A Year-End Letter from Your Pastor (2015)

The one who trusts God is never impatient.  For the only step necessary in the thousand mile journey is the next one.  
                                                             – William C. Martin

I hope to travel to Japan someday.  I’ve long been fascinated by Japanese culture and design.  Pictures of cherry blossom trees, moss covered rocks, and understated wood-beam architecture speak to me in ways I can’t quite name.  I would love to tour Buddhist Temples and monasteries.  Yet a recent article pointed out that many of Japan’s ancient monasteries are calling it quits.  It’s too expensive to maintain the elegant, soaring temples and the manicured gardens.  Too few Japanese are willing to live the monastic life.  Too few former patrons are willing to financially support such antiquated enterprises.  I still dream of visiting ancient Kyoto.  But I worry that I’ll follow a map to a famous Buddhist Temple only to discover it’s now an Irish Pub, a bank branch, or an Apple Store.

For at least forty or fifty years now, any bets on the future of “mainline” congregations in the US have been anxious or hesitant at best (think Presbyterian, Methodist, Lutheran, Episcopal, Disciples, United Church of Christ).  Cultural influence, membership, finances, and something like “energy” are tracking lower.  What’s going on here?  Your guess is as good as mine.  I’ve heard it all.  Some of it protects mainline folks from any responsibility (“decline is simply a reflection of broader trends of decreasing organizational affiliations of all kinds”); some of it blames the mainline directly (“they’re too wishy-washy, politically correct, don’t take the Bible literally, and don’t evangelize enough because they don’t really believe people are going to hell”).

My best guess would be that we bear a little blame – perhaps we could call it mission drift, coasting, resting on laurels.  But not all.  There are clearly cultural and economic factors shaping the futures of all organizations that we simply don’t control.  Moreover, much of the “mainline” message is a tough sell in an anxious, fearful culture.  We tend to give God thanks for scientific discoveries.  We work hard to share leadership between women and men.  We take the Bible seriously but not in a wooden, flat-footed way.  We confess that our allegiance is to God’s Kingdom brought near in Jesus Christ, not to American Empire or global capitalism.  We’re doing our best to welcome those followers of Jesus whose loving relationships don’t look like the statistical majority.  All these confessions make many people nervous.  Those unsettled by the chaos of life often demand psychological clarity and certainty from their religious leaders.  To admit that life is complex fails to sufficiently soothe and comfort. 

At the American Academy of Religion in Atlanta this past November, I attended a session celebrating the work of one of America’s most talented preachers.  Barbara Brown Taylor is an Episcopal priest who spent much of her life preaching to about 40 people in rural Georgia.  The conversation among all of us preachers in attendance ran to anxious nail-biting about the future of the church and of preaching.  Will anyone be showing up in five years or ten?  A wise African American woman calmed the room by her response.  “The mainline church has gotten used to being the center of things,” she said.  “But we don’t have that position or influence anymore.  It’s time for us to learn to be out on the margins.  To think of ourselves free to experiment and explore and take risks.”  I think she’s right about that.

God never promised that our cherished religious institutions would exist forever.  Things come and go.  I’m always reminded of the beautiful stone church near New Haven that was repurposed as a plumbing supply store.  Or the soaring church building in downtown New York City that became a disco, then a craft mall.  God never promised to preserve any particular denominations forever.  God never promised (gulp) that we’d always be supplied with paid clergy to lead us.  Those things are nice to have.  I’d hate to see them go.  But if they did, the power and magnificence of the good news to renew and heal the world would remain, undeterred and undiminished.  What God promises is to be near us no matter what.  God won’t ever forsake us.  If even two or three gather - tired, frustrated, and despairing – if only they gather in God’s name, God is there.  The risen Christ is there, in coffee shops, living rooms, basements, schools or parks.

I give thanks to God for the blessings of buildings and budgets.  I still think much good can be done through old-fashioned things like institutions, sacred space and planned liturgies.  But it’s probably wise to remember that these are luxuries.  That God doesn’t need them.  That what we all need is face to face encounters that can be for us a way of finding the face of God in Jesus Christ.  We need a place to feel, name, and express our pain.  We need sustaining friendships.  We need the encouragement to keep going.  We need wise guidance in an unpredictable, always shifting landscape.  We need reminders to keep our stance wide, our perspective spacious, in a world that bends us all towards the trivial and petty.  We want to be a part of something big and difficult – to roll up our sleeves and go to work on projects like loving our enemies, or handing over our long-nursed anger for something better, or living simply and sharing with others. 

I’m not all that interested in betting on the future of any particular forms Christian faith takes – “mainline” or any other.  Just following the gracious lead of the risen Christ – the One relentlessly blessing, forgiving, and healing – this is enough for now.  Leave the thousand miles to God.  Let’s just take one step at a time.  I look forward to walking another year alongside you.

Peace, Jared.