Who Do You Think You Are?

I don't mean to glibly drag things out of the comments and make posts of them, but something cervantest said (of course) caught my eye, for more reasons than one:

One of the difficult things to manage about American national identity is that pluralism has to be at the center of it in order for it to work. If we are to be unified at all, it is around the principle of diversity. E Pluribus Unum. A lot of people, it seems, have a hard time getting that.

The problem is, "diversity" has to be understood as a search for meaning. Who am I, if I'm not you? This problem can be understood in terms of sociology (in which I have no expertise; but I read a book once....which is where I get the terms I'm about to use). Put simply, and in the context in which I encountered it, it's the problem of joining the Church of Belonging, or the Church of Meaning and Belonging.

The first you join by accepting the principles of the group, principles which are given to you and by which you are to abide. This is, in fact, the usual view of church many have who either (a) have no experience of church, or (b) had a bad experience of church, or just rejected it after childhood.

The other church, the "Church of Meaning and Belonging," doesn't give you a ready made list of what to believe and how to believe it. Going back to my "tent" analogy, this church provides the basic structure for you, but leaves it to you to decide what you do with it, how much of it you accept, etc. Let me try to give you an example:

I attend an Episcopal church, now, and it's very "high" church, the stereotype, in some ways, of an alienating space to the uninitiated. There is a procession and recession with two crucifixes, a Eucharist served to those kneeling at the rail of the sanctuary (the area around the altar), kneeling benches, people who enter, cross themselves, bow toward the altar before entering or leaving the pews, etc., etc. And yet it is the most welcoming church I have ever attended. No one notices that I don't cross myself reflexively, or bow, or even where I sit. No one even seems to care if I come or not, although they are always glad to see me. The liturgy always runs over an hour, but no one seems to mind.

I have attended churches where you don't sit in certain pews, because you are taking someone's "place," and where, if you don't do things "the way we've always done them," you are in trouble. Of course, the "tradition" there is peculiar to the congregation, not to the denomination. And it is rigidly enforced by the "true powers" of the congregation. Needless to say, such churches are never welcoming, and are usually dwindling, rapidly, into a handful of tired old people who seem to come on Sunday out of habit, and who want to leave promptly at the end of an hour (although where they have to be has always been a mystery to me).

In the latter, meaning is supplied by rigid adherence to "tradition," which is tightly controlled by a handful. In the former, meaning is supplied by you; fit it into the context of the denomination as you can. I have, indeed, met more liberal members in that church, than some of my seminary professors (who were members, some of them, of the Jesus Seminar).

It's a matter, you see, of what unites you. If it is not something from "outside" the community, which provides the structure for you, then you have to invent it yourself. Invention is hard for most people; they shy away from the existential effort. They simply want to belong, and be left alone otherwise. Diversity, for example, means I have to find meaning in your difference from me. And that's hard work. Better to just quash your difference (or ignore it all together) and praise "our" sameness. This is the divide in the country now: between those who want to be in the Church of Belonging, and those who want to be in the Church of Meaning and Belonging. We all want to be Americans: but what kind of Americans?

It's easier to belong, than to search for meaning.

His Darker Materials

NPR

Pullman says he hopes his book will send readers back to one of the other versions of this story: the Bible. He believes they might be surprised by some of the inconsistencies they find there.

First, I want to say: what's the problem with inconsistencies? Why do all atheists (Pullman is a very public atheist, I'm not picking on "non-believers" here) think inconsistencies in the Biblical narratives will suddenly make all believers over into non-believers? Is it because a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds? Is it because all atheists presume all believers are merely dupes and fools and poor, pitiful folk clinging to nonsense and fictions in extremis?

"Think of a sick man wracked with pain and fear. Think of a dying woman terrified by the coming darkness. there will be hands reaching out to comfort them and feed them and warm them."

Which is just so insulting and simplistic and ignorant it should be passed over without further comment. But then Pullman says this, too:

The Jesus who emerges from this story is a real person, a man ... a man of strength and conviction with a gift for story telling ...

"This story," of course, is his novel, one which "he hopes his book will send readers back to one of the other versions of this story: the Bible," wherein they will find those dreadful contradictions that will surely shatter their complacency and religious feelings.

I am first to agree that too many Christians in churches are merely baptized heathens. I remember the church member of my first church who, after three months of my sermons, told me he'd read the Bible in his youth, and knew all he needed to know about it, and didn't need to hear any more from it from the pulpit. So I'm not naive about Biblical illiteracy among "the faithful," and I daresay pointing out the contradictions in the Biblical stories (as I've said before, the nativity stories of Luke and Matthew are literally irreconcilable, yet we reconcile them every Christmas by overlooking the contradictions) will get a pastor in some hot water, at least. But you know, somehow that hasn't made me an atheist, or made any church members I knew or know now, into atheists. And I think if people were to "return to the Bible" they'd see that Jesus is "a real person, a man ... a man of strength and conviction with a gift for story telling." And if the Church is not teaching Jesus that way, then the fault is with the Church, although it's also with the people, who crowd the mega-church of Joel Osteen to hear about how God wants them to be rich (the Church of Meaning and Belonging), and flee the church that requires too much of them (the Church of Sacrifice for Meaning and Belonging) (those two terms being explained here). And that fact makes me a little weary of those who would "reform" believers or even make them over into non-believers by getting them to separate from that "stranger" the Church. It's a voluntary organization, and it is what its members want it to be; and the idea that all it is, is a comforting fiction whispered in the ears of the vulnerable, well....that suggestion is just beyond ridiculous:

"My church comforts the sick and the dying. My church feeds the hungry. What does your church do? Oh, that's right, you don't have a church!"

I guess I'm saying I love these people on the outside looking in who think the exterior view is enough to make them experts on what I can't understand from the inside.

Feh.

I'd also argue that the inconsistencies are good things! Especially the ones in the parables! But that gets us back to the Church of Meaning and Belonging, v. the Church of Sacrifice for Meaning and Belonging. The distinction between them, though, can't be seen from the outside; and the view from the outside is the only view critics like Pullman have.

In the immortal words of Nigel Molesworth: "He is utterly wet and a weed. I discard him."

The Church Militant v. The Kingdom of God

The church militant is seldom the church triumphant unless it has the power of the state behind it and so can compel membership to stay with it. This, ultimately, was the failure of the Roman Catholic church in response to the challenge of Martin Luther, who was protected by powerful men in Germany from the militant power of the Church, which at one point wanted him dead.

But that power doesn’t exist at all today, and every church, the more strident it gets, is reminded that its membership rolls are comprised entirely of volunteers, and that what holds a group together is not their enemy, but their common purpose.

The SBC and the UCC are figuring that out again.

After purging liberals from their ranks, Southern Baptist conservatives who won control of their denomination are now taking aim at each other.

The Rev. Wade Burleson, a Baptist leader from Oklahoma, says fellow conservatives who crusaded to only elect leaders who believe the Bible is literally true are carrying their campaign too far, targeting Southern Baptists who disagree with them on other issues.

These leaders, he wrote on his blog, are "following the same battle plan conservatives used to defeat liberalism," and have started a "war" for the future of the SBC.

And what is it about? It is, of course, about boundaries:

"The Southern Baptist leadership is so ideologically driven that it's almost impossible for them not to continually draw lines and narrow the boundaries," [the Rev. Bill Leonard, dean of Wake Forest Divinity School in North Carolina] said. "In the early stages, this was publicly evident with the moderates and liberals. Now, when the convention meets annually in June, you wonder who they're going to throw out this year. There's always somebody."

The overall danger in this analysis is the focus on numbers, of course. Church is not about how many people you put in the pews. But there is the Church Ideally, and the Church Really, and every pastor knows it.

Every pastor also knows that, when it comes to a fight in the church, there are no winners, only losers. Every one ends up wounded, and institutions die from those wounds. Only the most egotistical of pastors stay and fight when it is their ministry on the line in the congregation. They stay, and fight, and the church loses, and the wounds inflicted almost never heal.

The Southern Baptist Convention has learned that having an enemy to fight gives the leaders of the fight tremendous power, but it is like fire that burns through wood: pretty soon the fire burns out, and leaves nothing but ashes behind. You can pile up more wood, hoping to keep the blaze going, but it’s a futile action. An institution simply cannot continue on the basis of continually having an enemy to be opposed to. External enemies are too far away, and too soon not threatening enough. Internal enemies are too few, and too soon expelled. And then you start to eat your young.

When the church is all about power politics, the church loses.

When the church insists that the first shall be last, and the last first, the church becomes truly the church; but aye, there’s the rub! When the church preaches humility, it becomes the Church of Sacrifice for Meaning and Belonging, and few are willing to join that church. Better to be the Church of Meaning and Belonging; and the shortest distance between that goal and the present, is to find an enemy.
But that enemy is soon burned up. And you are back to the fight among members, the fight for a new identity, and since fighting is the only identity source they know, fighting is what they will do.

And that's the other thing a pastor learns early in his ministry: nobody joins a church in order to fight. The people who do, are precisely the people you don't want in their church. Because the moment they run out of enemies, they create them. They turn on you, and the congregation. People who love nothing more than a good fight, love nothing more than a good fight. They are the person on fire, but to that person, the whole world looks like wood.

Or a place to practice the tolerance of intolerance:

CLEVELAND, Jan. 19 - Leaders of the 1.3- million-member United Church of Christ are reporting mixed statistical and financial outcomes -- both positive and negative -- during the six-month period that followed its General Synod's controversial decision to affirm support for same-gender marriage equality.

Since July, about 49 churches -- or less than one percent of the UCC's 5,725 churches -- have voted to disaffiliate, according to the denomination's research office. Most, but not all, of the departures appear related to disagreement with the marriage- equality resolution.

Bland statistics hide the bitter reality of this fight. The UCC has a very peculiar polity, one which has lead to an almost absolute division between General Synod and Cleveland (where the UCC offices are), and the local congregations. Resolutions of Synod are not binding on the local church, but that freedom from restraint works both ways, and Synod is often far ahead of, or even far apart from, the local church on many social justice issues. It isn't a matter of social justice so much as it is a matter of pastoral care. As a UCC pastor I had to deal with a family whose only son had been shot to death in a robbery. They learned that the church they had been raised in officially opposed the death penalty, from reading the back of a UCC published church bulletin. The shock and pain was so great for them they left the church, and I don't know if they ever returned.

Freedom is not only "another word for nothing left to lose."

While officially tolerant of different points of view, I know from experience that Associations and Conferences (the sub-groupings of the UCC) put tremendous pressure on pastors (the only group they can pressure) to get their churches to accept the more highly publicized resolutions of Synod, such as ordination of homosexuals to the ministry, and now, gay marriage. Churches which disagree with these positions find their voices ignored and their pastors find themselves between their autonomous congregations (such is the polity of the UCC) and the Conference Minister who has the power to make their move to a new church in the future pleasant, or almost impossible.

To the man with a hammer, the whole world looks like a nail. Which means hammering out justice is not the simple matter it often appears to be.

So the church mlitant is seldom the church triumphant, because the church militant is seldom the church of Jesus of Nazareth. There is nothing militant about an empire, a basiliea tou theou, in which the first are last, and the last first; a kingdom that is announced not by being angry with the way it is presented in the media and reacts as the world would react, but a church that teaches you go to the extra mile, turn the other cheek, offer the coat off your back, and share your food with those who don't have any, without asking into their moral status, their religious beliefs, their personal behavior, or their political opinions.

The biggest problem with being the church is that you cannot define yourself by your enemies, or even by the enemies your actions create. You have to define yourself by God. And that will leave you neither militant, nor triumphant; but merely humbled.

Ecclesiology and Sociology

[moving on up]

This is a long excerpt from a paper I wrote for my Association, a few years ago. The original paper was about the local UCC churches in Houston. I have removed that material, and left the "core" ecclesiological part. Ecclesiology through a sociological lens may seem odd to laypersons, but that is precisely how it is taught in seminary. In fact, I'm probably more pneumatological in my ecclesiology than my professors would be comfortable with.

Take this as groundwork and a beginning point for discussion. The "headlines" were part of the original paper. I had to scan this (lost the original computer file) so there may still be some "weird" symbols where letters should be. As I find any more, I'll fix them. And I have deleted the footnotes, so I'm not including all the page numbers from the book that is referenced here. The link is to my post with the relevant bibliographical information.

MEANING AND BELONGING
Emerson and Smith conducted a study of congregations and their members,of churches both black and white. They focussed on the continued segregation of congregations along racial lines, limiting their study to "whites" and "African Americans." The point of interest for us is when they layout the sociological principles that apply to groups, and how those principles identify what groups do, and why they do it. The first principle identifies why people gather in groups. We start then, with this basic sociological principle: "that the human drives for meaning and belonging are necessarily realized through interaction with others, primarily in social groups. It is within the context of groups, especially religious groups, that one answers questions such as 'Who am I?', 'Why do I exist?,' 'How should I relate to others?,' and 'How do I understand tragedy...." We saw this after 9/11, when people returned to church looking for answers to what had happened to the nation, or to them personally. It's an old and well-known function of the church: to provide a meaning to life. But the principle is, we have to get this answer from a group. "No one," as Emerson and Smith note, "can opt out of commitment to some fundamental moral orientation or take a normative view 'from nowhere."

Moreover, people need "a normative and moral orientation toward life and others," which is only available from a group. As Christians we say we are called into community by the Holy Spirit, that we are called to be witnesses to God's redemptive activity in history, or we are "commissioned" by Matthew 28:18 to carry the gospel to all the world, and make disciples of all nations. But these reasons do not, as Emerson and Smith show, override basic human drives or fundamental sociological principles. So we can equally say, as Christians, that people are drawn to religious groups because they want a normative and moral orientation. To put it confessionally, it is because they want to know God, and where two or three are together, Christ is there with us.

GROUP BOUNDARIES
But even if Christ is there, we are still fallen and fallible human beings, and we gather in groups not just because of the promise of the gospel, but because it is in our nature. It is in our nature because groups provide meaning, and they provide meaning by establishing boundaries. "A group is a group, in part, by virtue of its difference from other groups; put another way, by virtue of its internal similarity." "Boundaries" are closely related to "internal similarity." We need to keep both terms in mind, but we'll handle them separately. First, 'boundaries:' "Groups must symbolize and utilize symbolic boundaries to both create and give substance to shared values and identities. So in Catholic Europe at the time of the Reformation, Protestant churches limited communion to certain Sundays in the year, simply because the Catholic Mass celebrated
the Eucharist at every worship service. "In many respects," Emerson and Smith note, "we know who we are by knowing who we are not. Thus, an ingroup always has at least one outgroup by which it creates identity. Blacks are not whites, Lutherans are not Presbyterians, evangelicals are not mainline Christians. This can also work within the congregation. A church mayor may not identify with its denomination; instead, it may identify with its history, with its traditions, an attitude often expressed by: "But, we've always done it this way!" That, too, is a source of identity, and a source of internal similarity.

The distinction is important, because denominational ties are greatly diminished these days. This is not a situation peculiar to the Houston Association or the United Church of Christ... Whether the complaint is over ordination of gays and lesbians or "liberal" theology or new forms of worship, that is fundamentally the complaint being made. It is a function of internal similarity: the larger church doesn't seem 'similar' enough to the congregation, and so the congregation objects to the identity being offered to it by the larger denomination.

SOCIAL SOLIDARITY
When, of course, what the larger denomination is stressing is tolerance, not requirement. No church can be forced to call a gay or lesbian pastor, nor can any Association be forced to ordain or give standing to such a pastor. But simply asking for the tolerance of such an idea is objectionable to some, and that is an issue of internal similarity. As Emerson and Smith note:

Groups that stress tolerance, openness to diversity, and inclusiveness, typically lack the ability to have strong comparison groups by which to define their boundaries (with the exception that they may compare themselves to groups that do draw distinct boundaries). Their boundaries are fuzzy, and they thus find it more difficult to provide meaning and belonging.

How many of us have responded with a lot of head scratching to the question: The UCC? What's that?" It's hard to say what we aren't, so it's hard to say what we are. This is not an attack on the positions of General Synod or the ministries in Cleveland. It is simply a sociological principle that deserves to be underlined here. As groups try to survive, they will try to establish boundaries and an identity against something. Some of our local churches are choosing to do that against the UCC itself (that's at least a partial explanation for the energy they devote to challenging the positions of the Conference or Cleveland). Others, however, simply stress their traditions or their history. In sociological terms, you could say they are expressing their "social solidarity:" "A group typically is said to have solidarity if its members are cohesive, working for a common purpose, and closely knit." So this works negatively as well as positively. Identity and social solidarity are essential for the group to continue to exist: "We are one in the Spirit, We are one in the Lord." But how are we one? When the larger church stresses tolerance and openness, local church identity can react negatively, insisting it's identity is in not being tolerant or open. As a man said to me once, retelling the tale of seeing my wife give money to a homeless person on the street, a tale he retold with some disgust: "There has to be a limit!" Why? Because without some limit, without some boundary, the group has no reason to exist, and soon dissolves.

Now this is one point where the advocates of "contemporary worship" and "social justice" run up against the "traditionalists." I don't mean to enter the fray of the "worship wars" here, or the controversy over pronouncements ftom General Synod. I simply want to point out a friction point that gets lost in the fray. A congregation bases it's identity in part on social solidarity. There is a great deal behind the statement ''we have always done it this way," and part of that is the cohesion, common purpose, and close-knit ties, of the group. Worship, for example, provides cohesion, continuity, identity. Change worship, and you change who the congregation is. Change worship, and you threaten the common purpose of the congregation. Change worship and drive someone away, and you threaten the ties of the congregation; you unravel the "close knit" identity of the people. Change, of course, can come in many forms: contemporary hymns, ''praise choruses," or simply a change in preaching style. Pastors in seminary now are not taught the homiletics (art and practice of preaching) that our retiring Houston Association pastors were taught, and that change alone can be disconcerting to a congregation. So this isn't simply an issue of "contemporary worship," it can be as simple an issue as what the pastor chooses to preach about. If the pastor does not contribute to the cohesion of the congregation, if the pastor leads the congregation toward working for a different "common purpose," if the pastor threatens the close-knit ties of the congregation, the pastor threatens the social identity of the congregation.

Which doesn't mean every pastor is a threat to every congregation. But the changes can be as subtle as the sermons, or as vast as introducing a "contemporary worship" service. What we have to understand is that these changes occur whenever there is a change in pastoral leadership, and the question of how congregations react to these changes is one we have to consider carefully.

Another aspect of social solidarity is directly related to my theme here, and that is age. More specifically, generations and aging. Congregations that age together can also solidify their identity around their age, their traditions, their local history. Change comes, inevitably. Social solidarity is a way of dealing with change, but sometimes it is a negative rather than a positive. Cohesion can form around a common theme, or it can form around shared experiences. The former can leave the group open to new members who share the same enthusiasm; the latter obviously builds on exclusion, because only those who have shared the experiences can share the identity. So it is not uncommon in a church for one group of people to "own" the Christmas decorations, or the Easter brunch, or be responsible for an annual church event which must be done in a certain manner. When the group begins to identify around such events or possessions, it automatically limits membership in the group and, as the group ages, the tendency to circle around the common experience becomes more and more important. So as congregations age, the groups get smaller and smaller, as well as tighter and tighter. As well as ever more exclusive.

Sociologists explain that "social solidarity increases as members' private resources contributed to group ends increase. In other words, as you contribute to your marriage, the marriage is strengthened. But just like a marriage, social solidarity can exclude others from contributing, and the group ends can change over time. What may have started as a group end promoting the worship of God, becomes a group end of promoting the life of the institution. The group end becomes not worship and service to God, but the survival of the institution, the group itself There is a sociological reason for this too, (naturally): "If a group is to achieve solidarity necessary for the survival of a volunteer group, it's primary purpose cannot be to do something outside the group, but rather to create something within the group, as in the case of married couples.". Every group, in other words, functions like a married couple, where the first importance is the group itself. So we see that social solidarity is a two-edged sword: it gives, but it can also take away and not always in the name of the Lord.

INTERNAL HOMOGENEITY
Now that leads to another principle that has to do with group function. Groups that are internally similar are less "costly" than groups that are internally dissimilar. In other words, birds ofa feather flock together. It's simply easier to be in a group of like-minded people than to be in a diverse group; and the more diverse the group, the harder it is for the group to stay together. Emerson and Smith describe this as "internal homogeneity."

The key generalization is this: the cost of producing meaning, belonging, and security in internally diverse congregations is usually much greaterbecause of the increased complexity of demands, needs, and backgrounds, and the increased effort necessary to create social solidarity and group identity, and the greater potential for internal conflict. Thus, internally homogenous congregations more often provide what draws people to religious groups/or lower costs than do internally diverse congregations. This is another reason why congregations tend toward
internal homogeneity. (emphasis in original)

There is an important point there, and one we need to stop and consider. That [bold] text seems to be aimed at evangelism efforts: that is, a happy congregation draws more people to it than an unhappy one. But turn it around, too: internally diverse congregations, that is, congregations with different people looking for different benefits from being part of the group, tend to lose people until only those of similar outlook are left. This explains the fracturing of Protestantism into so many denominations and non-denominational churches: but it also explains the loss of so many "young people" from churches in the 1960's and 1970's. Try today, for example, to minister to a church where some people remember ridmg in a horse and buggy, and others remember nothing earlier than MTV or perhaps the Internet. It isn't that it can't be done, but that dissimilarity alone exacts a high "cost," and other factors have to be equal to lower that cost to the point where the young will continue to worship with the old. But, as we saw in the '60's (my generation) and the '70's, it became easier for young people to leave than to stay.

While broad changes in society made that happen, one key reason for the departure was that the congregations were less and less internally homogenous. Young people simply saw the world differently from their parents; were, in fact, raised in an entirely different world. All but a few of our Houston Association churches are in urban settings now.

Only a generation ago, almost all of them were in rural settings. That change reflects the change in Texas in general in a generation, but those who grew up in rural areas are not going to have social solidarity with those who grew up in urban areas. The backgrounds, the needs, the expectations, of each group, are going to create greater potential for internal conflict, and make the effort to create social solidarity and group identity that much harder. In fact, it largely failed, which is why so many of our Houston Association churches have more people over 50 than under 50 in the pews on Sunday morning.

STATUS QUO BIAS
Birds of a feather flock together. As soon as the young people of the '60's found they could flock in another place ftom their parents and grand-parents, they did. Not surprisingly, the fact that people "generally prefer to be with people like themselves" is also a basic sociological principle. I mention that only to assure you we have not wandered off into the realm of personal opinion or anecdotal experience. "Studies find that status similarity among ffiends is high, especially for characteristics like race, sex, and age. That last characteristic is key. People tend to join groups, and stay in groups, with similar characteristics to themselves. We tend to divide, in other words, along generational lines. "Given the choice," Emerson and Smith note, ''people tend to choose what they already have. Which means they tend toward inertia, not toward change. "Cognitive psychologists call this the status-quo bias. The status-quo bias is the tendency of people to stick with what they have, even if gains could be made by selecting an alternative. That is, the choices people make vary depending on where they make them. Researchers attribute this tendency to 'loss aversion.' Loss aversion means that, given a person's reference point, the prospect of losses weighs more heavily than that offoregone gains.,,18 Young people, with less to lose, will more easily choose another group, another congregation, while the older people, with more invested in the status-quo, are averse to the possibility of loss. While they may lose the young people ftom their congregation, they don't lose the status quo they are most comfortable with. That is taken away ftom them by mortality, but not by their choosing. Congregations, in other words, will tend not to choose those things that might keep young people attending and supporting the church, even if they can be convinced it is for the best.

ETHICAL PARADOX OF GROUP LOYALTY
Ironically, the next point comes ftom the work of a UCC theologian, Reinhold Niebuhr. The insight is Emerson and Smith's, not mine. They note a paradox, one they call ''the ethical paradox of group loyalty:" "the paradox is that even if made up of loving, unselfish individuals, the group transmutes individual unselfishness into group selfishness. They develop this insight ftom Niebuhr's Moral Man and Immoral Society. While individuals should be unselfish, Niebuhr argued, societies (or groups) cannot afford to be. Part of the reason is the principles we've outlined above: the need for group identity, for boundaries, for social solidarity and internal homogeneity, is inherently selfish at some level. If the group is to survive, it has to act in its own best interests eventually, or simply go out of existence. The group cannot act unselfishly because it cannot presume to act on behalf of its' members against their interests. It cannot presume their agreement or acquiescence where group action might endanger the
survival of the group.

At the individual level [Emerson and Smith note], selfishness is usually
considered negative, but at the group level, it is considered moral and just. Indeed, at the group level, it is not called selfishness, but morality, service, sacrifice, or loyalty. Although we are selfish if we always look out for our own individual needs first it is considered wrong and immoral if we do not consider the needs of our family first, ahead of other families. We house our families first, and only if we can spare extra do we help house other families. To do otherwise is considered immoral or, at a minimum, a sad case of misplaced priorities.

The story of Elijah and the widow notwithstanding.

The paradox means that "members of a group cannot understand and feel the needs of another group as completely and deeply as those of their own group," so "reliance on love, compassion, and moral and rational suasion to overcome group divisions and inequalities is, in Niebuhr's words, 'practically an impossibility.'

For this reason, relations between groups are always mainly political rather than ethical or moral. As Niebuhr says, "They will always be determined by the proportion of power which each group possesses atleast as much as by any rational and moral appraisal of the comparative needs and claims of each group.

Anyone who has ever been caught in a struggle in a congregation knows this is true. "Groups" here can mean within the congregation, not just the group of the congregation itself. The struggle is always one of power, not ethics or morals. The group with the power and/or authority to enforce its vision is the group that prevails; and it prevails purely in terms of power, not of ethics. There is no ethical basis for who gets to decide how the Christmas decorations are handled, or what time worship will start, or how an annual church event is conducted. The discussion is never even along those lines. It is a matter of who is in charge, not what is right or wrong. The pastor may be expected to appeal to "love, compassion, and moral and rational suasion" to settle the issue; but the pastor seldom prevails on those points; at best, she wins a postponement of the conflict,not a serious resolution. So the paradox explains the inability of groups even within a congregation to function together, an inability that tends to sharpen as the "generation gap" widens. And that gap widens not as determined by the disparity in ages between people, but the disparity in numbers of people in the group ofa similar age.

THE PROXIMITY PRINCIPLE
As congregations age, another problem sets in that insures they will continue to
age, and to shrink: the problem of social networks, or what Emerson and Smith call the "proximity principle:"

We have to meet people to form relationships with them. Therefore, our relationships form within groups. We rarely become connected with a person from another part of our community unless we meet in organized group activity. As research demonstrates, much of the reason people's networks consist of people so similar to themselves is due to the homogenous nature of their social groups As a group becomes more central for its members, its members more often find friendship within the group.

And as the group becomes more and more the source of friendships, the groups becomes more and more tightly knit. Good for the group; bad for church growth. Newcomers need not apply. But note this is not necessarily because they are not welcome. The congregation can have the most sincere interest in ''new members." But it will not act sincerely on that interest. Instead, it will follow the path of least cost; and that path will mean reinforcing and sustaining the friendships that already exist, rather than trying to forge new friendships. As the group becomes more central for its members, the members find friendship within the group. The only time they wi11look outside the group, is when the newcomers closely resemble the friends already within the group.

...

THE CHURCH OF MEANING AND BELONGING V. THE CHURCH OF SACRIFICE FOR MEANING AND BELONGING
By this point you are beginning to consider a response something like, "yes,
but. . .." These are, after all, generalizations. And we are, after all, dealing with the church, an institution that is supposed to change hearts and minds, to release us to a new life, to make us better than we are or help us to follow our better, rather than our selfish, nature. And I have to answer "yes, but"

[T]he organization of American religion encourages religious groups to cater to people's existing preferences, rather than their ideal callings. In trying to create meaning and belonging, even to teach religious truths.. .religious leaders must act within a limited range shaped by the social location of their congregation. The congregation often looks to religion not as an external force that places radical demands on their lives, but rather as a way to fulfIll their needs Ifwe accept the oftentimes reasonable proposition that most people seek the greatest benefit for the least cost, they will seek meaning and belonging within the least change possible. Thus, if they can go to either the Church of Meaning and Belonging, or the Church of Sacrifice for Meaning and Belonging, most people choose the former. It provides benefit for the least cost [A]a seminary professor Charles Thomas, Jr. has summarized, "In practice congregation members expect the minister to do nothing (such as taking a prophetic voice) which would interfere with the harmony and growth of the membership.

It seems a relatively benign thing, telling a church what it must do if it wants to grow; especially if that church has evidenced interest in the prospect. After all, the Conference Minister and the church at large and articles and books pour forth urging mainline Protestant denominations to reclaim their place at the center of the community, to "reach out" and "invite" new members. "Church growth" seems to be the reason churches exist. Pastors are encouraged to lead "mega-churches" and evangelism has become a synonym for adding to the church rolls. It is no surprise, then, that almost all of our churches in the Houston Association, including those who have released their pastors recently, agree that one of their most important missions is church growth. But it is not so benign as it seems. Church growth first means change. A pastor who urges a church to act to invite and include new members is a pastor demanding that the congregation do things it has never done before. She is soon heard speaking in a "prophetic voice" that says, quite simply, everything you know is wrong. Our churches, especially our oldest churches and the ones in the most trouble, all grew through family connections. Members were born into the churches, or married into them. Those that experienced growth in other ways benefited :trom the "suburb" phenomenon: newcomers flocked to the church of their peers. But then those newcomers left again, moved on, as people in suburbs are wont do to, and those left behind simply got older, and the congregation as a whole became less attractive to the neighborhood around them, less visible in the community, until they vanished altogether. Why didn't those churches attract new members? They didn't know how. The era of church growth coincided with the return of soldiers :trom World War II. People flocked to churches in a tidal wave of church attendance. And just as the tide went in, it went out again. The churches (across the country) did nothing to bring those people in, and did nothing when they left again. They didn't know how to. It wasn't in their culture.

And now we face a 'post-denominational" America. People used to attend the church they were raised in. But now we have a whole generation which was not raised in church, because their parents left church as teenagers, and never looked back. Now churches have to "advertise," to "reach out," to tell people they exist, are open, are welcoming. Relying on location and a building with a steeple is not enough anymore. I know of one church in Houston, on a busy street, with a large, prominent sanctuary, which many would consider highly visible. But two different residents of the neighborhood around that church told me, on separate occasions, that they drove past the building for years on a daily basis and never noticed it. Church buildings are now as much of the visual clutter of our streets as telephone poles and billboards. We just don't look at them. Where once it took an effort not to go to church, now the effort is to get people to cross the threshold. Faced with this change in society, most churches haven't themselves changed to be more inviting, to find ways to ask those people in.

"It's Money that Matters...."

I started this rant over at Eschaton, but realized it was something I wanted to say something about, even though it is very "inside baseball." It began with this, from Professor Wombat:

That's why docs tend to circle the wagons rather than welcome the outside world. It's sad, really. They isolate themselves. And that's not why the best of them went into medicine, and that's not what most people want in a doctor.

Sadly, this analysis is not limited to doctors. It has become a commonplace of caregivers (and perhaps this is where it can be universalized) that money is what matters in the relationship; that price and value and cost and expense, have come to rule everything in ways that are absolutely shredding some of the fabric of our society. In short, we really do put profits above people; and, as much as we deny it, we continue to do it.

I know from my own experience that Protestant ministers face the same pressures as doctors. As their congregations shrink, their denominations, through whatever judicatory they have, press the pastors for more money (which aging churches cannot produce, for obvious reasons). This presses the pastors, who feel they must "compete" for parishioners. This pressure comes not just from the judicatories, but from the congregation as well, and from the culture.

The "mega-church" is, everyone "knows," the new model for the institution of the church. It is the sign of the "new Reformation" that even the most traditional Protestants think we have to embrace if "church" is to survive. (I have a good friend who is wiser than this. A pastor since he graduated seminary, at the same time I took my first graduate degree, he knows the future of the church is in congregations, not in judicatories or "mega-churches." He counts the number of such churches he has seen rise and fall in his time in ministry; while the small churches he pastors continue year after year, decade after decade, and sometimes past the century mark). It is well known, at least among church professionals, that mega-churches lose as many members as they attract; that the reason they spend so much on billboards and TV ads and broadcast, is that they need the money coming in from fresh pockets to pay for the billboards and the TV ads and the broadcasts. It's a vicious circle, but a profitable one, at least for a few.

But I was speaking of the isolation of the pastor: faced with the decline of congregations, and the likelihood that her church is dominated by people of retirement age, such churches face a "generation gap," an idea society left behind in the '60's, but one the churches continue to struggle with. When Mom and Dad still want to dominate and control "their" church, their children tend to leave church, or find another church. The younger church may or may not thrive financially (the "builder" generation is known for its generosity; the "boomer" generation for its stinginess), but both lose a great deal from the division. Some pastors are permitted to straddle that divide; some are not. And still the judicatory wants the money.

And so pastors wind up isolated. Their "work" is measured more and more by how many programs they implement, how many members they visit in homes and hospitals, how often they are at church when the doors are opened. Time to work with pastoral colleagues is limited; and every pastor has her hands full with the needs, demands, worries, and pressures of her congregation. Which is not thriving; or is not thriving enough; or is thriving too much. One of the problems of modern society is the breakdown of community, a situation T.S Eliot identified in the 1920's (in the "Choruses from 'The Rock'"), so it isn't new. But with that breakdown, the pressure is on the church to provide "community" where neighborhoods and cities don't, any longer. And it is a burden that falls, more and more, on the pastor. Who must keep the institution alive, keep it thriving, or surely be blamed for its struggle.

Because the only model for church now, is the business model: new members = "success." Falling membership = "failure." Whether or not the members actually give money is not even important; whether or not they come to church is often not even important (too many new faces! too many new people!). In fact, if money is a problem, that's the pastors fault, too. Her "job" is to inspire the congregation to give. If they don't feel so moved, why should they feel responsible? Which further isolates the pastor, until he becomes a football coaches without a football teams (because everybody wants to sit in the stands, nobody wants to play the game; they'd all rather watch you play).

Sociologist describe this as a group phenomenon: it takes less energy to be a member of the Church of Belonging than to be a member of the Church of Meaning and Belonging. Being social creatures, belonging obviously pays easy dividends to us; but belonging only if we acquire meaning requires effort, and quickly becomes too much effort. Far easier to belong, than to mean.

So pastors go into ministry because of meaning; but find the institution is all about belonging. They go into ministry to be part of the world, and find out the congregation is only interested in preserving their own bell-jar world. These things are not always or wholly true, but they are true enough, and wide-spread enough to be accurate. And the pressure now, more and more, comes from money. Churches are always a reflection of their culture, and American culture is all about money, and not much about anything else. Why can't we care for our elderly and retired? Money? Why can't we provide adequate healthcare to all? Money? Why do politicians hold onto office for a lifetime? Money. Are churches about bearing witness to the good news and being places of comfort and community to anyone who enters? Or are they about money?

Some questions answer themselves.*


*no, it isn't this simple, and yes, concluding that way is satisfying, but a cheap shot; and yes, there are remedies. But the problem lies in the culture, not just in the institutions. Consider this an opening toward developing a further line of discussion.

The End of Christendom?

And now you live dispersed on ribbon roads,
And no man knows or cares who is his neighbour
Unless his neighbour makes too much disturbance,
But all dash to and fro in motor cars,
Familiar with the roads and settled nowhere--T.S. Eliot

Eliot captured the post-war situation with astonishing prescience. The shift from close community to scattered was already underway by World War II. After that war it caught on in a newly prosperous America with a vengeance. And it dispersed not just communities, but families; which meant it dispersed churches.

It didn't seem so at first. Church attendance in America following World War II set record highs. The percentage of the population which attended church rose to levels literally never seen before in America. It's popularly considered that the levels simply went back up to what they had been in some near, or distant, past. But studies showed the church attendance was actually higher, and has never been remarkably high in America.

And now, as Juan Cole (who is, for my purposes, simply a convenient source for numbers on this) points out, the number of people who even consider themselves Christian in America, is on the decline. Far from being the dominant religion in society, Christianity is on the way to being marginalized. Although it is still a long way from that problem. Still, it is no longer a "Protestant" culture; and that is the issue.

Protestantism, far more than Roman Catholicism, depended on the culture for its identity. Luther's reforms caught the fancy of German princes feeling their power and a new sense of inependence. As Protestantism spread, it took on the aspects of the culture it spread too: "dour" Scots took to Calvinistic Presbyterianism, while Norwegians and Swedes took to Lutheranism. A broad brush view, to be sure, but the essentials of each culture shaped the church it took on and made its own. Thus we had "Christendom," as criticized by Soren Kierkegaard; where one is simply born into a church, and no spiritual, or indeed even religious, conviction seems necessary.

And it wasn't, because the culture held the church together. But when that culture changes, when the homogeneity of the neighborhood and the community is changed, what then? When not everyone goes to church at the same hour on Sunday morning, and some don't go to church at all, and children gain more and more independence, the culture tha buttressed the church is no longer able to hold things together.

Social Security made some of this change possible in our day; but even the concept of "teenager" played a role. Look back in literature, and try to find the idea of "teenagers" anywhere in, say, the 19th century. A period for huge novels of sweeping scope encompassing persons in all walks of life and all ages from birth to death; and yet where does one find the modern-day "teenager"? The first reference to it I can actually think of is J.R.R. Tolkien's Frodo Baggins, who is said to be in his "tweens." And that's from a mid-20th century fantasy tale. The idea was current enough, and prevalent enough, for Tolkien to include it, if only as a sly joke, but a distinctive age of development between childhood and adulthood, is a fairly recent phenomenon. And it brought with it a new sense of autonomy; one reinforced by the changes in technology Eliot identified as so crucial.

"Teenagers" became, in the 20th century, quasi-adults. They were expected to work outside the home, to hold jobs, perhaps even to drive, if not own, a car. And that made all the difference. The family unit that travelled together on Sunday morning, could suddenly split up; physically and socially, children could claim autonomy from their parents. So at one end, the pool to draw from began to shrink; at the other end, it began to grow. And the result was the younger members of the church felt less and less inclined to participate in the life of the church, a church which suddenly found it could not change with the culture. The church could not change, because it could not adjust as rapidly to the idea that "young people" should have a voice in church affairs. As the young grew more "rebellious," or simply independent, their parents grew less inclined to release any authority to them. With their new autonom, then, they just left. They abandoned church altogether.

And when they returned, often as adults with children, they returned to the church they had left as teenagers, with the same people still firmly in charge, because the generations started living longer and longer; and never gave up their reluctance to let go of church power. But the reluctance was not just a hunger for power; it was a sense of loss, too. The culture that had supported the Protestant church for so long, was gone. Gone were the blue laws that kept stores closed on Sunday; gone for were 40 hour work weeks that left spare time for church softball teams and Wednesday night activities, and leisurely Sunday afternoons. Gone, too, was the notion that church was important simply because it was important, or because of some social (or even religious, though rarely) duty. Gone from the world, but not necessarily from the church.

And so churches adapted: either they became "contemporary" in their worship, and tried to compete with the entertainment industry the Baby Boomers had grown up with (and made possible), or they withdrew into a shell of amber, preserving "the best" of their "traditions." Except those "traditions" were often the preferences and peculiarities of a particular congregation, until "We have always done it this way!" became the only reason for keeping the church open at all.

In other words, the churches segregated along generational lines, and the generations became almost incomprehensible to each other.

These are generalizations, of course, and broad ones at that; but this is why "mega-churches" are always Protestant, and always non-denominational (or at least very congregational, that most Protestant of Protestant church forms) de facto if not de jure. The "mega-church" is a perfect reflection of modern American culture: it is loud, it is popular, and it is aimed at an audience. It's another roadside attraction, promising not so much salvation as entertainment, not so much meaning as simply belonging. And thriving not so much on what it provides, as what it promises to provide: mega-churches rise and fall on personality (the man, invariably, in the pulpit), and advertising. One of the largest and most popular here in Houston (its pastor has a best-selling book out, no less), exhibits billboards which proclaim: "We Believe in You!" Which even a militant atheist has to admit, has precious little to do with Christianity. Yet this mega-church claims to be a Christian church. Clearly is it Christianity that is being marginalized; but from the outside, the mega-church resembles our collective vision of the Church Triumphant.

Which is what most Americans of a certain generation remember: the Church Triumphant, the world after WWII when all Americans attended the (Protestant) church of their choice. And as the culture changed, that church was supposed to remain in place. But it couldn't; its culture, was the world's culture. Inexorably, the two were drawn apart, until now, they are barely on speaking terms.

This is the fate of "Christendom," which is not necessarily the fate of the Church.

More entries for the commonplace book

Now with more Niebuhr!

And apropos of this post (and to introduce a few entries from another of Niebuhr's books):

We had a great Easter service today....We received our largest class of new members into the church thus far, twenty-one in all.  Most of them had not letters from other churches and yet had been reared in some church. We received them on reaffirmation of faith.

This matter of recruiting a membership for the church is a real problem.  Even the churches which once believed a very definite conversion experience to be the sine qua non of entrance into the fellowship of the church are going in for "decision days" as they lose confidence in the traditional assumption that one can become a Christian only through a crisis experience.  But if one does not insist on that kind of experience it is not easy to set up tests of membership.  Most of these "personal evangelism" campaigns mean little more than ordinary recruiting effort with church membership rather than Christian life as the real objective.  They do not differ greatly from efforts of various clubs as they seek to expand their membership.

Of course we make "acceptance of Jesus as your savior" the real door into fellowship in the church.  But the trouble is that may mean everything or nothing.  I see no way of making the Christian fellowship unique by any series of tests which precede admission.  The only possibility lies in a winnowing process through the instrumentality of the preaching and teaching function of the church. Let them come in without great difficulty, but make it difficult for them to stay in.  The trouble with this plan is that is is always easy to load up membership with very immature Christians who will finally set the standard and make it impossible to preach and teach the gospel in its full implications.

--Reinhold Niebuhr, "1919."  Leaves from the Notebooks of a Tamed Cynic. Louisville, Kentucky:  John Knox/Westminster Press, original publication date 1929.  p. 23.

This is Reinhold Niebuhr, recording contemporaneously his experiences as a new pastor in Detroit at the beginning of the last century.  It is the conclusion that makes the point:  what is church for?  For anyone, including non-believers?  And how many of those can be allowed in before it is "impossible to preach and teach the gospel in its full implication"?  Yet I have pastored churches where that was already impossible, and no one in that congregation would admit to being an atheist.

They were more likely to label me a heretic.

"Make it difficult for them to stay"?  The only person who would find it difficult to stay in that church would be the pastor.

And I've held fast to the idea that church membership today means nothing more than the "efforts of various clubs as they seek to expand their membership."  It makes me sound terribly cynical to out-Herod Herod on this point, but it is my experience nonetheless.  I served two churches that insisted increasing membership was a necessary goal; but all they really meant was to make the club more popular, by enticing more people like them to appear on a more permanent basis.  There is comfort in numbers, but greater comfort in people like us.

But for many churches, there are fewer and fewer such people around.  Interestingly, in 1919 only about 41% of Americans considered themselves affiliated with any kind of religion.  (I use this study constantly because I find context around these issues constantly important).  So Niebuhr is contemplating an America even more different from our own, but not in the way we might imagine.  Like the church today, Niebuhr had to work with, and accept into his church fellowship, the "unchurched."  Believers, but believers who really don't want to be asked to do anything for the sake of their belief.  Should they be winnowed later?  Willow Creek Community Church uses that model, but studies have found it doesn't really lead to any greater commitment than to show up on Sunday morning for the show.  Especially in the "seeker service" that was "a pretty good show for a buck."*

Robert Wuthnow makes much of something that never seems to occur to Niebuhr:  the need for the church to raise the money it takes to continue being a church:  building, programs, employees, etc.  But is that what church is for?  Upon re-reading his book I want to introduce him to Walt Kallestad:

Walt led Community Church of Joy in Phoenix, a megachurch that had been an average congregation of 200 before he took over in the 80s and oversaw it's growth. But in 2002 he suffered a massive heart attack requiring six-way bypass surgery. The heart attack, says Walt, was a "wake up call" for the leaders to develop a succession plan to ensure the megachurch continued to thrive after Walt's tenure.

Kallestad began networking around the country looking for a young pastor he could bring onboard and eventually hand the church over to. One conversation stuck with him.

"It's a pretty good opportunity," Walt said. "We have 187 acres just off a major freeway, multipurpose buildings, and a great staff."

The leader looked him in the eyes and said, "Who'd want it? Who in their right minds would want to run that?"

"That's when it dawned on me," Kallestad reflected. "By the time we service the $12-million debt, pay the staff, and maintain the property, we've spent more than a million before we can spend a dime on our mission. At the time, we had plans for a spectacular worship center with a retractable roof. After that conversation, I scrapped it."

Making those changes, by the way, cost Kallestad 4000 church members.  I've never been even associated with a church with that many members, much less one that could lose that many and still exist as an institution.  And maybe the lesson of the Crystal Cathedral is instructive here:  when Schuller died, the church had to sell the building to the Catholic diocese just to pay its debts.*

So how do we make Christian fellowship unique?

*An old joke I picked up in seminary, about what it "costs" to attend worship on any given Sunday.

**I got carried away with this, but you can have my footnotes.  I couldn't find any numbers on the membership of CCJ, a church I had some encounter with in seminary.  According to Internet Monk, at it's height CCJ had 12,000 members.  In 2009, when it broke with the ELCA over the ordination of gays and lesbians (CCJ was agin it), they reported 6800 members, an attendance of 2500.  Where their membership is now is anybody's guess, but Internet Monk provides more information on how two megachurches decided "seeker services" weren't the alpha and omega of Christian discipleship.  We always come back to the Church of Meaning and Belonging v. the Church of Sacrifice for Meaning and Belonging.  And if I keep repeating all of this it's only because I long for a serious conversation on these topics, and the best I get is people misreading and misunderstanding the latest Pew polls.  No, I don't mean to be haughty; but damn!, the signal to noise ratio on the internet is low!

And now for something completely different....

I am about to do a new thing; even now it springs forth! Can you not perceive it?

--The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jesus

The problem is, of course, we usually can; and we don't like what we perceive. So there's a push-back. The push-back makes a lot of noise, stirs up a lot of people (or seems to), and gets a lot of other people very worried.
This is, of course, the way the Reformation worked, or so we think. This is the way the explosion of Protestantism metastisized until there are "King James Bible" Churches (I kid you not) and so many flavors of Baptist and even Presbyterian, not to mention the varieties of Pentecostalism and the cross-denominational "fundamentalists," that the array becomes simply dizzying. I once served a church which had split, many decades before, over the decision to recarpet the worship space. The departing church members set up their own church not a half-mile from the "original" church. This is the way it used to work in Protestantism: you didn't like the way things were going, you left. Episcopal polities (those with bishops, I mean, not TEC specifically) were not immune from this. Think of the Lutheran church; and the Missouri Synod Lutheran Church, and the Wisconsin Synod Lutheran Church....you get the idea.

So that's the model: Protestant churches divide like amoebas, and so churches proliferate. Except when they don't.

From my personal experience, I know of a UCC church here in Texas which left the denomination many years ago, something fairly easy to do in that congregational polity. They saw themselves as the vanguard of a number of Texas churches who would surely follow, as the UCC is very "liberal" and Texas church goers are, for the most part, famously conservative. They weren't the only ones who saw themselves as that vanguard, either; many in the UCC feared they would destroy the fragile church in this state (the majority of UCC churches in Texas are here in Houston, and I think the number here tops out at 14). But despite the best efforts of that church itself (they sent pastors full of zeal for what they hoped would be a new denomination to rural Texas churches where they were sure their seed would find fertile soil), no UCC church followed them. Oh, there are two (or were two, last time I paid attention) UCC churches in Houston which weren't happy with the UCC endorsement of gay and lesbian pastors (the UCC did that a long time ago), but I don't know that they ever really left the denomination. The church which did leave, which hoped to be the flagship of many departing churches, was the largest UCC church in its city, and one of the oldest, practically a "grandfather" church to many in the state. No one, however, felt the urge for going, and so far as I know today, their drive to establish a new, counter-UCC denomination, has petered out.

Why? Because the people in Texas really were secretly liberal? No. The church I left exploded a few years later (one church member later told me) when they tried, in desperation for a pastor, to call a lesbian. I mean no disrespect to the candidate when I say "in desperation," but I knew that congregation would never accept a gay or lesbian pastor. And, sadly, they didn't, in the ugliest way possible. Neither, however, did they try to leave the UCC. Not that there weren't grumblings when I was their pastor. The church had been an "E&R" church before the UCC was created, and one very vocal member would tell me I should put "E&R" back on the sign, because that would restore it's fallen membership. The consensus in Texas is that no one knows what "UCC" means, and if you call it "United Church of Christ," they assume it's a distaff branch of the very conservative "Church of Christ," which has a much larger presence here. But except when it involved them personally, that church never cared that much about the gay/lesbian pastor issue. Two other churches in Houston threatened to leave the UCC over the gay/lesbian pastor issue. I know at least one of them eventually went the other way, and is not "Open and Affirming," meaning the officially welcome and invite the LGBT to their church. God's love is amazing indeed.

But the question before us is: why isn't there greater energy for a schism in TEC? Because I think the effort for division is truly petering out; the vision of a new denomination is already on the skids. Fr. Jake and the Mad Priest have had posts about this recently; I'm not going to do the research to back up my assertion (I assume most of you wouldn't read the footnotes anyway). I just have a strong sense the air is rapidly departing that balloon. Why would that be?

Not because people are more liberal than we think. I think, in fact, it's an identity issue, but the issue of identity is going another way from what we've come to expect, to anticipate.

There was a time when people identified strongly with their church, their denomination; indeed, the two were one and the same. Bill Moyers tells this story, which probably sounds like every church member we know (and yet, it's never us!):

One of my favorite stories is of the fellow who was about to jump off a bridge, when another fellow ran up to him crying, “Stop, stop, don’t do it.”

The man on the bridge looks down and asks, “Why not?”

“Well, there’s much to live for.”

“What for?”

“Well, your faith. Your religion.”

“Yes?”

“Are you religious?”

“Yes.”

“Me, too. Christian or Buddhist?”

“Christian.”

“Me, too. Are you Catholic or Protestant?”

“Protestant.”

“Me, too. Methodist, Baptist or Presbyterian?”

“Baptist.”

“Me, too. Are you Baptist Church of God or Baptist Church of the Savior?”

“Baptist Church of God.”

“Me, too. Are you Original Baptist Church of God or Reformed Baptist Church of God?”

“Reformed Baptist Church of God.”

“Me, too. Are you Reformed Baptist Church of God Reformation of 1879, or Reform Baptist Church of God Reformation of 1917?”

“1917.”

Whereupon, the second fellow turned red in the face and yelled, “Die, you heretic scum,” and pushed him off the bridge.

It's a great story because it's true, right? But I think it seems true, and it isn't really true any longer. It's true for the people who want to split TEC, just as it is for the people who still want to split the UCC. Those people, however, are distinctly in the minority; and that minority is shrinking in significance and power, not growing. The persistent question is: why? And the answer is: because denomination is no longer central to our identity. And because the issue of denomination was never about theology, and always about power; it was about who got to define the theology, and how they got to do it. Now, the Reformation is often cast in the guise of power, of the Catholic hierarchy rejecting the "heresy" of Martin Luther and threatening his life, all of which happened. But Lord Acton's famous maxim, "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely," was made in response to Pope Pius IX's promulgation of the doctrine of papal infallibility, and many of the issues of power and theology we grapple with today are not the age old questions of the medieval church, but problems raised by post-Enlightenment understandings of secular and ecclesial authority. (The promulgation of the doctrine of papal infallibility, by the way, led to a split in the Roman Catholic church; I have met a priest of the "Old Catholic" church, which continues, albeit under the perception of most laypeople, to this day). Let us make it a maxim, in fact: Schisms arise from disagreements over power, not theology. Theology, after all, we can argue about. Power is not asserted by argument; and there can't be any real question which we take more seriously. After all, if theology was our primary concern, we'd have all followed the example of the Desert Fathers centuries ago.

But today; does anybody really care what denomination you are? The church judicatories do; take it from a minister, no one takes denominational identity more seriously than those whose paycheck depends on that identity. But do the laypeople care that much? They used to; they certainly used to. But ask a layperson the primary differences between a Presbyterian and a Cumberlan Presbyterian, or between a Southern Baptist and an American Baptist, or even between a Methodist and a Lutheran; see if even members of those churches can give you more than a shrug and can explain their choice of church based on more than habit or preference for the pastor or the people who gather in that building.
Does this matter? Not really; I certainly don't think it does. I'm much more concerned with the pilgrim's journey than with the finer points of the doctrine which guides that journey. Do we still push each other off the bridge depending on whether our church found the truth in 1879 or 1917? Do we even know the difference anymore? We used to; but we don't now.

So efforts at schism, at destruction and reformation and re-creation, are failing. Denominational identity is not the issue it used to be. Denominational identity is simply not the part of our social makeup that it used to be. That's part of it; the other part is, the entire issue of homosexuality is out in public now, and no rain of fire has fallen from the heavens, no collapse in civic standards has occurred; no doom has befallen us. Too many families have gay or lesbian children, and they refuse to reject those children, they are relieved, in fact, to be able to openly embrace them. Combine those two, and the screeching about the ordination of Gene Robinson and the demands for "purity" and "tradition" simply fall on deaf ears. People are not seeking a spiritual guidance and companions on the pilgrimage based on the narrower points of their denomination's doctrine. They are not so concerned with whom they associate with, not on that subject. The subject itself has simply stopped being that central to them. It is a fine wedge issue; it can still be wielded as an instrument of power in some places, as it has been used in Nigeria against Davis Mac-Iyalla; as it is being wielded against Archbishop Williams and the Primates of the Anglican Communion. It is not getting traction with the laity of The Episcopal Church, however; and I seriously doubt it will. I think the worst is over, and in this post-Christendom age the rage that was meant to divide the Church, if not destroy it, is already running out. Homosexuality was, itself, once an issue of identity. Accusing a boy of being a "faggot" made a fine school-yard taunt when I was young, mostly because we didn't really know what it meant. Now we do; we all do, and my high school student daughter accepts her friends who identify as gay or bi-sexual with an interest only in their personalities, not their sexuality. That is the future, at least in America, and it is the future for denominations like The Episcopal Church. I'm sure my daughter will always identify herself with her friends and her family long before she identifies herself with her church; which means both she and her church will benefit. Some people want to continue the divisiveness and schism that permeated Protestantism for centuries. The rest of us, however, left that behind in the 19th century, or at the latest in the early 20th century. God is about to do a new thing; can you not perceive it?

And that new thing means God is in charge, not us. Some of us like that; some of us don't. Same as it ever was. It's still the same old story; not a fight for love and glory, but a struggle to acknowledge God is sovereign, to figure out just what that means. "The peace of God, it is no peace, but strife sown in the sod." Thanks be to God, who gives us strength for the struggle.

I have some Dream Whip

Fresh from contented chemistry labs

Mitt Romney on the 50th Anniversary of Dr. King's most famous speech:

I have a dream that what made America great will make our kids great. That superb schools, inspired churches, and parents that put their kids above everything else will lift our children and preserve the greatness of America.

I'm guessing these are not the "inspired churches" he's thinking of:

I had hoped that the white moderate would see this need. Perhaps I was too optimistic; perhaps I expected too much. I suppose I should have realized that few members of the oppressor race can understand the deep groans and passionate yearnings of the oppressed race, and still fewer have the vision to see that injustice must be rooted out by strong, persistent and determined action. I am thankful, however, that some of our white brothers in the South have grasped the meaning of this social revolution and committed themselves to it. They are still all too few in quantity, but they are big in quality. Some -such as Ralph McGill, Lillian Smith, Harry Golden, James McBride Dabbs, Ann Braden and Sarah Patton Boyle--have written about our struggle in eloquent and prophetic terms. Others have marched with us down nameless streets of the South. They have languished in filthy, roach infested jails, suffering the abuse and brutality of policemen who view them as "dirty nigger-lovers." Unlike so many of their moderate brothers and sisters, they have recognized the urgency of the moment and sensed the need for powerful "action" antidotes to combat the disease of segregation. Let me take note of my other major disappointment. I have been so greatly disappointed with the white church and its leadership. Of course, there are some notable exceptions. I am not unmindful of the fact that each of you has taken some significant stands on this issue. I commend you, Reverend Stallings, for your Christian stand on this past Sunday, in welcoming Negroes to your worship service on a nonsegregated basis. I commend the Catholic leaders of this state for integrating Spring Hill College several years ago.

But despite these notable exceptions, I must honestly reiterate that I have been disappointed with the church. I do not say this as one of those negative critics who can always find something wrong with the church. I say this as a minister of the gospel, who loves the church; who was nurtured in its bosom; who has been sustained by its spiritual blessings and who will remain true to it as long as the cord of life shall lengthen.

When I was suddenly catapulted into the leadership of the bus protest in Montgomery, Alabama, a few years ago, I felt we would be supported by the white church. I felt that the white ministers, priests and rabbis of the South would be among our strongest allies. Instead, some have been outright opponents, refusing to understand the freedom movement and misrepresenting its leaders; all too many others have been more cautious than courageous and have remained silent behind the anesthetizing security of stained glass windows.

In spite of my shattered dreams, I came to Birmingham with the hope that the white religious leadership of this community would see the justice of our cause and, with deep moral concern, would serve as the channel through which our just grievances could reach the power structure. I had hoped that each of you would understand. But again I have been disappointed.

I have heard numerous southern religious leaders admonish their worshipers to comply with a desegregation decision because it is the law, but I have longed to hear white ministers declare: "Follow this decree because integration is morally right and because the Negro is your brother." In the midst of blatant injustices inflicted upon the Negro, I have watched white churchmen stand on the sideline and mouth pious irrelevancies and sanctimonious trivialities. In the midst of a mighty struggle to rid our nation of racial and economic injustice, I have heard many ministers say: "Those are social issues, with which the gospel has no real concern." And I have watched many churches commit themselves to a completely other worldly religion which makes a strange, un-Biblical distinction between body and soul, between the sacred and the secular.

I have traveled the length and breadth of Alabama, Mississippi and all the other southern states. On sweltering summer days and crisp autumn mornings I have looked at the South's beautiful churches with their lofty spires pointing heavenward. I have beheld the impressive outlines of her massive religious education buildings. Over and over I have found myself asking: "What kind of people worship here? Who is their God? Where were their voices when the lips of Governor Barnett dripped with words of interposition and nullification? Where were they when Governor Wallace gave a clarion call for defiance and hatred? Where were their voices of support when bruised and weary Negro men and women decided to rise from the dark dungeons of complacency to the bright hills of creative protest?"

Yes, these questions are still in my mind. In deep disappointment I have wept over the laxity of the church. But be assured that my tears have been tears of love. There can be no deep disappointment where there is not deep love. Yes, I love the church. How could I do otherwise? I am in the rather unique position of being the son, the grandson and the great grandson of preachers. Yes, I see the church as the body of Christ. But, oh! How we have blemished and scarred that body through social neglect and through fear of being nonconformists.

There was a time when the church was very powerful--in the time when the early Christians rejoiced at being deemed worthy to suffer for what they believed. In those days the church was not merely a thermometer that recorded the ideas and principles of popular opinion; it was a thermostat that transformed the mores of society. Whenever the early Christians entered a town, the people in power became disturbed and immediately sought to convict the Christians for being "disturbers of the peace" and "outside agitators."' But the Christians pressed on, in the conviction that they were "a colony of heaven," called to obey God rather than man. Small in number, they were big in commitment. They were too God-intoxicated to be "astronomically intimidated." By their effort and example they brought an end to such ancient evils as infanticide and gladiatorial contests. Things are different now. So often the contemporary church is a weak, ineffectual voice with an uncertain sound. So often it is an archdefender of the status quo. Far from being disturbed by the presence of the church, the power structure of the average community is consoled by the church's silent--and often even vocal--sanction of things as they are.

But the judgment of God is upon the church as never before. If today's church does not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early church, it will lose its authenticity, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club with no meaning for the twentieth century. Every day I meet young people whose disappointment with the church has turned into outright disgust.

Perhaps I have once again been too optimistic. Is organized religion too inextricably bound to the status quo to save our nation and the world? Perhaps I must turn my faith to the inner spiritual church, the church within the church, as the true ekklesia and the hope of the world. But again I am thankful to God that some noble souls from the ranks of organized religion have broken loose from the paralyzing chains of conformity and joined us as active partners in the struggle for freedom. They have left their secure congregations and walked the streets of Albany, Georgia, with us. They have gone down the highways of the South on tortuous rides for freedom. Yes, they have gone to jail with us. Some have been dismissed from their churches, have lost the support of their bishops and fellow ministers. But they have acted in the faith that right defeated is stronger than evil triumphant. Their witness has been the spiritual salt that has preserved the true meaning of the gospel in these troubled times. They have carved a tunnel of hope through the dark mountain of disappointment. I hope the church as a whole will meet the challenge of this decisive hour. But even if the church does not come to the aid of justice, I have no despair about the future. I have no fear about the outcome of our struggle in Birmingham, even if our motives are at present misunderstood. We will reach the goal of freedom in Birmingham and all over the nation, because the goal of America is freedom. Abused and scorned though we may be, our destiny is tied up with America's destiny. Before the pilgrims landed at Plymouth, we were here. Before the pen of Jefferson etched the majestic words of the Declaration of Independence across the pages of history, we were here. For more than two centuries our forebears labored in this country without wages; they made cotton king; they built the homes of their masters while suffering gross injustice and shameful humiliation -and yet out of a bottomless vitality they continued to thrive and develop. If the inexpressible cruelties of slavery could not stop us, the opposition we now face will surely fail. We will win our freedom because the sacred heritage of our nation and the eternal will of God are embodied in our echoing demands. Before closing I feel impelled to mention one other point in your statement that has troubled me profoundly. You warmly commended the Birmingham police force for keeping "order" and "preventing violence." I doubt that you would have so warmly commended the police force if you had seen its dogs sinking their teeth into unarmed, nonviolent Negroes. I doubt that you would so quickly commend the policemen if you were to observe their ugly and inhumane treatment of Negroes here in the city jail; if you were to watch them push and curse old Negro women and young Negro girls; if you were to see them slap and kick old Negro men and young boys; if you were to observe them, as they did on two occasions, refuse to give us food because we wanted to sing our grace together. I cannot join you in your praise of the Birmingham police department.

The More Things Change....

Evangelical pastor warns people are taking QAnon as a religion: We're no match for '24 hours of Facebook'https://t.co/E2rChAPuZX

— Raw Story (@RawStory) June 2, 2021

Yes, I've mentioned that already; now let's add this into the mix:

Utah reporter says politics are driving Mormons now — not their faith https://t.co/5rQEiJJZ92

— Raw Story (@RawStory) June 3, 2021

"In Utah, it turns out, the numbers are almost exactly the same, according to a recent Y2 Analytics poll that found 46.5 percent of LDS voters in Utah believe that the election was rife with fraud and the outcome is illegitimate, compared to about a third of non-members," wrote Gehrke. "And while it might be tempting to assume there is some correlation between religion and doubting the election outcome, it takes a back seat to partisan identity when it comes to buying into what has been dubbed Trump's 'Big Lie.'"

Before Trump's "Big Lie" there was good old fashioned American racism as the topic du jour of my childhood.  I'm old enough to remember when Mormons thought blacks bore the "mark of Cain," and when most white churches were not that enamored of Dr. King and the civil rights movement.  Dr. King wasn't too crazy about them, either:

Yes, these questions are still in my mind. In deep disappointment I have wept over the laxity of the church. But be assured that my tears have been tears of love. There can be no deep disappointment where there is not deep love. Yes, I love the church. How could I do otherwise? I am in the rather unique position of being the son, the grandson and the great grandson of preachers. Yes, I see the church as the body of Christ. But, oh! How we have blemished and scarred that body through social neglect and through fear of being nonconformists.

There was a time when the church was very powerful--in the time when the early Christians rejoiced at being deemed worthy to suffer for what they believed. In those days the church was not merely a thermometer that recorded the ideas and principles of popular opinion; it was a thermostat that transformed the mores of society. Whenever the early Christians entered a town, the people in power became disturbed and immediately sought to convict the Christians for being "disturbers of the peace" and "outside agitators."' But the Christians pressed on, in the conviction that they were "a colony of heaven," called to obey God rather than man. Small in number, they were big in commitment. They were too God-intoxicated to be "astronomically intimidated." By their effort and example they brought an end to such ancient evils as infanticide and gladiatorial contests. Things are different now. So often the contemporary church is a weak, ineffectual voice with an uncertain sound. So often it is an archdefender of the status quo. Far from being disturbed by the presence of the church, the power structure of the average community is consoled by the church's silent--and often even vocal--sanction of things as they are.

But the judgment of God is upon the church as never before. If today's church does not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early church, it will lose its authenticity, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club with no meaning for the twentieth century. Every day I meet young people whose disappointment with the church has turned into outright disgust.

Perhaps I have once again been too optimistic. Is organized religion too inextricably bound to the status quo to save our nation and the world? Perhaps I must turn my faith to the inner spiritual church, the church within the church, as the true ekklesia and the hope of the world. But again I am thankful to God that some noble souls from the ranks of organized religion have broken loose from the paralyzing chains of conformity and joined us as active partners in the struggle for freedom. They have left their secure congregations and walked the streets of Albany, Georgia, with us. They have gone down the highways of the South on tortuous rides for freedom. Yes, they have gone to jail with us. Some have been dismissed from their churches, have lost the support of their bishops and fellow ministers. But they have acted in the faith that right defeated is stronger than evil triumphant. Their witness has been the spiritual salt that has preserved the true meaning of the gospel in these troubled times. They have carved a tunnel of hope through the dark mountain of disappointment. I hope the church as a whole will meet the challenge of this decisive hour. But even if the church does not come to the aid of justice, I have no despair about the future. I have no fear about the outcome of our struggle in Birmingham, even if our motives are at present misunderstood. We will reach the goal of freedom in Birmingham and all over the nation, because the goal of America is freedom. Abused and scorned though we may be, our destiny is tied up with America's destiny. Before the pilgrims landed at Plymouth, we were here. Before the pen of Jefferson etched the majestic words of the Declaration of Independence across the pages of history, we were here. For more than two centuries our forebears labored in this country without wages; they made cotton king; they built the homes of their masters while suffering gross injustice and shameful humiliation -and yet out of a bottomless vitality they continued to thrive and develop. If the inexpressible cruelties of slavery could not stop us, the opposition we now face will surely fail. We will win our freedom because the sacred heritage of our nation and the eternal will of God are embodied in our echoing demands. Before closing I feel impelled to mention one other point in your statement that has troubled me profoundly. You warmly commended the Birmingham police force for keeping "order" and "preventing violence." I doubt that you would have so warmly commended the police force if you had seen its dogs sinking their teeth into unarmed, nonviolent Negroes. I doubt that you would so quickly commend the policemen if you were to observe their ugly and inhumane treatment of Negroes here in the city jail; if you were to watch them push and curse old Negro women and young Negro girls; if you were to see them slap and kick old Negro men and young boys; if you were to observe them, as they did on two occasions, refuse to give us food because we wanted to sing our grace together. I cannot join you in your praise of the Birmingham police department.

It is true that the police have exercised a degree of discipline in handling the demonstrators. In this sense they have conducted themselves rather "nonviolently" in public. But for what purpose? To preserve the evil system of segregation. Over the past few years I have consistently preached that nonviolence demands that the means we use must be as pure as the ends we seek. I have tried to make clear that it is wrong to use immoral means to attain moral ends. But now I must affirm that it is just as wrong, or perhaps even more so, to use moral means to preserve immoral ends. Perhaps Mr. Connor and his policemen have been rather nonviolent in public, as was Chief Pritchett in Albany, Georgia, but they have used the moral means of nonviolence to maintain the immoral end of racial injustice. As T. S. Eliot has said: "The last temptation is the greatest treason: To do the right deed for the wrong reason."

And we shouldn't forget how he addressed that letter:

16 April 1963

My Dear Fellow Clergymen:

Of course, that was then, and this is now:

Y2 Analytics founding partner Quin Monson explained that it indicates partisan identities are driving people's views more than their religious beliefs now.

Tell me again how much things have changed.