social justice
Archived Posts from this Category
Archived Posts from this Category
Posted by Carol Howard Merritt on 27 Aug 2010 | Tagged as: church, emerging church, religion, salaries, social justice
So the Wall Street Journal has proclaimed that Emerging Church has fizzled out. Brett McCracken has declared it a hipster trend and we’re moving on, because the hipsters were never about Jesus.
I don’t really want to talk about whether it’s dead or not. I don’t know. I know a lot of intelligent people who are still involved, and I think that it will have a huge impact on American religion for many years to come. My sense is that what died was “emerging” as an evangelical re-branding effort. The evangelical movement could not control the Gen Xers, so they will declare them dead. But the people who were writing interesting things are still writing. Those reeling from the after-effects of evangelicalism have not gone away. People who struggle to respond faithfully to postmodernism have not gone away. Whatever is happening, it’s clear that a transition is occurring and there are things that we can learn right now.
I say “we” with discomfort. I have felt shut out of the “Emergent” movement. I am a pastor in a historic, intergenerational congregation with traditional liturgy. A few years ago, when I asked an Emergent writer and leader if there was room for me, if the conversation could be about both/and (both innovation and tradition), he told me clearly and emphatically, “No.” Denominations were going to die at any moment, and I was holding onto a lumbering dinosaur. I was not part of a denominational church so that I could live out the fullness of my calling in a community of faith, but in order to gain power for myself.
As someone who grew up in a church that systematically oppressed women, who was constantly told that my calling into ministry was a sin and the only reason I felt a longing to minister was because I could not accept my God-given role of submission, and I was all about power, the soundtrack sounded the same…even though the intent was different. I feared that people in the movement did not understand the difference between abusive power and spiritual empowerment. I bolted.
(And, yes, for anyone who doesn’t believe me, I’ll be happy to give anyone the name, place, date and precise time of the conversation. I will email it to you though. I won’t do it publicly. But, remember, if you keep questioning the validity of people who complain because your experience has been different, then you just might be contributing to the problem.)
Many people wonder why I often make a distinction that I am not a part of the capital “E” “Emergent” movement, even though I write about being faithful in the midst of postmodernism and cultural shifts. Not to mention the fact that I dearly love many who are in the heart of the movement. It’s because that was one of many conversations that I’ve had. In spite of this, I have found friends among the loyal radicals—those who are in the midst of denominations, understand the shifts in culture, and are working to respond faithfully to them.
The Emergent movement might be dead. Denominations might die. But God’s not dead. I guess the question is, what we can learn in all this? How can we retool? How can we keep being the hands and feet of Christ in the midst of the shifts and changes? What is God calling us to become? Here are a couple of things that I have learned from this larger conversation.
First, we need each other. We need the tradition and wisdom of the generations who have come before us. We need the Boomers and the Builders. And we need the church movements of the past. We need the wisdom that comes from church structures and we need the passion that breeds in the postevangelical movement. There is no way that we can shut out all evangelicals and all denominational Christians and expect that a movement will survive.
Second, we will need to be kind with each other when it comes to financial security. Often times, in our new church movements, we can heap shame on each other for not starting new churches, or guilt one another for not giving everything up and living with the poor. If a person receives a pension then she’s a sell-out. If he receives book royalties then he’s a sell-out. Shoot… if a person runs ads on her blog and gets a monthly check for $1.27, she’s a sell-out. If he blogs for Beliefnet, he’s a sell-out.
If we continue this sort of hardcore attitude, it may be difficult for us to sustain in the long run. Many of us have families. We have student loans and mortgage payments. We love Jesus, but our kids need backpacks to go back to school. Many of us hope that we will not be eating dog food when we retire. We will keep having difficulty planting churches and working for social justice if we don’t have some realization that sometimes we need money. Our ministries need money. That doesn’t make us greedy capitalists. That doesn’t make us all about power. It’s just reality.
Third (and I have been clumsy as I’ve talked about this in the past, but I still think there’s more to say), when people complain that they are being left out (women, LGBTs, different ethnicities), there has been an assumption in the Emergent movement that there is no power structure, so there is no way that people can be left out.
It’s important to understand when we have power. And it’s vital that we use it to empower others in their ministries. If we want a diverse conversation, we will need to make sure that it happens. There are many people who have been historically left out of church leadership. Some have been ill-treated blatantly or discreetly. As a result, they just don’t have sharp elbows. They will not push themselves up to the table and make a place with ease. Those of us who are people of privilege will need to understand this. We will need to keep making spaces and extending invitations.
Posted by Carol Howard Merritt on 25 Jul 2010 | Tagged as: activism, church, religion, social justice
Text: Matthew 6:9-15
The rainbow scarves fascinated Libby Shannon. Throughout the Assembly, she saw them, hanging proudly over the necks of men, women, and teenagers. People over the age of seventy wore them, as well as those in their twenties, as a witness to their support of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender men and women in the Presbyterian Church (USA). Libby was attending the 219th General Assembly of the PC(USA) in Minneapolis, a biennial gathering of pastors and lay people, who make decisions on behalf of our two million-member church, which took place a couple of weeks ago. They pray and study together, seeking guidance for their work together and making declarations about social justice issues that will focus our energy and mission.
I also noticed the scarves, even though I was not in Minneapolis. I first saw them hanging from the crochet needles in our Wednesday night dinner and coffee time, as Jean Ackor and other women knitted them at our church. Then I saw them at the General Assembly. I was in my living room, watching the Assembly as it was livestreamed over the Internet. There were many issues discussed and brought before the gathering—motions on gun violence, discussions on Israel and Palestine, initiatives on the environment, and changes to our church government. In all of this, the ones that always garner great attention are around the inclusion of LGBT people. Would our insurance begin to cover gay or lesbian partners? Would we redefine marriage from “a man and a woman” to “two people”? Would the church allow people who are open about their same-gender relationships become ordained?
Our denomination works a bit differently than other denominations. We do not have powerful bishops who decide the will of God and the people. It’s a much more democratic system, with laypeople and clergy represented in our decisions. At the heart of many of these decisions, we would be pointing to a deep cultural shift, one that not only acknowledges same-gender relationships but says that God blesses them.
It ended up that the Assembly approved the insurance coverage of same-gender spouses. They tabled the discussion to redefining marriage. And they removed an amendment to our constitution that would restrict gays and lesbians from being ordained. But since the last action was a change to our church constitution, it needs to be voted on by the Presbyteries (our local bodies) before it becomes ratified. And so the struggle begins again. The amendment will go out to the Presbyteries, and the Presbyteries will vote. In the last years, the vote has failed when it’s gone to the Presbyteries. But every year, LGBT advocates gain a few more Presbyteries than we did the round before.
Libby Shannon is a student who graduated from seminary. She’s young, she’s in her twenties, and she believes strongly that LGBT people should be ordained and that they should be able to marry. Many studies have been done on the religious habits of people in their twenties and thirties, and a lot of us have difficulty filling out the religion section on our Facebook page. There are not many who are committed to a denominational church. So I asked Libby, if we’re people who believe in inclusion of LGBT people, why do we stick around? Why don’t we just leave?
In response, Libby pointed in two directions. She directed my attention backwards and reminded me of all of the women and men who fought this very same battle so that women could be ordained. “What would I be saying to the legacy of those women, if I just gave up? What would I be saying to them, if I didn’t fight for what I thought was right in our church, and just took the easy way out?”
And then she pointed the other direction. She looked to the future and told me about the about the youth group that she worked with. “I’m doing it for them. I’m doing this so that they can have a church that loves everyone, no matter what his or her sexual orientation might be.” I was inspired by Libby’s words. She knew that we are imperfect, earthbound people, but she still had a longing for the ideal and a hope for something better.
I do not want to characterize the struggle in our denomination in terms that are too simplistic (especially since my views are clearly on one side). But to quickly explain what is happening, I will say that there are those in our denomination who point to the six passages in Scripture that condemn same-sex relationships, and see those passages as so important that they feel as if we back off from them, then we are no longer seeing the Bible as a guide for our lives. It is very important for them.
Then there are those, like me, who read about love, marriage, and sex in the Scriptures and we see that relationships have evolved dramatically with culture. As a woman, I cannot point to the authority of the Bible when it comes to marital relationships. I cannot look at the Scriptures and say “Ahhh. That is what marriage ought to be like.” Because when I read about marriage from a women’s perspective (frankly) it’s filled with horror stories. Women are bought and sold like property. There are many wives for every husband. Men have sex with their slaves if they cannot bear children with their wives. Marriages are arranged for political alliances. Kings keep harems of women. There does seem to be one loving relationship in the Song of Songs, but the lovers are sneaking around in that book, and they’re clearly not married. And so, as someone who takes the Bible very seriously, I can’t see it as an ideal authority on love and marriage, between one man and one woman, because I just don’t see it in the Scriptures.
When I point out how oppressive and abusive marriage is for women in the Bible, people can be quick to defend. They say, “Those were cultural practices, so we cannot take modern our view of marriage and superimpose it on an ancient view.”
And I agree. Our cultural definition of marriage has changed since biblical times. So if we cannot take our view of marriage and expect for biblical marriages to live up to our standards, then we should not be taking the biblical standards and imposing them on our culture. Culturally, we believe that loving relationships are between two people who commit themselves to one another. We know that no marriage is perfect, people are earth-bound, but we still hope for the ideal. We know how the world is, but we long for the world as it ought to be.
The struggle reminds me of the time I was reading Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, a story that took place in Savannah, Georgia. In the book, they were going to trial and they were trying to weed out those who might be prejudice against a gay man, and so they asked a series of questions, trying to detect any homophobia. And the last question they asked–the very last litmus test that they pulled out was to ask if they would you mind if their pastor was gay. The lawyer determined that if they said no to that question, then the final barrier was removed.
I wonder if that’s true. And if it is, it puts this struggle into a bit more perspective. Are we trying to remove the last barrier for the next generation? I know that gays and lesbians face discrimination all over our culture. I’m not saying that the struggle is over when LGBT people can be ordained. But I wonder, is that the reason we stay in this historic denomination, even when we know it’s not right? Is it because we know that people are earth-bound, but we still dream and strive for the ideal, the heavenly?
In a strange way, Libby’s words reminded me of Jesus’ prayer, the one that we say every Sunday morning. We read the context for it this morning. Jesus is teaching the disciples how to pray, and he gave them these words. And I always pause at that bit about “On Earth as it is in Heaven,” because I do not know what heaven is like. None of us do. We have ideas of it from the Bible, but really, we don’t even have that many of those. And the authors never experienced it, except through visions. I believe in heaven, and not just because it gives people incredible comfort when their loved ones come to the end of their lives. I believe that in our birth we emanated from God’s love, and in our death we return to God’s love. And there is a very real sense in which heaven is what we wish for and long for, where suffering will melt away.
And so I wonder, as disciples of Jesus, when Jesus invites us to pray, “On earth as it is in heaven,” if we are not being invited to dream a bit. It is as if we are being told, “pray for the perfect world. Even when what is surrounding you is far from perfect, keep hoping and keep dreaming for a world that is.”
Prayer is an incredibly powerful exercise. And one of the most important parts of prayer, is that we verbalize what we want. If you are like me, this doesn’t always come naturally. You know, often times we are taught to be happy with what we have, rather than dreaming of what we want. And it is extremely important to be satisfied with the things that we have, but in the last few years, I have just discovered how important it is to imagine what I want. It is important that we write it down carefully, and ask God for it.
A business is typically not going to be successful if that business does not have a plan. A non-profit organization may not be effective if they do not have a vision statement. A church will flounder if the congregation does not have a mission. As citizens, we will need keep imagining what a just society looks like, and work for that end. And as humans, we may never understand what our purpose is in this life, if we never ask ourselves what we want out of it. Some people have no problem with this at all, but there are many, many people in this world who do not know what they want, especially those who have been historically oppressed. They might feel as if they are at the mercy of everyone else’s desires, and they don’t know how to fight for their own vision of what might be good and right.
This may seem like a completely selfish venture, and it can be. Often it is. I mean, the “prosperity gospel” is unique in our country and history, and it is often born out of selfishness and greed. And I don’t think that the American prosperity gospel is what Jesus had in mind… but it is a wonderful thing to imagine, “What if earth was like heaven? What would that look like? What would a just society look like? What would the world look like if every barrier to God’s love was lifted?” We can imagine it on a global scale and a local scale, and even in a personal sense. What would the ideal state of things, where there is no separation from God’s love, look like? It reminds me of the words of Walter Rauschenbusch, a wonderful pastor and writer from the turn of the twentieth century, who worked with the poor in New York City. He said that our struggles as Christians is “a great revolutionary moment, pledged to change the world as-it-is into the world as-it-ought-to-be.”
The world as-it-is into the world as-it-ought-to-be.
On earth as it is in heaven.
I wonder if that is what keep Libby from giving up on our historic denomination, not content with allowing it to look anything less than God’s unbounded love. I wonder if “on earth as it is in heaven” is the prayer that worked through each stitch, as women and men crocheted rainbow scarves, in the hopes that the next generation will have a church and country that is free from discrimination. Even though they know what the world is, they will continue to work and hope for a world as it ought to be. They will continue to be a witness to Gods love.
It is a prayer of great power, when we begin to pray it. There can be a great humility if we ask God to bless our hopes. Let us go out, with that prayer on our lips. To the glory of God our Creator, God our Sustainer, and God our Liberator. Amen.
Posted by Carol Howard Merritt on 27 Mar 2010 | Tagged as: church, clergy women, pastors, social justice
Priests molested small boys in their beds at night. The boys were pulled into the confessional booth and groped. Horrors abound–stories that make our mouths fall open in shock, our guts wrench in grief, and our heads redden with fury. Predators are everywhere, and they don’t turn into something else when they put on a collar or earn an R-E-V for the front of their name. But the pernicious sins propagate when the church protects its institution over the wellbeing of children, when we hide pastors in far-away mission fields instead of in prison, and when we would rather not face the pain of upsetting an established school or congregation because of the tale of a small boy. When a religious person molests a child, trauma crashes through the child’s life, affecting the sexuality and spirituality of that person the rest of his or her years. The emotional turmoil ripples through the family and keeps reverberating through the community. For clergy to think that it is in our power to hide the assault, for us to turn our heads so that it can happen again and again, makes us complicit in the abuse. What can we do to stop it? What can church leaders and the people in the pews do to make sure that these things are not happening in their own congregation?
First, work on the local level, ensuring that practical things are in place. Wherever children are in a classroom, there needs to be uncovered windows in the walls or doors. Your faith community should have a child protection policy, which might include things like making sure there are two nursery workers or Sunday school teachers in every classroom. Leaders who teach children on a regular basis should go through a background check. All pastors should have a background check. Find out your church’s attitude toward reporting. Do they report sexual violations to the police, or do they feel that it is enough to alert the church authorities? When crimes are committed, clergy have a bad habit of protecting each other, and a nice retirement on the mission field or a cushy parish in a rural out-of-the-way area is not enough punishment for a pedophile pastor, and the move only puts more children in danger.
Second, find out how your church works. Just as corruption can spread in certain state governments, abuse can fester in particular church governments. Be wary if your church is a stand-alone congregation. If it is not a part of a denomination, then there may not be systems for background checks, reporting, or dealing with sexual abuse in place. On the other hand, if your church hierarchy is only made up of ordained pastors, then there may be a greater concern for the institution and not enough outside voices for clarity on sexual matters. When clergy and laity work together in the church, when they both have power, then there is less likelihood for the church to focus inward and protect itself.
Finally, make sure that women have appropriate power in your congregation or denomination. All women—and particularly mothers—can be fierce defenders of children in our society. Not only that, but in our country, many of us have been victims of sexual abuse ourselves. We know what it looks like, we know what it smells like, and many women will not tolerate it. Plus, if a church keeps the voices of women silenced, then you do not want to expose your children to a system of oppression.
The horror stories have to stop. Many of us feel powerless as we read about those who have been victimized in the past, but we can change what will happen in the future, if we take responsibility in our congregation and in our denominations.
Posted by Carol Howard Merritt on 13 Jan 2010 | Tagged as: activism, church, progressive christianity, social justice

I wanted to give myself six weeks from my shoulder injury before I started blogging again. My doctor said it would take that long to heal. Although I didn’t believe him, he was right. It took that long to heal.
The pain has been gone for a little while. My shoulder just reminds me that something is wrong every once in a while with sharp jabs that last for a few seconds. And I’ve had some overwhelming exhaustion. But, the great news is that I haven’t had any more problems with the shoulder dislocating, so it doesn’t look like I’ll need surgery.
Actually, now the pang I’m feeling is guilt, about writing “great news” on a day like today.
In Haiti, the devastation is overwhelming. People are trying to dig men and women out of the rubble with their hands. I am getting emails from people who don’t know if their friends were caught in the quake. Thousands are dead.
Being a religious person in this sort of situation gives me some hope in humanity, because we find out about the many people who have been working there, trying to make things better for a poor country. Often they are there with a church group, or because of their faith. As soon as the disaster hit, I could think of a number of friends who have dedicated their lives to the people of Haiti.
It’s almost enough to drown out Pat Robertson’s remarks. But not quite.
Are you looking for a way to help? Here is a list of relief organizations that my husband put together. I have a friend and member of our church who has been working with the Quixote Center. I have been impressed with their work. Give and pray. Give and pray.
photo by Jan Sochor
Posted by Carol Howard Merritt on 04 Nov 2009 | Tagged as: clergy women, salaries, social justice
Note to the women in the pews… it’s time to wake up.
Why do women suddenly change the rules of their lives when they walk into the church? I am, of course, talking about the fact that churches are female dominated organizations–women take up most of our pew space, a majority of our membership roles, and they do most of our volunteer work, and yet, the church persistently discriminates against women.
High-powered women walk into churches that do not ordain women as clergy every day. Young, professional, educated women, who work on Capitol Hill, attend PCA congregations that do not even allow for women elders. And even in our progressive churches, fair-minded women pat themselves on the back, because there is a female Associate Pastor who leads the children’s sermon, not realizing that the AP is receiving half the salary that the male is making.
Most of it is ignorance, I suppose. The women in the pews have never thought about what this discrimination does to female clergy. They are in church to commune with God, to get away from the frustrations of work, and so they do not notice the struggles of women in collars.
Most women clergy are not in a position where they can complain about discrimination. It is frowned upon in our profession to talk about money. And if a woman is in a particularly difficult job situation, she is often powerless, so leaving is much easier than fighting.
In other words, if the very real discrimination is going to stop in our congregations, if our churches are going to become sources of hope, rather than models of discrimination, then the women in the pews are going to need to roll up their sleeves and become advocates.
What can the women and men who are advocates for gender justice do?
1) Become aware of salary ranges of other clergy professionals in your area. Salary information is very easy to get in most of our denominations, and if you take a good look at the salaries in your area, you might find how women are paid much less in our churches. How does your pastor compare to the men in the area?
2) Become aware of the salary ranges on the church staff. How well is the female clergy person paid on your staff? How does her salary compare with the organist, choir director, and secretary? Is there a male pastor who is getting more money, even if he doesn’t have more experience or education? If there is a discrepancy, how can you make the church aware of it and fix it?
3) Do not allow personal information to taint the personnel discussions. Information like, “Well, I’m sure that her husband makes a good salary,” or “But she doesn’t have any children and he does,” or “She is single, she lives in an apartment, she doesn’t really need the money” should not be part of the discussion. Young married women are the head of household 40% of the time, and single women should not be paid less. These discussions should not be taking place, and they certainly should not be factors in determining salaries.
People look to their churches for moral guidance. What are we telling the businessmen in our congregations when we allow these things to persist? And what can we communicate if we begin to ask the right questions?
Posted by Carol Howard Merritt on 16 Oct 2009 | Tagged as: Democrats, church, progressive christianity, social justice

Okay… they are out there. They slip into our churches, wanting to be unnoticed. They are the mega-church refugees.
After two decades of hand clapping, arm waving, and metal chair sitting, they gave themselves a reprieve from church. But now, they want something, and they’re pretty sure they don’t want their parent’s boomer church, with the charismatic pastor and the Limbaugh-induced sermons. And so a few of them are slipping into our pews. Looking around, wearily, cautiously.
What do they look like? How can you spot them? I have a few pointers, since I was one of them.
•Even though they love the environmental aspects of the screen, they might break out into a bit of a cold sweat when they see it in the sanctuary.
•They might bring their Bibles to church. Do not be alarmed when you see the book. Try not to stare. And don’t worry. They will figure out quickly that they’re not supposed to bring it.
•Their personal Bible in their pew does give them a little comfort because they can’t immediately tell the difference between hymnal, prayer book, and Bible in the pew. They will pick up the wrong one. At least until they figure out that no one else really follows along with the readings, because they are the only ones who know how to look them up.
•If they’re particularly moved by a solo, they will clap following it. Once. Until they figure out that it’s not okay. Then they will die a little bit inside.
•They never missed a Sunday at church growing up, but they don’t know the Apostle’s Creed. They are the ones mumbling “watermelon” when the rest of the congregation is proudly articulating every word.
•They might say “Amen” after the pastor says it. It’s just a reflex. And don’t laugh at them if they use “just” in their prayers. At least they know how to pray in public.
•They are the people who would rather leave their right arm than leave their email address.
•They may not have been going to church for the last ten years, because they were afraid that they couldn’t afford it.
•If they happen into a denominational church during Stewardship Sunday, they may never come back. Only because, in their mind, asking for money is what church is about every Sunday.
•If they hear how much your church is involved with helping the homeless and poor, then they will start to breathe. And they might be able to leave something in the offering.
•If you mention that your church supports LGBTs, then the muscles in their neck will loosen. They will be utterly confused, but very relieved.
•They are confused by communion. They might not have even ever participated in communion before.
•If someone tries to hug during the passing of the peace, they will have finely-developed defense mechanisms in order to shield themselves from the Holy Spirit chest crunch.
•If the pastor learns their name after a couple of weeks, they just might faint dead away.
•If the church has a discussion about having a “contemporary” worship service in order to reach out to more people, they will assume that you’re trying to get their parents to come to your church.
And what would you add? Have you been there? Have you seen them?
Posted by Carol Howard Merritt on 10 Oct 2009 | Tagged as: church, community, progressive christianity, publishing, religion, social justice, spirituality

So those of you who follow Bruce Reyes-Chow, the Presbyterian Moderator, on Twitter, know that he has been talking about certain conferences, and prodding us, wondering about our Mainline interest or disinterest in them.
And those of you who follow both of us know that I have been rather old-school, angry, and vehement in my responses to such conferences. (Old-school, meaning I’ve been taking a black-and-white, us-versus-them, my-way-or-the-highway approach.)
It actually kind of shocked me. I have a lot of opinions–there’s no doubt about that–but usually I can appreciate the viewpoints of Evangelical colleagues, even though I think that they’re wrong about many things. I have learned to embrace my heritage, as something that is an important part of me. If I hate it, then I hate myself. (Of course, there’s a fine line here. I do hate the sin that was inherent in my Evangelical formation, and confess it, and change….)
But, for some reason, my reaction to the Catalyst Conferences overwhelmed me. And I wondered why that was.
Was it jealousy? There are as many Mainliners as there are Evangelicals (and I realize that there is a lot of cross-over in terms here), but Evangelicals almost completely drive the religious book market, the religious media, and politics, because of the fantastic ability that Evangelicals have to organize huge events, and to find unity in vital causes. Authors and musicians who get invited to these sorts of conferences do really, really well. I was warned constantly when I wrote Tribal Church to make it an Evangelical book, or it would never sell.
But, I don’t think jealousy was fueling my frustration. I think the main character in the driver’s seat was fear. As you can see from the line-up, there were very few women involved in The Nines, and (I think) only one ordained woman. I’m afraid of going backwards. It’s irrational, I know. But the fear and anger are still there.
It was very difficult growing up in a religious tradition that saw me as sinful because of my growing call into ordained ministry. It was painful watching many of the women in my family, who had the same calling, not be able to pursue theirs. It’s difficult to think of all the Bible school students in my “message preparation for women course” (we were not allowed to call it preaching), where I heard some of the best sermons in my life, who pursued their M-R-S in the hopes of being a pastor’s wife, because that was the very closest that they could come to being a pastor themselves.
I understand the religious viewpoint that women should not be ordained. I know that an Evangelical conference will have a handful of women, and we should not expect more that that. But I also understand the deep sorrow and frustration that church can cause from the sexism that bleeds from generation to generation. And when I’m faced with it, then I bark, in anger and pain, as if I’m facing a dog that previously bit me.
The denominational church, even with all of the ordination difficulties, even with its less-than-flashy conferences, and its inability to unite across denominational lines to become a stronger voice in publishing and politics, has been an unbelievable font of grace for me. Welcoming my gifts, encouraging them, and allowing a place for them to flourish. And even though there have been bumps along the way, there is a way for someone like me. And I am filled with overwhelming gratitude to be a part of it.
I left the Evangelical Church, because the Mainline church—with its strong commitment to social justice, gender equality, spiritual disciplines, and intergenerational community—seemed much more relevant. And yet, now that I’m inside, I find many Mainliners wishing that we were like Evangelicals, so that we might gain relevancy.
I just wish we, the Mainliners, could see what gifts we have, celebrate them, and I guess along the way… I wish that we could learn to organize a little better.
Posted by Carol Howard Merritt on 11 Jun 2009 | Tagged as: church, clergy women, pastors, salaries, social justice

My apologies…
First, for going into denominationally specific topics. Those who are from other denominations, I would love to hear from you. And please let me know if there are studies in other denominations related to equal pay.
Second, for not making much sense. I have a cold, and I took some medicine that usually makes me feel better. At night. But, it’s daytime. I’ve slept a lot, and now I’m just kind of groggy and dizzy and awake and not making much sense….
But I did want to add a bit of an addendum to my last post, lifting up some of the pay equity facts in this report.
Full-time pastors, with 10 or less years of service, interesting facts:
•The wage gap is less with smaller churches (which makes sense, they are closer to the minimum), the gap gets larger with larger churches.
•There are more men at churches with 50 members or less (80% are men, 20% are women)
•Most women Solos and Heads of Staff serve congregations with 51 to 200 members.
•The worst gap is with women, who pastor churches with 501 to 1,000 members. Women make $50,038 and men make $71,128 (a whopping 21K difference).
Full-time pastors with 11 or more years of service, highlights:
•The most interesting thing is that there are not many women in this category. They make up 22% of the people serving churches of 50 or less, but that’s their strongest showing.
•Women make up less than 1% of pastors of churches of 1,500 members or more.
•Again, the pay gap is less with smaller churches, and it gets higher with larger ones. Men make about $7,000 more than women in churches from 201-1,000. Men make almost $14,000 more at churches from 1,001 to 1,500.
Full-time Associates:
•There are more male Associates than female Associates.
•Again, the worst gap is with the 1,500+ congregations. There is a $6,000 gap between the men and the women.
What can we learn? Well, I guess if you’re a woman who’s going to a larger church, then negotiate, negotiate, negotiate.
Posted by Carol Howard Merritt on 28 Jan 2009 | Tagged as: salaries, social justice, young adults
I’m in Jackson, Mississippi, for a UMC Clergy Leadership Conference. Last night, I went out with a group of wonderful clergy, and we had an animated discussion over dinner about young adults and debt. At the heart of the conversation was this:
I would say that many young adults have to go into debt because of low wages, increased housing costs, and student loans.
But, some of the young clergy were talking about the Dave Ramsey programs that they are taking part in, and they were saying that the reason why young adults are in debt is because they want to live like their parents right out of college. They don’t realize that it took years and years for their parents to build the wealth. (I’m pretty that this was the same thing my grandmother told my mother….)
I said this was a myth. I mean of course it’s true in many, many cases. People often go through the reality check of finding out how little they can actually afford, and that their expectations were too high.
But, when my parents were my age, they owned a home on the beach of Florida and they were adding on to it to double its size. They went to really nice interior decorating stores for all of the new furniture, and they had a decorator consulting them. My dad had a 40-hour per week government job and mom was a writer. They were very comfortable.
Compare that to my husband and me. We live in a fabulous house, but we could not dream of owning it—even with 2 full-time professional salaries and a small income from writing. We only own two-thirds of it, and our church owns the other third. We rarely ever have more than one car.
Our furniture is a strange array of things that we have picked up at thrift stores and flea markets. Ikea and auctions. I waited seven years before buying a dining room table. And that I got because of an insurance settlement.
Am I whining or saying that I have it terrible? Of course not. I have health insurance and a pension. I am very, very blessed. But…when I look at my friends who cannot imagine owning their own homes, who started out with 35K in student loan debt, who are picking up their furniture at Goodwill, it’s hard for me to say that the only reason they aren’t making it is because they want to start out where their parents ended up.
That may be the case for some. That may be the case when a person’s first starting out. But, I’m not sure that it’s generally the case for an entire generation. We know we are going to be much worse off than our parents. Most of us figured that out pretty quickly.
I just remember starting out, being extremely frugal and not being able to make it. Buying groceries on the credit card, freaking out every time the car broke down. Then I would hear things like, “You just want everything your parents have, and you don’t want to work for it.” I believed the line and berated myself for a long time. Too long, really. Then I finally looked at the economic realities of my generation, and figured out that it wasn’t so simple as that.
But, of course, I get defensive, and the truth is probably somewhere in between. What do you think?
Posted by Carol Howard Merritt on 24 Jan 2009 | Tagged as: church, pastors, social justice, spirituality, theology
I’m learning a lot about different continuing education formats. The most challenging format: having one keynote and 50 workshops of really dynamic people. Then, we have to choose one, when we really want to go to ten of them. Another difficulty: having a pep rally experience, where we go, hear a speaker, get all pumped up, and then leave with nothing.
Of course, some of the most important things to come out of these event are the lasting relationships and a vision for effective change in our congregations.
I’m going to be helping to lead this series that has taken these challenges into account. They have designed a wonderful course with amazing leadership (which sounds really bad after I just said I was helping to lead it… but seriously, check out this list). There are a lot of leaders in missional thinking and spiritual practice.
The participants will be meeting for six three-day workshops over the course of two years. Each workshop will focus on a sacred practice (visioning, discernment, relationship, prayer, proclaiming and interpreting Scripture). Our time together will be marked with practice and interactions.
The information can be found here. I just found out that there are still some spots available.