A Brief Reflection on the Kindness of Strangers

Posted on June 26, 2024 by smaxreisert

I recently returned from a much anticipated trip to Peru. My husband and I (along with a friend) had planned on going to Peru back in 2020, but like so many trips that year, it got canceled. Then, we made plans to go last year, but when the big payment was due, there was quite a lot of civil unrest in the country. We decided to transfer our deposit to another destination. Last fall, we started to focus once again on Peru. It’s been a big “bucket list” item for my husband, so we couldn’t just let it fall away.

One of the big issues we had to contend with, as the trip was pushed from 2020 to 2023 and finally to 2024, was how our aging bodies would do in managing a trip that involved at least some hiking near Machu Picchu. The trip in 2020 included a four or five day hike that would eventually bring us to the ancient city. But, I knew that I could no longer take on the demands of that kind of hike. Plus, the more we learned about the country, the more we wanted to have time to explore other areas. In the end, we chose an itinerary that included a one-day hike along the Inca Trail that would take us to the Sun Gate (I should note that the “Sun Gate” designation is a more modern name, rather than an Inca name, for the glorious viewpoint that looks down on the magnificent city of Machu Picchu). The following day, we would explore the ancient city.

As it happened, my husband ended up with some kind of food poisoning episode during the night before the big hike. Given the four-year wait to get to that point, he just couldn’t conceive of missing it. After an anxious wait after medications were administered around 4:00am, his body started to settle down. When our guide came to pick us up at 6:30am, we informed him of the situation. He suggested that we purchase a couple of bottles of electrolytes, with sips of the solution taken at regular intervals. We made it to the trail without incident, so we were all feeling good about our adventure, if a bit tired.

The day was a hot one and our guide, Freddy, told us that the first half of the seven-mile hike would be the most challenging— almost all uphill with very little shade. I’m typically a slow hiker and I was that day as well, so it didn’t seem at all strange that I started to lag behind our small group. But, somewhere along the way, after almost two miles of hiking, I realized that something was wrong. I wasn’t just feeling my usual hiking discomfort. I felt very hot and like I was going to throw up. I couldn’t really string a complete sentence in my own head. When my husband came to check on me, I just started muttering that things weren’t right.

Eventually, I was coaxed to a shaded shelter. There was another group taking a break, with another guide, there. That guide and our guide knew each other. The two guides realized there was something wrong and after a little discussion, in which they agreed that I was showing early signs of heat stroke, they sprang into action. My hat was taken off my head, doused with water and put back on my head. A cloth was found that was also doused with water. It was put around my neck. My pack was taken from me and was attached to the guide’s pack. And I was told to start drinking some of the electrolyte solution.

As all of this was happening, I was mostly in a fog. But, I remember two things quite clearly— the concern of the guides and the concern of one of the hikers from the other group. I think that group was a made up of Germans. One of the women in the group was clearly worried for me. In her halting English, she asked what she could do for me. At that point, there really wasn’t anything else to do. I just needed to let my body cool down and try to set out again. Still, her concerned face touched me.

After about 20-30 minutes, I was feeling much better. After lunch by a lovely water fall (and more cool water for my hat and cloth around my neck) and our arrival at the easier half of the hike, I was feeling much, much better. At some point after lunch, we ran into that group of Germans and their guide. The woman and the guide were genuinely thrilled not only to see me still on the trail, but doing well. It was a nice moment.

In a world that seems increasingly full of hostility and meanness, where a candidate for president of the United States seems not only to pride himself in name-calling and threatening violence upon others, but appears to have captured the hearts and minds of so many Americans who revel in the bullying and intimidation, it seems even more important to observe and celebrate those small moments when kindness is the central theme. And, when kindness involves strangers showing care and concern, when strangers go out of their way to offer assistance, it’s a moment to be treasured. And, more than that, such moments ought not be offered up with gratitude and then sent to the back of one’s memory. Instead, they ought to be held close and nurtured, that they might take root and grow.

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Isn’t It Time to Do This Differently?

Posted on June 3, 2024 by smaxreisert

When I was in divinity school, way back in the last century, I remember taking a survey class on the Hebrew Scriptures. As a course covering a vast and complex subject, there was a lot to try to squish into one semester. One of the more memorable discussions, following a couple of lectures, focused on how we understand these ancient stories, written so many years ago and in such a remarkably different context. Should the stories be understood as literal truth, as in God creating the world and the universe, in seven distinct days or as charming myths from the creativity energy of an ancient people? Or was there another way of approaching these old stories, a way that not only brought meaning to us these many years later, but helped bridge a line of connection?

I remember considering the creation stories (there are two of them) from the beginning of Genesis. One of the more memorable moments was to notice the truth contained in the second story, in Genesis 2 and 3. The truth was not in the details of the progression of Creation. Instead, there was a vital element of truth in the ways through which the human beings relate to God and to each other. It was rather humbling to discover that human beings really haven’t change so much, despite the advancements in civilization and the march of evolution. After engaging in transgression, as it was then is still the case, the man shifts the focus of blame to the nearest woman.

When Adam is caught having eaten from the tree that he wasn’t supposed to eat from and then blames it on his wife, those of us who gathered in that class found it amusing. While we may consider the story more myth than truth in the details, there was this nugget that has continued to be true throughout a long span of time. I no longer find it funny. At all.

I can’t help but wonder if that story was either written by woman or influenced by a woman, a woman trying to highlight a problematic component of human behavior. Was there a woman attempting to use this story to call out men, beseeching them to take responsibility for the things they do rather than blame their wives, or at least to share responsibility, especially when it comes to the communal nature (and property) of married couples? If that had been the original intent of the story, it obviously failed.

Here we are in the 21st century with men of significance still blaming their wives. Isn’t it time to do this differently?

In recent days, we’ve heard from two prominent men eager to shift blame to their wives— Senator Bob Menendez and Supreme Court Justice Samuel Alito. In both cases, it is certainly possible that the wives were the ones to engage in the problematic behavior. Still, the swift response to blame the wife when wrongdoing is made public is, in my mind, not acceptable. We must find a way to shake off the Curse of Creation, an entirely different perspective on what could be labeled “original sin.”

Even if Justice Samuel Alito didn’t have anything to do with the waving of that flag upside down in front of his own house where he lives (and the other flag at his vacation property) and even if it really was the work of his wife, the fact that he was so quick to blame his wife in his public response ought to make him ineligible to serve on the Supreme Court. It’s not that I wish to invoke a sort of chivalry, requiring that men take on blame as part of a twisted honor code. The issue here is the sense of treating one’s wife as a handy sponge ready to absorb the messes of life.

As we see in the Creation story of Genesis 2 and 3, it’s important to appreciate that just because Adam conveniently found a ready blame buddy doesn’t mean he gets away with his transgression. God lays down justice for both, a justice that ripples through the generations. Adam may have thought that by shifting blame, he would be spared from consequences. But, blaming the wife brought no nifty escape route. There should not be an escape route for Justice Alito, or any other man. It’s time to do this differently.

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Faith, Reason and a Whole Lot of Hubris

Posted on May 17, 2024 by smaxreisert

One day last week, as I made my way through my regular morning routine of news headlines and games— local paper, New York Times, Boston.com and finally, the Washington Post— I found myself looking at a tantalizing title, “Are Politics Replacing Religion in American Life?” [Washington Post, 5/9/24] The title connected to an introduction to an episode of a podcast called “Impromptu.” The podcast offers “frank, thoughtful conversations on the news” from Washington Post opinions columnists, offering a “before the columns are written” view into the minds of those who write for the Opinions section on “the stories that matter.”

In the intro to this particular podcast episode, containing a discussion among three columnists, the following was offered as a lure to hit the “play” button:

A lot of us had this idea that as religion declines, people will become more rational, reasonable, tolerant. That we will have less divisiveness. But I think one can make the argument that it hasn’t turned out that way.

We can look at the last 25 years, this precipitous decline in church attendance. And according to Gallup, it was hovering around 70 to 75 percent from the late 1930s to 2000. And then in the last 25 years, we’ve seen a sudden drop to just under 50 percent. So we’re talking about a massive cultural change. In that 25-year period, it doesn’t seem like the United States has become more consensus-oriented or unified. If anything, ideological and political fragmentation and polarization have risen. I think one way of seeing this is that political intensity is replacing religious intensity as the grounding force of what Americans believe in. We’ve become political believers rather than religious believers. [If you look at Trump rallies, sometimes they seem like religious events.]

The argument of a lot of secular or nonreligious people is that religion is divisive; it’s inherently polarizing. And the less we have of it in public life, the more secularized we become, the more we can move our politics to the realm of fact and objective analysis. We no longer have religious passions polluting things. I think that is a widespread perception. There was this sense of a kind of secular promised land where we have a more rational politics. But we don’t have that.

This little teaser left me with such a sense of outrage and bewilderment that it took days for me to hit, finally, the “play” button— although I discovered that the content of the podcast was not especially illuminating, beyond the introduction.

Where even to begin? Secular promised land? A politics that exists only in the realm of fact and objective analysis? As religion declines American society will become more rational and reasonable? Somehow religion is the only influence that causes people to be stray from reason and rationality?

Who are these people? Do they live in the United States? Have they ever looked at social media or the Letters to the Editor section of any newspaper?

One of the elements of the podcast that I found especially troubling was the suggestion that there have been people who have not only relished the decline in religious attachment and participation, but have done what they can to assist in the downturn. It appears that there are “secularists” who have conscientiously fanned any flames they can find to denigrate the “religious passions” that “pollute” our society, culture and public life. While I don’t think the podcast exposes the machinations of some sort of organized cabal of people dedicated to ushering in a glorious era of secularism, the columnists— at least two of the three— seem remarkably hostile to religion, religious institutions and religious attachment. Except for a sense of community, religious affiliation is little more than an affinity for superstitious nonsense.

The podcast discussion shows little to no regard for the benefits of religion in society. The columnists may have watched too many Trump rallies and interviews with Trump enthusiasts. And in that regard, I can see their point. But, there’s a lot more to this story. There are plenty of faithful, religious people who not only reject the “theology” of Trump and his people, but are engaged in significant work that brings hope, well-being, and love to individuals, families and communities around this country and beyond. We are not religiously “impassioned” people who pollute “things,” while seeking to be “polarizing” and “divisive.” In fact, many communities of faith are just the opposite, endeavoring to search for common ground and the common good, while also reaching out to the marginalized and oppressed. We deserve more from those learned columnists who claim to be so focused on the “stories that matter.”

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Healthy Habits?

Posted on May 1, 2024 by smaxreisert

A recent featured article in the Harvard Gazette email newsletter offered this tantalizing title: “Why Public Health Should Attend to the Spiritual Side of Life” [written by Tyler VanderWeele, Harvard Public Health, April 10, 2024, link is here]. The author bemoaned the lack of attention to spiritual matters in the world of public health, that in public health textbooks and in classrooms, religion and spiritual practices are ignored. Public health students and professionals use all kinds of information to understand good, and not so good, health outcomes. What influences the health of citizens? There are many issues taken into account and considered, except one big one: religion.

Why is this? Is it a lack of awareness? Is it connected to a lack of study and data? It turns out that it’s not the lack of study and data:

A major 2022 systematic review in the Journal of the American Medical Association documented 215 studies, each with sample sizes over 1,000 participants, using longitudinal data to evaluate the relationship between religion and health. The evidence from meta-analyses, large longitudinal studies (including from Harvard’s own Nurses’ Health Study), and handbooks providing more extensive documentation, suggests that weekly religious service attendance is longitudinally associated with lower mortality risk, lower depression, less suicide, better cardiovascular disease survival, better health behaviors, and greater marital stability, happiness, and purpose in life.

For many of those who regularly attend worship services and participate in some way in the care of and attention to the spiritual side of life, the health benefits are well-known. We know that religious communities are—generally speaking— in the business of caring and attending. We don’t need to dig deep into documentation and research. We live the data.

It is frustrating to realize that one of the easiest solutions to some of our country’s most troubling ills already exists, but is ignored and unappreciated. In many cases, the solution to loneliness, unhappiness, depression, isolation, etc, is right in the middle of the community. In fact, there are often quite a few of these organizations easily accessible.

As I read the short article by Professor VanderWeele, I started thinking about my own annual visits to the doctor’s office. I’ve noticed that the paperwork has been accumulating, year after year. In addition to a survey of any changes to my health that I’ve noticed since my last visit, there are usually several more pages of questions for me to answer before I’m invited into the exam room, questions like: do I feel safe at home; am I experiencing food insecurity; do I have symptoms of depression; how much alcohol do I consume; do I smoke; do I use recreational drugs and, if so, how often; do I ever wake up in the morning with no memory of what I did the night before. Etc. Etc.

Nowhere among those questions is there anything about my religious affiliation or my spiritual practices. There is nothing that suggests that any health professional I will encounter cares in any way— or has been taught to care— about the spiritual side of my life. As I think about it, I wonder if my primary care nurse practitioner has even noticed what my job is, and that it is in the realm of religion.

What’s even more frustrating is that this avenue of health and well-being is disappearing. Congregations and groups of people who gather regularly for worship, attending to their relationship with God as well as with each other are diminishing. And, many of these communities have dwindled to a point where they can no longer sustain themselves. Countless church buildings around the country have been sold for another purpose or abandoned.

I realize that there are lots of complicating issues when it comes to the relationship between the practice of religion and community life. It is well-known that many people have been harmed through the unhealthy and illegal actions of clergy and others working in the field of religion. Real damage has been done to individuals, families and communities. Still, such problematic behavior is not widespread. If the studies are to be believed, religious communities have a lot to offer in supporting good public health. But, if this benefit is not recognized more widely, it will continue to decline. It’s hard to gauge the consequences, but clearly they are great— for everyone.

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That Thing About Authority

Posted on April 17, 2024 by smaxreisert

A long, long time ago, in my first year as a student minister at a United Church of Christ church in Cambridge, MA, I once inadvertently insulted a church member so much during a sermon that after that one particular worship service, he declared that he would never again set foot in that church. To my knowledge, he never did. It was a strange experience. I was just a student minister. Although I participated in worship every Sunday, I only preached every four to six weeks. I don’t remember what I said or did, but it was probably something political, offering a criticism of the practices or policies of the then President, George H.W. Bush.

Over the years, I’ve occasionally encountered other people like that man, people who have walked away because of something I’ve said or written. These experiences have led me to wonder about the relationship between church members and pastors. Is it a pastor’s job to support the inclinations of all church members (as if that’s even possible) or water down one’s message in order to keep feathers from being ruffled? If a church experience is only about bolstering one’s already deeply held convictions, why bother going at all? What role does a pastor’s spiritual speech have in a congregation and with congregants? How do church members understand the pastor’s “authority”? Why is it so difficult for some church members to appreciate that the pastor’s position includes speaking in ways that may make church members uncomfortable, even angry?

Some of the most memorable and meaningful conversations I’ve had over these many years of ministry have involved church members who have stormed into my office to object to a sermon, a prayer or a piece written for the church newsletter. These conversations are never easy, but I have found them to be rich and rewarding, an opportunity for a noticeable growth in faith— for both participants. I have learned a great deal from those who have met with me to unload their discontent. When they realize that I’m not interested in fighting but conversing (sometimes on multiple occasions), something mysterious opens up, allowing each of us to explore some of life’s most difficult questions as well as faith’s deep mysteries.

It’s too bad that such conversations and situations are rare. More often, when I make someone angry, they simply stop attending worship or they seethe with quiet rage. I remember one especially difficult occasion some years ago. The congregation at Old South had recently approved an “open and affirming” statement. A couple who had attended regularly and for whom I had officiated at their wedding, stopped coming to worship. When I called, they said they would welcome a visit. The conversation during that visit, though, was mainly a lot of anti-gay slogans that the husband had picked up from a co-worker who attended a decidedly not open and affirming kind of church. When I tried to suggest, gently, that maybe I was better informed on what the Bible says, and does not say, since I had attended divinity school and the co-worker had not, the “conversation,” such as it was, essentially came to an end. The husband clearly preferred the co-worker’s interpretation and opinion. It didn’t matter that I had studied the issue in a variety of ways. As a pastor, this man expected that I would support and uphold his views, that the “authority” was in the hands of parishioners (even though, in this case, the open and affirming decision was a unanimous vote of those church members who attended a particular congregational meeting on the issue).

These days, I’m increasingly concerned about what appears to be— if the studies are correct— the growing number of people who self-identify as Christian and even as evangelical, but no longer attend worship of any kind. They are not interested in anyone even remotely offering a differing point of view to their own. That’s bad enough, but many of these people, because of their attachment to the label “Christian,” are pulling God into the mix, as if they have the authority of knowing God’s desires and intentions completely— and those desires and intentions often involve a certain former president.

For those who feel they possess that kind of authority through which they know all of God’s expectations, but intentionally reject pastoral guidance precisely for the reason that they perceive pastors may assert a perspective different from their own, an especially troubling scenario begins to take shape. Living in the midst of a faith echo chamber is problematic on many levels, stifling rather than enlivening one’s faith. Practicing the faith in the midst of a pastoral relationship is important. Critical questions ought to be considered by all Christians regarding the life of faith, the interpretation and use of biblical stories and lessons, and the issue of authority. It’s not that clergy are always correct, or in a position to exact a complete and utter use of the authoritative role, but there’s a significant relationship here that deserves faithful attention.

In the United Church of Christ, those who have successfully engaged in a process to ministry, whether fully ordained or licensed, involving the local church and the local association of churches, are said to be “authorized” for ministry. That authority is a heavy one. We clergy make a lot of promises, regarding things like preaching and administering the sacraments, working cooperatively and collegially, respecting all, honoring confidences and not exploiting our position for personal gain. Again, it’s not that clergy are perfect. Far from it. But, many of us take very seriously the promises we have made and ask, in return, that our role be respected. Sometimes, we have something prophetic to say. Sometimes, our job IS to make church members feel uncomfortable. And, sometimes it is our job to engage in holy conversation when parishioners have a different point of view.

My interpretation of scripture and the lessons Jesus taught lead me to believe that one cannot claim to be a “Christian” if one does not regularly attend Christian worship and does not engage in the life of a Christian community of faith. Jesus made very clear the significance of community, the value of gathering with others (something he did even for himself) and the fact that he himself is present when two or three are gathered— and not just one. The life of faith is grace and blessing, but it is also a responsibility. As I’ve written many times, to worship God is to acknowledge that one is not God, that our awareness of God and God’s intentionsis always limited. Every Christian ought to appreciate that it is incumbent upon each one to gather in the midst of community and to recognize not the absolute, but the authoritative nature of leadership— whether in the form of a person or in the gathering of a group in worship.

 

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Is It Time for a Break Up?

Posted on March 29, 2024 by smaxreisert

My last blog post focused on ghosts, those people who attend worship for a few weeks, a few months, even a couple of years, and then suddenly disappear, without notice, without trace, without explanation. I usually reach out to these folks, but my messages are generally met with still more silence. It’s one of the most frustrating aspects of being a local church pastor.

Recently, I had a bit of a surprise when I heard from one of Old South’s ghosts. I had sent an email to check in with this person who had attended worship regularly over several months last year, but then disappeared. The response that was sent back to me contained a sentiment connected to something that I’ve been feeling over the course of the last several years. And that is, there’s a sense that the institution of the Christian Church is not to be trusted, that there is something scary and problematic about the Christian Church in general. Some of those who have been away from the faith for awhile, but have started to feel a pull to try church again, end up discovering a complicated web of impressions regarding the Church, and its various churches. That web contains a complicated network of negative strands that cannot easily be reconciled with the few strands that may hold a more positive experience or view.

I started to feel a shift in perceptions regarding the Christian church several years ago. The place where the shift has been the most apparent? Funerals. It’s a common thing to find at funerals quite a few people who have no idea how things go in a church service. Many years ago, it usually felt like the “unchurched” who attended funerals at Old South came with at least a respectful, if tepid, attitude. These people wanted to pay their respects to the deceased, to the family and friends, and they recognized that the deceased felt a connection to this particular community of faith. Usually these unchurched people would at least try to be present, like picking up a hymnal when the congregation was asked to sing. And they might even display a bit of curiosity about the church and why the church was important to the person who died.

In the last few years, I’ve noticed that the curiosity has been replaced by animosity. I can feel it. There are usually people who appear visibly angry, like they’ve been forced to visit a relative they despise. Another clue is that they don’t sing the hymns and usually they don’t even try. It’s very strange to be in a sanctuary that is mostly full of people and yet during any hymn singing, there is very little singing. During one funeral, the poor organist (who’s back is toward the congregation) thought he had started playing at the wrong time or was playing the wrong hymn because all he could hear was the organ. There was no discernible singing, despite the fact that the sanctuary was near full.

Though it’s hard to declare in a public way, I must admit that I’ve begun to feel a sort of kinship with the angry people. Because I am angry, too. I am angry about being a part of an institution that has so flagrantly harmed people, an institution that has been so rife with sin and transgression. I am angry at what’s happened in the various expressions of the Christian faith: the abuse of children in the Roman Catholic Church; the abuse of women in the Southern Baptist Church (and others); the unholy and dangerous alliance between evangelical churches (and their leaders) and a certain former president; the relentless commitment to what amounts to a second class status for women in most Christian churches and denominations; the hostility toward the LGBTQ+ community. Etc. Etc. I am angry, too, and frustrated, that my faith is sullied by those who have wantonly disregarded— on such a large scale— the most basic of tenets of the faith. And when found out, way too many faith leaders have been reluctant to admit and to confess, not only the harm they have caused to individuals and families, but to the institution of the Church itself, the supposed body of Christ in the world.

In the midst of this holiest of weeks in the Christian calendar, as we move through sacred story full of vital and challenging lessons that Jesus taught as he faced arrest and execution, and prepare for another Easter, I find myself wondering about whether it’s time to consider a break up. I don’t mean a break up with my faith and I certainly don’t mean a break up with Christ or God or the Holy Spirit. I’m talking about a break up with the institution of the Christian Church.

I have no idea what such a break up would look like, or how a possible break up would connect to the fact that, at present, I serve as a local church pastor of a community of faith that is part of a denomination that, while it may dangle on the edge of the liberal/progressive side of Christianity, is still Christian and is part of the complicated and messy network that essentially constitutes “the Church.” Yet, I feel compelled to raise this issue. It’s not just because I am increasingly angry about what is happening, and has happened, in the Church and among Christians, but I am deeply moved by those people who feel drawn to Christ, yet have no way to connect to Christ other than personal devotion— because the Church and her churches have strayed so far so often and remain so unwelcoming to so many.

I’m weary of being associated with the great transgressions of the Church. I’m weary of trying to explain the differences within the Church, and that the tiny section of Christendom in which I have found a home is different. It’s not at all that we are perfect, because we are not. Still, the large and extensive scandals that have rocked various Christian churches and denominations have become a huge liability— to me, as a pastor, and to the community of faith I serve. It may be time to confront that the liabilities are too serious to ignore, and that they may have become an insurmountable obstacle to doing the holy work we have been called to do in inviting and welcoming those who are looking for—yearning for—meaning and hope, love and grace, a community of care and blessing, in a world full of trouble.

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Ghosting, Church-style

Posted on March 15, 2024 by smaxreisert

Among the most frustrating aspects of being a local church pastor, for me, is dealing with “ghosting.” While the word “ghosting” is a relatively new term usually used in the dating, or friendship, arena, I’ve been dealing with the concept for a very long time. The word refers to people who abruptly cut off contact, even when a text/email/phone call is made (by the ghosted) to maintain or re-establish contact. There is only silence. In all of the many years I’ve served as a local church pastor, I’ve wondered about and been frustrated by “ghosts,” those people who attend worship (and Bible study, too, sometimes) over a few weeks or months (sometimes many months, or even years!) and then they suddenly disappear. And, trying to reach out goes nowhere.

There is only silence.

Trying to convince the ghosts to share with me why they stopped attending Old South is very difficult, usually impossible. When someone has attended for a while and then doesn’t show up for a few weeks, I usually reach out with an email that simply states that I’ve missed seeing them in worship and to ask if there’s anything I can do for them. Almost every single time I’ve sent one of these messages out into the ether, I’ve been met by silence.

The silence is disappointing and frustrating. There are so many questions that I fervently want to have answered. Did she/he/they stop attending because: I said something that was offensive to them? Or, a church member said or did something inappropriate? A new job required that they be at work on Sunday mornings? They decided that the church was not a good fit for them? They didn’t like the worship space? They didn’t like that they had to park across the street from the sanctuary building and had to cross a steep hill to get to the sanctuary? They hate organ music? They don’t like traditional worship? They don’t think women should be worship leaders? They have issues with our Open and Affirming statement? They decided they liked another area church better?

So many questions. So much silence. Occasionally, I can form educated guesses, but for the most part, I’m mystified and left with a swirl of theories that are never satisfied.

It is the rare occasion when someone asks to meet with me to tell me why they will no longer be involved with Old South. In my thirty years of pastoral ministry, I can think of only a handful of people who have asked to speak to me, rather than just vanish without a word. Out of this small group, most were moving away. But, a couple of people have met with me to share their discontent.

A few years ago, a member of Old South decided that she wanted to change churches. There were a bunch of reasons, some of them related to me and a few related to the church in general. She informed a couple of her friends in the congregation, but she initially had no plans to tell me at all. She was just going to stop attending and then send a note when she found a new church home. Those who knew about what was going on begged her to talk to me, emphasizing that it was important that I hear directly from her about what was on her mind and why she planned to search for a new church. Eventually, she contacted me. We met and talked. It wasn’t an especially fun meeting, but it helped me a great deal to understand what was going on in this person’s faith journey and why she felt that Old South was no longer feeding her spirit.

It was good for both of us to engage in that conversation— and significant, and faithful. Christian churches are communities of relationship that seek to live out the teachings of Jesus Christ. Many of those teachings are challenging. Still, those teachings ought to be respected in the variety of ways through which we interact with each other. When a moment arrives that compels someone to move on, or simply stop attending a particular church, it should be part of the deal that a reason is communicated (especially since there are, in these days, so many ways of communicating!). At the very least, the person ought to consider how she/he/they would feel in the event of ghosting. You know, treating others as you would like to be treated, which is very near the top of the important commands Jesus taught.

Church relationships can be messy and I’m sure it’s hard to contemplate the non-ghosting option of actually sharing the reasons why someone decides that a particular church just isn’t working well for them. But, communicating isn’t just a nice thing to do. It ought to be considered essential for anyone who considers themselves in any way to be a follower of Jesus Christ.

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The Sad State of Religion and American Public Life

Posted on March 1, 2024 by smaxreisert

When I was in Divinity School, way back in the later years of the twentieth century, one of the courses I took was a seminar taught by the then Dean of Harvard Divinity School, Ron Thiemann. The seminar focused on religion in American public life, a subject that was at the center of much of Dean Thiemann’s own scholarship. I don’t remember that seminar very well (it’s been several decades, after all), but I do remember, in a general way, the rather heady class discussions about various aspects of the relationship between religion and community life.

If I remember correctly, Dean Thiemann’s scholarship on this issue tried to argue for a way to consider religious conviction in public life without that conviction: a) being dismissed as solely a private matter, or b) becoming a weapon to dominate everything in its path. In the bits and pieces I can recall about our readings and class discussions in light of what’s happening in this current moment, it feels like those of us who shared that seminar together were all so ridiculously naïve. There we were talking about how to engage with the variety of religious experiences of those living in the United States, inviting differing voices into the public square, not only to assist in learning more about those with different belief systems, but to gain a deeper appreciation for one’s own tradition. We discussed the possibility of something that was beyond tolerance and acceptance, casting a vision of welcome and curiosity regarding the variety of faith practices of those who call the United States home. While we all recognized that these visions would be challenging to make even remotely real, there was a sense of possibility, that the grand visions were, at least partially, achievable.

These many years later, I can’t help but feel a profound sadness regarding the reality in which we find ourselves. The American public, generally speaking, seems far from curious when it comes to the religious landscape of our communities. Instead, there’s suspicion and even hatred for those who are different and, for those who do not practice any religion at all, there can be a harmful cynicism directed at those who do.

It’s a strange thing to try to hold together the shrinking numbers of active members of religious communities (according to a Public Religion Research Institute study, only 16% of Americans consider religion to be the most important thing in their lives), including (and in some cases most dramatically) Christianity, while at the same time reckoning with judges, politicians, and policy makers who declare, in their decisions and votes, the guidance of Christian scriptures and the Christian God. This is especially troubling given that there is no agreement across Christian traditions regarding the authority of scripture or how the faithful should perceive the presence of the God they worship. Those who assert a Christian “worldview” are actually asserting only their particular view. There is no way to assert one single Christian worldview. It simply doesn’t exist. Christianity is a sort of umbrella term for a myriad of denominations, churches, communities, and groups that feel a belief in or affinity for Jesus of Nazareth as the Messiah. Those who go about asserting a “Christian” worldview appear, in my humble opinion, to have no knowledge of the lessons actually contained in the scriptures they declare holy.

For anyone to make such a strong claim regarding his/her/their clear knowledge of God’s wishes and desires demonstrates a remarkable lack of awareness of what it actually means for mere mortals to worship God. Among those who claim to be people of faith, there must exist some degree of humility, a crucial recognition that to worship God is to acknowledge that one is NOT God and therefore limited in how one understands God. Such humility is essential for everyone if we are ever to share community space and community institutions in a respectful, productive and peaceful way.

The recent declaration of the chief justice of the Alabama Supreme Court stating that embryos created through IVF should be considered children, is one troubling example of the efforts among some Christians to assert their own brand of Christianity on the community in general. The justice, Tom Parker, stated, “Human life cannot be wrongfully destroyed without incurring the wrath of a holy God.” Just this statement alone begs a whole host of significant questions when it comes to the intersection of religious convictions and American public life— how is “wrongfully” defined and to what extent does God allow for the destruction of human life in not “wrongful” ways? What is the wrath of God? What does it mean to call God holy? Doesn’t “holiness” of a divine being imply that one should not be going about making such definitive statements about what a “holy God” expects and demands from human beings?

I could go on, but you probably get the picture.

Scanning the religious and political landscape of these days, when there is so little interest in learning and talking, working together, seeking common ground or compromise, we are left with a decided mess. And, more than that, we are left with an environment clearly lacking in anything that can be characterized as holy or meaningful. We people of faith ought to aspire to something better, a place where our convictions can help lead us to understanding and growth, grace and blessing.

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It’s Time to Put Aside the Rose-Colored Glasses

Posted on February 16, 2024 by smaxreisert

In the first church I served, as a student minister and then as the assistant pastor, way back in the early 1990s, I had the chance to experience a fairly wide range of the typical world of the local church pastor. I participated in worship, preached about once a month, met with a couple of church committees, and went on regular home visits to a few parishioners. One of the people who was on my visit list was an elderly woman named Louise. Louise had lived in Cambridge all of her life and graduated from Radcliffe College, class of 1925. Although her husband had died a couple of decades before I met her, she was the sort of person who could talk about her life with her husband without ever falling into a morose, depressed, woe-is-me kind of attitude. Louise was upbeat about life in general. She enjoyed getting to know younger people and was a bit of a magnet in her old Cambridge neighborhood, with various neighbors eager to join her to watch her favorite PBS shows or to discuss the latest bestsellers over tea. I remember one of my visits involved Louise asking me to compare Al Gore’s Earth in the Balance with an environmental book written by Harvard professor E.O. Wilson. At the time, I hadn’t read either.

Louise lived not far from the Radcliffe campus, in a neighborhood that had caught the attention of the powers-that-be at Harvard, especially those who dealt with real estate. Harvard had started buying up houses in Louise’s neighborhood. This wasn’t much of a concern for Louise— until Harvard started painting those houses using “historically informed” colors. Louise was outraged. ”Those colors went out of fashion for a reason!” I remember her declaring during one visit. And, then she went on, just in case I had missed her point, “Those colors are ugly! They were then and they still are. And, now I have to look at them every day.”

My visits with Louise often involved this sort of scenario. While Louise loved to talk about the past, her early life growing up in Cambridge, how she had met her husband and then their life together, she never talked about any of it with rose-colored glasses. To listen to her stories involved the good, the bad and everything in between. 

We could use a good dose of that in lots of things, including at Old South. As we continue to shrink in number and try to deal with the reality of our very needy buildings, there is the occasional comment about how things “used to be.” Those comments usually connect to memories of a regularly full sanctuary and the sense of the signficance of the church to the community in general. Anybody who was anyone was a member of Old South, etc.

But, in the midst of the nostalgia, there are a few troubling truths. One person who is a life-long member of the church recently told me about something that happened in the 1970s. A national publication had listed Hallowell as a gay-friendly place. Some of the members of Old South, especially those who lived in Hallowell, were furious. They didn’t like their small city becoming associated with an openness to gays and lesbians. When Old South was going through its Open and Affirming process that resulted in an Open and Affirming statement that was approved by the congregation in 2008, the then-moderator of the congregation told me that in the 1980s, there were church members who wouldn’t eat at certain Hallowell restaurants because there was “something in the water.” The implication was that the water somehow caused people to become homosexual.

The past isn’t always so rosy as people remember. That’s certainly true for Old South, sometimes in heartbreaking ways. In my first few years of serving as pastor at Old South, in the latter half of the first decade of the 2000s, I officiated at the memorial service for a young man who had died in a tragic accident in San Francisco. When I met with the family, they shared with me that this young man, who had known from an early age that he was gay, had never felt welcome at his family’s church. It was deeply distressing to realize that the only time when this young man would receive a full and unconditional welcome at Old South was at his funeral.

There are plenty of other stories as well, of times when the church was not exactly a loving, accepting and welcoming place. Other churches have even more horrible tales to tell, especially around the abuse of children and women.

It’s time to take the rose-colored glasses off and ditch them permanently. If we are to look back, it ought to be with a clear, unfiltered gaze. Our future is not back there and that’s a good thing. Plus, there are important realities of the Church’s past that must be acknowledged. We may be smaller in these days, but maybe, just maybe, we might find a new awareness of what it means to be a faithful and loving church, walking in the ways of our Savior who so often sought out and lifted up the marginalized.

We won’t be perfect either, but we have an important opportunity to do a bit better.

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Haunted

Posted on January 31, 2024 by smaxreisert

Over the last few years, as Old South has focused on how to move into the future with our shrinking congregation and our stubbornly unshrinking, and demanding, physical plant, people have had a variety of responses to the plans we have considered. As we began to coalesce around the possibility of putting the sanctuary building up for sale, and have now done so, I have heard from several people— none of them currently active members of Old South— who have denigrated this particular decision by way of conjuring what seems to them the certain assessment of people who were once devoted Old South members, but are now no longer among the living. The comment usually goes something like, “If so-and-so were still alive, this would surely kill him (or her).”

I haven’t yet figured out how to respond to this sort of appraisal of the church’s situation. In one case, I’m not in agreement that the person, who cannot speak for herself (at least not without the aid of a Ouija board), would be so devastated by the decision to put the building up for sale. That particular person was always practical and realistic, able to adjust to changes and circumstances. The other now deceased former members who have been lifted up in this way probably would be raging against the possible sale of their beloved sanctuary. Still, these individuals are no longer with us (although if they were, in significant enough numbers, we wouldn’t be in the difficult position we are in).

It’s strange to me that names of former members are invoked in this way. I realize that the people who make these sorts of declarations are using the deceased as proxies for their own view, but it feels deeply disrespectful to use the deceased in this way, to make such brazen assumptions about their views and perceptions. To call out the disrespect, though, feels unproductive, at best.

How do we deal with the ghosts of the past? Should we consider in any way, how those who have gone before might perceive the process and actions that have taken place in their absence? Why should those who have left us have any sway over our decisions or how we live in the midst of those decisions? Should we consider inviting a medium to our meetings and gatherings to see if those from the great beyond have something meaningful to share?

What seems especially problematic about all of this is that those who invoke the names of the deceased are all, themselves, not currently actively engaged in the work, ministry or worship of the Old South community. While they may have been in the past, they are no longer and have not been for some time. They are akin to living ghosts, haunting us with their judgments that are rooted firmly in the past and in their connection to Old South that exists only in their memories.

While the life of a faith community is always connected to the past, as we regularly and significantly look to ancient story for guidance in living our individual and collective lives, communities of faith are called to look forward. In our balancing act of considering the old, the new and the current, we cannot be beholden to the presumed opinions of individuals who are now bereft of life, have ceased to be, whose metabolic processes are history, those who have joined the choir invisible (it’s difficult to mention death without a nod to the Monty Python Dead Parrot sketch). Communities of faith are living things. Our work, and mission, is about now and what is to be. While it’s appropriate to honor and memorialize those who are no longer with us, the deceased cannot (for obvious reasons) be actively engaged in our life together as we seek to be the Body of Christ. 

The only dead person who matters is the One who was also resurrected, the One who gives us life and points the way to hope, love, joy and the fullness of life. He’s the One whose opinion ought be at the core of all we do.

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