Below is an excerpt from my book, The Unintentional Interim: Ministry in Times of Transition.
I read a lot of articles about the decline of the church. The fact that you are reading this book signals that perhaps you have as well. I have lost count of how many words I have read about the future of American Christianity over the years. Numbers are down all over the place. Churches are closing, denominations shrinking, institutions dwindling.
Of course, everyone has their own theory, their own single root factor, to explain why things are progressing the way that they are. People don’t gather in formal groups the way they used to. Religious pluralism and an appreciation for multiple viewpoints has been on the rise. Many are more interested in being “spiritual but not religious,” “none,” or “done.” It’s the fault of this or that generation. People have more options for things to do on Sunday mornings and would rather do any of them. The church has strayed from the One True Faith as defined by the person who wrote the piece. These are some of the most common explanations I’ve read in recent times.
Despite their dire subject matter, a fair number of these analyses do tend to have a hopeful tone to them. The decline of the church as an institution is good news, many of them say, because it means we can finally get back to really being the church. No more Constantinian comfort and privilege keeping us from truly following Jesus and helping others! We’re entering an exciting and bold new day where the old paradigms are finally passing away and something wonderful and more authentic will take its place. These articles celebrate what is happening, because it means an overdue shedding of heavy baggage in favor of something lighter, nimbler, and more in tune with the rest of the culture.
The national headquarters of my denomination, the United Church of Christ, recently moved from one location to another in downtown Cleveland. In the former space, the UCC owned the entire building, whereas now it rents a floor in a building owned by someone else. When it was in its previous space, I only ever visited a handful of times despite living relatively close by. Whenever I did have the chance to visit, I always made it a point to stop in to see the sanctuary space on the ground floor known as the Amistad Chapel.
The chapel was a beautiful space, very modern yet tasteful. The communion table rested in the center, a deliberate focal point and embodied theological statement about sacred community. It housed two organs, one a larger Hammond and the other a more modest Bedient. Distributed around the room were artwork, candles, and hymnals, among other sacred artifacts and worship aids. When a team within the national setting announced its plans to place the building on the market and seek a smaller office footprint, I and many others across the denomination wondered about what would happen to the chapel. I’d think about its original purpose of being a sacred place in the middle of a bustling downtown area, and about the possibility of its no longer being there. One may rightfully argue that the sidewalk outside can be just as sacred, just as infused with God’s presence as the polished room that overlooks it.
Nevertheless, those concerned for the chapel naturally wondered where the organs, paintings, worship books, and all the rest would end up if and when the national setting changed its address. Where would everything go? Would these pieces help bless others, helping to remind them of God’s presence in their lives?
People ask these same sorts of questions whenever a church closes. That organ that led our singing for a hundred years, that sanctuary in which generations were baptized, married, and commended to God, those classrooms in which questions were asked, that office where pastors provided counsel . . .all now gone. Maybe the building will be razed for condominiums or given to a new congregation or just sit dormant until it collapses, an empty reminder of times past.
Church members ask this about situations with lower stakes as well. If our choir, now dwindled to a half dozen tired people, disbands, what will happen to the state of our music ministry? If a long-established Bible study group stops meeting, what will happen to our faith formation opportunities? When a beloved pastor leaves, will the next one keep doing the things we liked about the last one?
We’re allowed to grieve the inevitable changes that happen in a congregation’s life. In fact, many will need to. We are certainly called into a new future as disciples and as faith communities, but, as with any type of loss, many will not be able simply to barrel forward in joy and thanksgiving. There are lingering emotions that we must be allowed to recognize and that we should affirm in one another. We can’t be what we were, but we can be sad, and admit our sadness, before moving into what God wants us to do next.
The Unintentional Interim is available at The Pilgrim Press, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and elsewhere.
