"In the 1940s and '50s, the church was vibrant and bustling . . . Those were the days of the blue laws, when few businesses were open on Sunday, which meant there were few excuses to skip service. Many homes did not have television. The church was the absolute center of the community, . . . a place where friends came in packs and families and neighbors mingled, a time when families' status, to a degree, could be judged by how 'churched' they were."
I read this paragraph this morning in the New York Times ("Some Harlem Churches in Fight to Survive and Stay Relevant" by Trymaine Lee, May 24, 2010). The article focuses primarily on All Soul's Episcopal Church in Harlem, a once large and vital parish that averages about 50 people for Sunday worship and has a rotation of supply clergy who lead services (meaning no regular ordained leadership for the congregation). While the paragraph above describes in particular the history of All Soul's and, more widely, the story of other congregations in Harlem, it also tells the story of countless congregations in the United States, whether they be in the middle of our largest cities, surrounded by farms, in the center of small towns, or in busy suburban areas. The society of the 1940s and 1950s in which the "church was the absolute center of the community" no longer exists. Even strong and vibrant churches, certainly in the northeast where I live and minister, experience the reality of a rapidly changing culture and the impact of this on congregational participation.
The existential feelings that arise from this crisis in congregational life are expressed well by one man who is a member of All Soul's: "It's an uphill battle. It puts a lot of pressure on the congregation because you have to dig deep into your pockets to keep the church open. Our congregation is older, many are sick, and I really don't know what the future holds."
There is something very sad about this, of course, as older generations (the Builders, the Silents, and the Boomers) who grew up in church watch the institutions they love weaken, and, in some cases, die. I just heard of an Episcopal congregation in western Massachusetts that will have its final liturgy on May 30 and then shut its doors, ending a long and treasured history.
So, what does the future hold? Don't I wish I had an answer to that question! Not knowing the future can paralyze us in the present, tempt us to look backward for answers and hope to resurrect the glory days of the past. Really, isn't this simply an opportunity for us to place our trust in Jesus? When Jesus invited people to follow, he didn't tell them where they were going. He simply invited them to walk, to live life in a new way.
In Karen Armstrong's book The Case for God, she writes that the "type of wisdom that Socrates offered was not gained by acquiring items of knowledge but by learning to be in a different way," so that "the important thing was not the solution to a problem but the path that people traveled in search of it." (Armstrong, page 62)
Institutional Christians today have a problem . . . well, we really have more than one. We also have opportunities, new possibilities to grow faithfully and to be the people God created us to be.
Perhaps instead of wringing our hands or jumping to solutions, we should start walking. As Christians seeking to follow Jesus, what is the path that we are being invited to follow toward new life and vitality?
