” on the YMCA team, events in which they feel comfort and in which they do well—and to continue to work on improvement in those events.  But, swimmers are also encouraged by their coaches to explore new events.  During a recent meet, I noticed this dynamic in an especially interesting way.

There was one event that involved a few of the local team’s—the Dolphins—faster swimmers, including my daughter Margaret, swimming in an early heat of the 200 backstroke.  They were swimming in one of the first heats because none of them had ever competed in the event before.  One of the boys – a very fast swimmer—was  clearly out of sorts.  He doesn’t usually swim in an early heat.  He usually swims in the final heat.  He’s the local high school’s fastest boy swimmer.  And, he didn’t like where he was.

We may become very comfortable in where we think we belong in the body of Christ, we may know that like being a foot or a upper arm or a knee, but it’s also good to get a sense of what one of the other parts does, even if it feels a little disconcerting and puts us a little out of sorts.

It’s important to strengthen our gifts and talents, to continually try to improve those things that we do well, but it’s also important that we not stifle the emergence of new gifts and talents and that we accept God’s grace that allows us to try new things, and to explore untapped potential.

The body of Christ finds strength when God’s people find their place in the body, that in the diversity of our talents we discover and experience a way of life that offers hope and love to all of God’s people—a unity in the midst of diversity that lifts up everyone and expresses itself just as beautifully as a swimmer gliding gracefully through the water.

Lessons 3 and 4 next week.  Stay tuned.

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Cautionary Tale #2: The Gardiner Congregational Church, UCC

Posted on January 26, 2013 by smaxreisert

The story of the Gardiner Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, Gardiner, Maine, offers an important view into some of the very challenging issues facing many mainline churches, especially those churches located in places like central Maine.

The Gardiner Congregational Church closed several years ago.  Some of the church’s members came over to the church that I serve in Hallowell, just a couple of towns away.  It’s been heartbreaking to hear them talk about their church as a “failure.”  “Are you sure you want us to join your church?” one woman asked me, “Our church failed.”

Is that the best way of looking at the closing?  Is it really just one isolated example of failure? Of a congregation that just couldn’t manage to evangelize enough to keep the place going?

Or, was there something much wider and broader, and deeper that contributed to the church’s demise?  Did elements exist that were simply out of the control of church members?

I believe these last two questions are profoundly important—not only to the folks from Gardiner, but to all people who attend mainline churches in areas like central Maine.

What do I mean by “places like central Maine”?  Various things:

  1. An area that has undergone population decline in recent years.  In Gardiner’s case, the overall population decline between 1980 and 2010 was 10.5%.  The decline of people under the age of 18 was even more  dramatic—32%.
  2. An area with an aging population.  Gardiner’s median age, between 1980 and 2000, rose from 31 to 38.  By age of population, Maine is the oldest state in the country.
  3. An area with a lot of religious competition.  At the time of Gardiner’s closure, the town had about eight or nine churches (the total population of the town was only 5800 in 2010).
  4. A population with little or no interest in becoming affiliated with a church.  A recent survey found that only 27% of Mainers self-identify as Christian.

In the last several years of Gardiner’s life, the leadership of the church reached out for assistance, from the Maine Conference and from their local Association.  I was one of the people from the Association that visited with them on several occasions.  In the end, my consulting partner and I strongly suggested that they try to remove themselves from the building.  It had become a such a major concern (it was too big and too hard to maintain, plus the layout of the building did not serve the church well at all, with a kitchen, for instance, in the basement) that the members could think of little else but to worry about the physical structure in which they gathered.  To the two Association outsiders who listened to their worries and concerns, it was blatantly obvious that this was no way to be the church.

Yet, it was too difficult to think about being the church without that particular building.  And, in the end, our report was filed in the “circular file.”  It didn’t help that the Conference was telling the church something quite different.  The Conference convinced the church to spend as much money as possible to hire a minister for as much time as possible.  The church took more money from its savings and hired a newly ordained, inexperienced pastor on a three-quarter time call (the previous pastor had been one-half time).  The Conference also encouraged the church to enroll in the Parishes of Promise program, a Conference sponsored effort that helped the church focus on “asset assessment” and “goal-setting.”

The problem, though, for the Gardiner church went far beyond what was going on within the four walls of their church building.  They should have been encouraged to spend much more time considering the community in which they existed.  It is indeed difficult and painful to accept that the community in which one exists is interested in different things than one’s church, and that one’s church is no longer at the center of community life.  But, this is reality and it is a reality shared by many other churches.

At Old South, I consistently try to remind the congregation that we must always be in the midst of a juggling act.  On the one hand, we must face the realities of our community.  And, on the other hand, we must be hopeful, Easter people, always committed to spreading the good news.

I believe that this “juggling act” must be the focus for more churches.  Perhaps it will help people see beyond that horrible word “failure” and that in addition to assessing our “assets,” we must also explore our “liabilities.”

For the Maine Conference, the Gardiner church stands only as a tale to tell of a faithful group that did as well as they could, but had to close and they are to be thanked because they gave their building to the Conference, and some of their other assets to other Conference programming—as if they were just an isolated, and rare, case of a church that closed (and note:  that building remains unsold, and empty).

The Gardiner church, though, really ought to be a case study that each and every one of our churches explores and discusses.  In these deep struggles, will each church end up deciding that it is just an isolated “failure,” or will each church find new life, and new hope, no matter what happens?

For mainline churches in places like central Maine, we have many challenging issues, and at the heart of every single one is the question about how we can remain faithful to the Gospel and hopeful, while also understanding reality.  We ought to be seeking many more opportunities to encourage and support one another, and to work together, to discern the path that is ahead, even if that means leaving our past (and present) hopes and dreams behind.

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Losing Religion?

Posted on January 18, 2013 by smaxreisert

This week, Morning Edition on NPR has been running a series called “Losing Our Religion,” focusing on all kinds of people who are struggling with religion in some way—some are younger people who are “spiritual but not religious,” some are trying to figure out how religion helps or hurts in times of crisis, one young woman is struggling with her Roman Catholic background that does not welcome the leadership of women, and one married couple is trying to figure out how to live with one partner an active Christian and the other an atheist.

I find myself drawn to some of these stories, but others remain mysterious and difficult for me to understand.  I’m also finding myself frustrated.   Especially in the case of those who have rejected religion—institutional religion in particular—or are just dangling on the edges, I hear their concerns, and I often share their concerns.  Yet, I’m quite happy in my church and in my beliefs and in my faith.

I belong to a church, and lead a church (as a female), that does not subscribe to any one doctrine or dogma.  I don’t believe the Bible is the literal word of God.  I don’t believe that to be a Christian one must accept Jesus Christ as personal Lord and Savior, and I certainly don’t believe that anyone who doesn’t accept Christ as personal Lord and Savior will spend eternity in a place called hell.  I believe that all people are loved by God, including homosexual people, bisexual people, and transgendered people, and that they are loved just as they are and they do not need to change or adopt a celibate lifestyle.  I believe that women have the right to choose abortion if they find themselves facing an unwanted pregnancy.  I believe that women are just as welcome and capable of preaching and teaching in the church.

I believe all of these things and I am a Christian.  Hear me roar.

I listen to those who are struggling with institutional religion, or just dangling around the edges, and I wonder why they haven’t checked out my kind of church, the United Church of Christ.  Sure, some will joke that the letters of my denomination “UCC” actually stand for Unitarians Considering Christ, but I believe myself to be fully Christian.  Yet, I don’t follow what has somehow become the primary Christian line of thought, at least how it is cast in the media.

I know Christians who follow what is cast as typically Christian—the personal Savior stuff; the welcome of only “celibate” homosexuals; etc.  But, when did that line of belief become the absolute definition of Christianity??

I find inner peace, a faith that is both comforting and questioning, all in my Christian church, in my little piece of organized religion.  I also find a place where I gather with an interesting array of people, some of whom feel and believe as I do and others that do not.  Together, in respectful ways, we search for the ways of God.  It may not always make life and faith easy, but it offers a fuller and richer approach to faith than what I would find if I were to observe my faith only by myself.

For those who are “losing their religion,” I would encourage you to keep searching.  All churches and denominations are NOT the same.  Whoever you are, and whatever your questions, or however you are choosing to live your life, you are welcome in my church—not so I can change you, but maybe, together, we can learn from each other and find, together, a little greater awareness of what God promises—love and hope and new life.

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Lord Grantham, I Know How You Feel

Posted on January 12, 2013 by smaxreisert

I’m a big Downton Abbey fan and have been since the very first episode.  How can you resist the love, lust, drama and back-stabbing all wrapped up in a charming English package?

As the new season unfolds, I suspect that I will view Season Three in a different way.  This season promises to show the honorable Lord Grantham struggling with a veritable empire disintegrating before his very eyes—and he doesn’t like it.  The world of everyone in their place, of set manners and stability, is breaking apart—the “world falling about our ears,” as the Dowager Countess (Maggie Smith) declares.  The first two seasons indicated the slow beginnings of unwelcome change, but this new season will pick up the pace of change in ways that will be very real and unavoidable.

I see more and more of Downton Abbey in my own life and work.

I also lead a tiny piece of a disintegrating empire and way of life—the mainline Protestant church.  And I don’t much like it.  Although I grew up in the 1970s, when the mainline decline had already begun, I was drawn to the church.  When I was in high school, I was actively involved in a large Congregational church in suburban Boston.  I found something meaningful and inspirational at church, along with a fascinating array of people.  And, I found the Bible and a life of faith to provide both answers and questions—a path to inner peace that the world around me seemed unable to offer.

It was really no wonder that I ended up an ordained pastor.  But, even though the decline of the church was already in progress during my youth, I never expected to find my beloved church to be in so dismal shape when I’m not even quite at the age of fifty—an age that makes me among the youngest members of my congregation.

The winds of change began long ago, but now they seem very real and unavoidable.

Amid the obvious decline, Lord Grantham valiantly tries to highlight the virtues of the aristocracy—as major employers in the county, for example, and as an institution of manners and predictable status.  Even the butler, Mr. Carson, clearly indicates his discomfort with the changes afoot.  He may be a servant, but he not only knows his place, he has also obtained a significant status as head of the downstairs crew for the house.

We in the mainline church have been doing much of the same, highlighting our virtues and declaring our significance in the community.  But, is anyone listening?  A few years ago, a study found that people who go to church live longer than average.  I, along with some of my colleagues, highlighted this piece of good news.  Plus, what other community institution gathers such an interesting and wide range of folks, to work together in common purpose to witness for Christ, especially in our kind of church that welcomes and loves all people?  Still, our attendance numbers lag.

As viewers like me are watching the characters of Downton Abbey desperately search for ways of hanging on to their lives in the early 1920s, we also know that their way of life will largely come to an end as it did in real life in Britain.  Here’s where I am hoping that the reality of the mainline church will diverge from the storyline of Downton.  Will we end up just a mere echo of our former selves, or will we find, even in our diminished numbers, a renewed sense of our mission and our purpose in the world, as the gathered community worshipping and acting on behalf of our Savior?

In this new season of Downton, Shirley Maclaine, who plays the American mother-in-law of Lord Grantham, offers a bit of good, American wisdom, “The way to deal with the world today is not to ignore it. .  .  .  Some animals adapt to new surroundings—seems a better choice than extinction.”

For the mainline church, we must also adapt.  After all, that is part of the Gospel message.  It’s called transformation.  We live always in the midst of new life, and hope.  Always hope.

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Searching for Hope

Posted on January 4, 2013 by smaxreisert

Last Friday, I officiated at one of the largest memorial services that we’ve had at Old South during my tenure.  The sanctuary was packed with people—every pew space was taken and people lined the walls on the sides and along the back.  The man we were remembering was well-known and well-respected, and he had died suddenly at an age that many peopole would classify these days as something along the lines of “slightly later middle age.”

More than one church member commented on how different it all felt to have the sanctuary completely full, even the front pews.  On most Sundays, we get a small fraction of the size of the congregation for this memorial service.  Even on Christmas Eve, for our one service, we had only a hundred people in attendance, a smaller than average crowd for one of the most significant services of the year.

And, then what was even more interesting were the comments offered by a few people who were not only surprised that this man’s service took place at Old South, but that he actually attended the church.  Although he hadn’t attended regularly in the last few years, his wife is at worship on a regular basis and when I first came to Old South, Peter served on a committee and as the church clerk.  To some of his acquaintances, this was surprising, unexpected news.

The title of this blog is “Hope in the Wilderness,” but I must admit that I’m feeling a bit more “wilderness” these days than hope.  I feel like something has changed.  It’s not just that my old “mainline” church is more at the sidelines these days, it’s that I’ve been sensing the feeling that me and my church, along with others who follow an institutional religion, are being pushed right off the respectability wagon—as if no person in their right mind could possibly want to be a part of a church.

I was invited to offer the invocation and benediction at Hallowell’s annual inauguration ceremony this year, just a couple of nights ago.  Except for the couple of church folks in attendance, the mayor, and one of the city councilors that I’ve met in the past, only one person at the event made any kind of effort to speak to me—to thank me for being there and to say something about Old South.  It didn’t feel like people were just being shy.  It felt more like I had suddenly sprouted large purple spots on my face, like people preferred not to speak to me, lest whatever weird condition I had might find itself drifting in their direction, as if I had just sneezed or coughed without covering my face.

I’m trying not to be paranoid, but the fact that Maine is among the least churched states in the country, and now that we are learning that the “nones” are not only increasing, but are quite content in their status, I’m wondering if the tide is turning against me and my church.

I’m still looking for that branch that will break this fall that I’m sensing (see last week’s post).  The country may have averted the fiscal cliff, but I don’t think my cliff has been averted at all.  In fact, I feel like the force of gravity is only getting stronger.  In this season, though, I am still looking for some hope, and wondering what this all means for me, my faith, my church—and how we do what we do and how we live what is important.  There was one little scrap, though, of something approaching hopefulness.  After the memorial service, I heard that a friend of the man who died, after being involved in the service and in its planning, was pretty impressed by the experience and suggested that she might think about checking the church out a little more.  I won’t hold my breath, but it’s something and something is more than nothing.  How’s that for hopeful?

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