Day 1 — I have been serving t
wo dying congregations in rural New England for almost 4 years now. How I got here is a mystically marvelous story. I’ll tell it at some point. Not now. The circumstances of my arrival here do serve as an encouragement to me. In spite of my failure to reinvigorate these two churches, I still feel like God’s hand is in this process somehow. The churches’ stories might be coming to a rapid end, but my faith story isn’t. This is simply a chapter, sad and discouraging as it may be. But I tell it to encourage you. So many pastors and churches are in this distressing situation. You are not alone. Deaths are known to be followed by Resurrections. Perhaps we can help our congregations live all the way until they die.
Shortly after I got here, I realized that doing one service for eight people scattered around the back rows of a sanctuary that seats 200 only to dash up the road to the other church and do the exact same service for 10 people in a sanctuary that seats 180 was really, really not going to get us anywhere. I wasn’t getting to know the people in the church with the early service. And, really, this situation would do nothing for church growth. Who was going to feel like a church with eight people was a lively happening place? So, we started meeting for one service, alternating between our two sanctuaries, roughly following the school year (not that we had any kids in school). Three months in one sanctuary, three in the other, then back for three months in the one. That got us through September through May, with Christmas in one sanctuary and Easter in the other. In the summer, we did a six week in each church “hiccup” to reset the schedule so, the following school year, whoever had Christmas the year before had Easter, and vice versa. It worked out well, for the most part. Members of each church got to know one another. We didn’t even have many people squawking about the change. Now our rare visitors experienced a sanctuary with, not eight or nine people, but with 15, and then 20 or 25.
What has occurred here has been, at times, wonderful; at times, heartbreaking; at times encouraging; at times infuriating. All along, I have tried, tried, tried to bring in new people and to re-energize the current members. Last May, we had a new member class of 9 people. It took me forever to build that group! It was amazing to bring them on board! I have interacted with the younger, active people in our communities. I have tried to get new programs going. I have tried to be a part of multigenerational activities. The arts community. The high school community. The retiree community. I have worked so hard to bring in new members. People who will want the friendship we have to offer. People who will be “doers.” In the meantime, some of our old doers moved away. Got new, more demanding jobs that took them away from church. Some more of our old doers died.
Turns out, no matter what I do, our potential “doers” aren’t coming from anywhere. We all know that American communities are sorely lacking in “doers.” Lions Clubs, Rotary Clubs, bowling teams, Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, are all folding because people are turning inward in response to the overwhelming demands and information overloads of modern life. Religion has become anathema to many in the modern world. People just don’t want to bother with it anymore.
At year 2.5 of my tenure here, during the course of a single week, four members of one of the two churches died. That was a real crisis, because we didn’t have enough help to put on all of those funerals and receptions in such short order. One of the few remaining younger leaders—probably around my late-middle age—said she thought it was time for us to begin exploring a merger of the two congregations. We had been worshipping together for about a year at this point, and some newcomers had only experienced our congregations as one. One church has lots of money, but few members. The other has little money, but more members (although they’re in their 70s, 80s and 90s, for the most part). The few willing workers are spread between the two congregations. One of the congregations has some very belligerent, nasty members. That congregation also has several people who are not interested in merger, and are actively fighting against it. The Buildings are a Big Deal. The Million Dollar Endowment is a Big Deal.
We went ahead with merger talks anyway. We probably shouldn’t have, because the one church council very grudgingly went along with the younger leaders to move the proposal forward to the other church. The other church is the one with a cadre of over-my-dead-body-will-you-merge bullies. Really, my deepest self told me ‘way back then that this was a lost cause. I didn’t listen, because I want with all my heart for there to be a future for mainline, progressive, spiritual community in these parts. So, foolish as it may have been, with whatever faith I could dredge up from my inmost parts, we forged ahead.
We have been meeting for over a year now. Our vote on merger is coming up in 150 days.
I have been down and discouraged about this for almost a year. I’ve tried to escape—to get a job elsewhere. Closer to home in Chicago, where I grew up, where all my friends are. Three times I snared interest from my resume, three times, I got to a second interview. Each time, whether because of my age, or my long-distance attempt to get a job, or for some other unknown deficiency on my part, I have failed to land the job. For a few days this summer, I thought, “I’ve cast my lot here! I must stick this out! I’ll do whatever it takes to make these churches survive!” I signed up for a year-long program with Brian McLaren that I thought would help us supposedly revitalize, renew, and excite new ways of being Christian. Because I don’t have enough of an energetic team to carry out Brian’s wonderful ideas, this has been, pretty much, an expensive bust.
As of this summer, I tried to get certain Dream Team members together to review each church’s respective Bylaws. They nodded and said they would. And then they didn’t, and they kept not getting together, and at this point four months have gone by. I tried to get them to look at each other’s budgets. One member bitched loudly that that was “too much work.” Each church budget is about a page and a half long. How the hell is that a lot of work? We’ve been meeting once a month. We found out most church merger teams meet twice a month. With enormous grumbling, we started meeting twice a month. Some people still only come once.
We put out a suggestion box, and got ZERO suggestions. We asked for questions at services, and got none. After several attempts to get people to talk to us about the upcoming merger vote, we finally decided to send our folks out, one on one, to talk to those NOT on the Dream Team. As of three weeks ago, we discovered that many of the old people in both congregations are not actually willing to merge. Two of the people on the Dream Team have become unbearably negative. I hate the whole process. I feel angry and hurt and misled. As of today, barring any miracles that I truly and sincerely do not believe are in the offing, these churches will die in six months. I will leave and go . . . somewhere. I don’t know where. I will do something . . . I don’t know what.
A couple of months ago, as the realization of impending doom was truly sinking in, I resigned these two churches to the terminal prognosis that they so richly deserve. I pulled back even more, realizing that they are refusing further treatment, and there’s nothing I can do for them.
And then I realized that there IS more that I can do for these two sad, terminally diseased congregations. I can give them hospice care. A good hospice team asks the sick patient what their goals of life are for the time they have left. I can ask them what their goals for life are for the next six months. What will imbue their last days with meaning? What gifts can I give them? What thank you notes can I get the community they have served to send them. I just need enough energy to do give them a great send-off for around five or six months. And then I leave. That’s all I need. Six months.
This gives me a weird burst of energy and, strangely, hope. I really and truly think these two churches are doomed. I will be their last settled pastor. I don’t have any hope for their survival. But I do have hope that they can truly live until they die. I can help with that. So, this blog is about the end that is surely approaching. The end of these two little congregations that have chugged along one for over two hundred years, the other for almost two hundred years. It is about ending their ministries on hope and celebration.
Requiem aeteram dona eis, Domine.
P.S. Your Church is Dead 