A Church for Starving Artists

We’ve heard the stats:

• For the first time in modern U.S.history,  the majority of all Hispanic, Black, Asian, and Mixed Race births reached 50.4 percent of the population.  (Source)
• The median age of worshipers in the Presbyterian Church (USA) is 61.  (Source)  In the Episcopal Church the median age is 57.  (Source)  In the United Methodist Church it’s also 57.  (Source)  For Southern Baptists it’s 49.  (Source)
• Only 5 percent of Protestant churches and 15 percent of Roman Catholic churches are multiracial in the U.S. (Source)
• The number of American mosques increased 74 percent since 2000 and Islamic houses of worship tend to be ethnically-diverse (Source)

I could go on and on in terms of stats that show both our diversity in congregations and our lack of diversity.  When a congregation describes themselves as “diverse” I have no idea what they mean.

• Do they have a percentage of non-white members in a predominantly white church, or a percentage of white members in a predominantly non-white church?
• Do they have a mix of gay and straight members?
• Do they have a variety of ages?
• Do they have a variety of political perspectives?
• Do they have a variety of socio-economic backgrounds?

One of the most unexpected sources of diversity in congregations, from my experience, is theological  – although most members are basically unaware of the breadth of their heterogeneity.  Church people tend to believe that the person sitting beside them in worship generally agrees with them on matters of heaven, hell, and salvation.  They might find it shocking to learn that some of their brothers and sisters in Christ at table with them at the monthly potluck have ideas about ordaining GBLT members that are the opposite of their own.

Churches are finding that they don’t know who they are, what they stand for, or “what they believe.”  It’s all part of the postmodern struggle to replace the importance of “right beliefs” with  belonging to a community and behaving according to the expectations of that community.  In this realm, we are quite diverse.

What are you finding in terms of congregational diversity?  Is it hidden?  Is it obvious?  Is it absent?

Diverse images of the Nativity can be found here.

I’ve heard the following comments at Funerals Past:

“I didn’t know the deceased at all, but I understand he died of a heart attack.  I had a heart attack once and it was the best experience of my life.” – Protestant Pastor preaching at the funeral of a non-member

“_____ never uttered a cross word to anyone.  He was a saint.” – Daughter of the deceased ignoring the fact that her father was a bully to everyone who crossed him including his own pastor.

You get the picture.  I’ve been to funerals that erroneously lionized the dead.  I’ve been to funerals that never mentioned God.  I’ve been to funerals that were joyless and faithless.  Perhaps you have also been to these funerals.

Over the weekend I had the privilege of attending my spiritual sister Cindy Bolbach’s funeral.  Many of us will miss her for the rest of our lives.  You can read more here and here.

This was perhaps the most powerful, joyful, and faithful funeral I have ever attended and it’s because 1) it was led by people who really knew Cindy from a variety of perspectives (work, church, friendship, family) and 2) the focus was Jesus.

My own call story involves a time when – although I knew I was loved by my family and friends –  I felt totally alone in that they did not really know me.  They knew sides of me, but they didn’t know the depth of my pain, the breadth of my doubts, the width of my existential loneliness.

Then something happened.  On a dark of the soul when I had reached the pit, I felt an overwhelming and all-consuming sense that  – because of Jesus – God was the only One who truly knew me.  And I was going to be alright.  And my calling in life would to share this truth with other people who feel alone and unknown.

Christianity is the only religion in which a person is the “decisive revelation of God” in the words of Marcus Borg.  The decisive revelation for Jews is the Torah and Moses revealed it.  (He is not himself the revelation.)  The decisive revelation for Muslims is the Koran and Muhammad revealed it.  (He is not himself the revelation.)  Jesus is the Word made flesh, God in human skin.  Jesus is the revelation.

I believe that because God came to earth, that even though Jesus was a Jewish male person living 2000 years ago, I am known in a complete and holy way.  The intimacy of being known is an unspeakable treasure . . .

. . . which brings me back to Cindy.  There were things she knew about me, things I knew about her.  Through Cindy I got to know other precious friends.  It was a close and joyous friendship, and a huge part of it was about God – that ongoing conversation about what God was calling us to do and be.  We talked about it in our homes and on vacations and at bedsides and over wine and we laughed a lot.  It’s terrible to lose that friendship but who could wish her back to endure more?  I also believe that now Cindy knows fully, even as she was fully known – only by God.  So grateful.

The photograph is of Cindy Bolbach’s Moderator’s Stole and Cross taken at her funeral service on December 15, 2012. Cindy was the Moderator of the 219th General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church USA.

In life and in death we belong to God. 

I’m taking a break from posting for a couple of days.   What will we do without our Cindy?  We will be a better church, better friends, better children of God because of her influence.

[Note:  Ruling Elder Cynthia Bolbach died Wednesday, 12-12-12.  She was Moderator of the 219th General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church USA 2010-2012.  You can read more here.  I have long loved this woman.]

Note:  It’s Cindy Bolbach Week in my head, so I’m thinking of her wisdom as we approach the 3rd Sunday in Advent.  

I hate cancer.

Breast cancer is my special enemy.  I also have profound hatred for Non-Hodgkins lymphoma, liver cancer, cancer of the uterine lining, and . . . really, all of it sickens me.

I’ve watched cancer steal the body shapes, appetites, hair-dos, energy levels and souls of people I love.  I have – most devastatingly – observed cancer sapping the faith of previously faithful people.

What Cindy has taught me is that There Is A Will To Live beyond common wisdom and understanding.  I’ve witnessed hopefulness when no thinking person would still have hope.  I’ve participated in gallows humor that kept us sane.

The exquisite E. (the tiny one) has shared that her father – the forester – knew when pine trees were about to die because they produced an enormous number of pine cones just before their lives ended.  Human beings do this too.

And yet, even when it looks like cancer has won, it hasn’t.  There is something beyond this life.  I really have to believe this.

John Calvin was the Mascot when Cindy Bolbach stood for Moderator of the 219th General Assembly in 2010

Note:  It’s Cindy Bolbach Week in my head, so I’m thinking of her wisdom as we approach the 3rd Sunday in Advent.  

Yes, yes, we all know that new hymns often use fresh lyrics set to popular music. Supposedly Ein’ Feste Burg was the tune of a drinking song in 16th Century Germany, but in truth Martin Luther wrote the tune himself – along with the lyrics to A Mighty Fortress – probably while drinking a hearty German beer.

John Calvin wrote I Greet Thee, Who My Sure Redeemer Art set to a tune in the French Psalter about the same time that Luther was composing A Mighty Fortress.  Maybe he was drinking a glass of French wine during the process, or maybe not.

These are two of the greatest hymns ever written.  And here’s my point:  great hymns are written by great theologians.  Recently a seasoned pastor told me “There are no good new hymns anymore because there are no good new theologians.”  I respectfully disagree.

All of us are theologians.  Even atheists are theologians. (Simple:  There is no god.)  But the deeper our faith, the more profound our theology and the most creative among us can put that to poetry and music.

Not all popular songwriters are deep theologians, but there are some amazing songwriters today who stir something in us which connects us to God – maybe not with resounding organ sounds but – still – with deep meaning.

Jesus Is My Boyfriend music doesn’t do it for me and I don’t see that message as sound theology.  But everyday, theologians continue to write amazing music and lyrics.  And some of us are still stopped in our tracks by those 16th Century favorites.

Note:  It’s Cindy Bolbach Week in my head, so I’m thinking of her wisdom as we approach the 3rd Sunday in Advent.  

We in the Presbyterian Church (USA) call clergy and elders Teaching Elders (clergy) and Ruling Elders (non-clergy).  This ticks some people off because they say (and, to be fair,  it’s true) that ordinary, non-churchy people have no clue what a “Teaching Elder” is.  They know the terms Pastor, Priest, Clergy, Minister (the most misused term), and even Teaching Pastor, but most people don’t know the Greek word for elder, etc.

Nevertheless, we Presbyterians believe that both kinds of elders are equal in calling and this designation (Teaching Elders & Ruling Elders) notes this.  This is who we are as Reformed Christians who lift up the priesthood of all believers as one of our Essential Tenets.

My favorite Ruling Elder served as Moderator of the 219th General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church USA.  She is brilliant, witty, generous, and without question a minister in the Church of Jesus Christ.  She reminds us all that Ruling Elders rule.  Which brings me to the ecclesiastical whirlwind known as Advent.

Every parish pastor I know is Very Busy right now.  In addition to the usual unrelenting duties of Ordinary Time, Advent piles on the extra worship services,  hanging-of-the-greens, pageants, concerts, staff parties, and – like clockwork – more pastoral care needs.  From the person who wonders if he should ask his beloved to get married in 2013 to the person who is retiring to the family whose losses are more profound in this season, there is always more pastoral care in these last weeks of the calendar year.  All Teaching Elders I know are overwhelmed with holiday ministry.

So, here’s my question:

How many Ruling Elders – who are obviously also leaders in these busy days in the life of a church – are also finding their ministerial responsibilities increased?  I have the sense that many of our elders are not particularly busy leading their congregations.  Sure, they have responsibilities like decorating and preparing for family events.  But I wonder why Teaching Elders are the only ones who feel like this season gives them more ministerial duties.  What would happen if Ruling Elders took some of these tasks because . . . they are Ruling Elders and it’s their job?

What if our ruling elders were equipped to:

• Visit the sick without feeling less official than a Teaching Elder who visits the sick?
• Teach Advent classes because they were confident in their own theological chops?
• Coordinate one of the extra worship services because the Teaching Elder relinquished that responsibility knowing that the Ruling Elders can do this well?

Advent doesn’t have to be a vortex of craziness for clergy – and aren’t we missing the point if we insist on it being a crazy season?  In Reformed Churches, at least, Elders Rule.  Let’s lead our congregations in preparing for the Coming of the Lord together.

But speaking the truth in love, we must grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ.  Ephesians 4:15

How do we get people to believe us when we share the truth in love?

It’s an age-old question, especially for those of us whose job it is to hold people accountable or help shepherd them into a healthier and more faithful way of life.    Every day I deal with people in churches who deny that there is any dysfunction in their community/congregation/institution.  It’s not that I want to be negative or that I look for the dirty laundry.  But it’s really important to face The Truth so that we can become what we were created to be.

Examples:

• A church program is totally controlled by One Person who wields Great Power, and even though it no longer feeds anyone’s soul (except the person in power) it continues because people are afraid to challenge the viability or the effectiveness of the program. So: they never challenge the bullies or the power players.
• Patterns in spiritual communities are obvious to everybody except those in the communities.  They just can’t see it or they don’t want to see it.  And so they keep hiring the same dysfunctional staff people or they refuse to make the necessary shifts or they choose to argue about silly things instead of Important Things. So:  they keep making the same mistakes over and over again.
• Pastors continue to perpetuate tired patterns, refuse to do something bold and scary,  and fear obeying God because of what that might mean.  So:  they stick around too long, doing damage as they pretend that there is no good reason to make a change.

Sometimes I tread carefully as I share what I see in a church’s life.  Sometimes I just come right out and say it.  This often doesn’t go well, because people don’t want to hear that Changes Are Necessary.  How do we help people notice what’s really true about ourselves (me included)?

Image is The Key by Jackson Pollock (1946)

Short post today with some real questions:

• Why is acceptance of GLBT marriage growing so quickly in the United States?  

• Why is most rejection of GLBT marriage based on religious beliefs?

These questions are based on yesterday’s Gallup reports you can read here. Discuss.  I’m really interested in your ponderings on this.

Image source.

I used to be part of a church comprised of openly broken people.  One person said we were like characters from the Island of Misfit Toys.  Unlike many of our traditional congregations, this was a church in which people fearlessly shared their depression, their doubts, their relationship conflicts with each other.

The truth is that all churches everywhere are filled with broken people.  Disabilities Are Us.

How we treat the weakest among us reveals our  truest selves.  There are congregations that prefer their brokenness to be invisible and their imperfections to be hidden.  But how are the lepers and the lame supposed to be healed if don’t know them or we pretend they aren’t with us?

The most ridiculous comments I’ve heard in response to discussion about installing an elevator or ramps in a church building:

• Exactly how many people really use crutches or wheelchairs around here, anyway?  (Note:  Not many because They Can’t Get Into The Building)
• It will ruin the classic looks of the building to add a ramp to the entrance.
• The handicapped should not get special treatment.  Why should the whole church have to pay for something that helps just a few people?

Really.

I don’t know every detail about the UN Disability Treaty but the basics are that the disabled should enjoy the same rights and fundamental treatment as their fellow citizens throughout the world.  A no brainer.

155 nations of the world have already signed it and 126 nations have ratified it.  And our own political leaders from Bob Dole, John McCain, and George W. Bush to John Kerry and Barack Obama have pushed for its passage, but – shockingly –   the U.S. Senate didn’t pass it yesterday.  This is nuts.

A friend contacted me recently about her “honeymoon-is-over” experience as a new pastor in her first call.  The issue was about installing a ramp from the parking lot to the side door of the church building.  Her elders had just voted it down “for aesthestic reasons.”  They chose landscaping over their members in wheelchairs and their new pastor was crushed.  “Can I really be their pastor if they can’t even love the weakest among them?”

Her options:

1. Quit or threaten to quit because she can’t serve people who so obviously miss the point. Prepare to be unemployed and humiliated.
2. Be the prophet and try to shift their way of thinking and their culture with provocative Bible studies and sermons.  Prepare to check your anger so you don’t scare everybody.
3. Accept the fact that this will be a slow transition from “the church is for us” to “the church is for people who aren’t yet with us.”  Prepare to be frustrated.

This is a snippet of the life of a pastor who is trying to preach Good News to the poor, while dealing with people who don’t even realize that they, too, are poor, broken, and disabled.

Aren’t we all?

Image from the popular Christmas TV show Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer of toys from The Island of Misfit Toys.

It takes a long time to feel at home in a new town.  I have spent the majority of my life in four places:  Chapel Hill (22 years), Boston (3 years), Schaghticoke, NY (5 years), and Our Nation’s Capital (22 years.)

I know people – usually in military families – who have moved every year for decades.  And I know people who have never lived away from home except for their college years, and after college they moved back to the general vicinity where they grew up.  There are lots of reasons why people live where they live.

We now live in Chicagoland.  It’s really wonderful and I say that as a person who has loved every place I’ve ever lived, including a summer in Guatemala and a year in Europe.  I’m very fortunate that way.  But it takes a long time to feel at home in a new place.

When my parents were alive, they always called the town of their childhoods “home” as in “we are going home for Christmas” even though they’d lived in Chapel Hill for more time than they’d lived in the towns where they grew up.  Home is still – in a profound way – the town of my childhood and the town of my children’s childhoods.  I love the overwhelming familiarity of having lived in a place for so long.   And I miss my local dry cleaning lady and the staff at the local Caribou.  I miss knowing exactly where I can find my favorite salad dressing.  I miss the writing table at my favorite sermon-writing place.

But last Sunday, as I was getting coffee at my local coffee shop, the barrista staffing the drive-thru said into the speaker, “Hi, my name is Lucy. What can I get you today?”  And I said, “Lucy is one of my favorite names,”   and when I drove up to retrieve my Skinny Mocha, she said, “Well now you can call me by name.”  I almost burst into tears.  “My name is Jan,” I said.

I believe in call.  I believe that just as God called Abram from Ur  – and everything he’d always known  – to Canaan  – where he was a stranger – God called me and HH from the East Coast to the Midwest where neither of us had ever lived before. But just because God did it doesn’t mean it’s easy.  I totally get why people stay in the same church or the same geographic area for the sake of their families for decades if not for the entirety of their work lives.  I would like to have done that too, but it wasn’t our calling – at least for now.  I mourn being away from our kids, our friends, that dry cleaning lady.  But we are slowly connecting with new friends.

A word for churches calling pastors far from “home” – be patient.  We happily moved to serve here and we are so happy we did.  But there are layers of grief we are still dealing with after leaving pretty much everything behind.

Thank goodness for Lucy, the barrista I now know by name.  She has no idea, but she changed my life last weekend.

Photo of my new downtown.