Tribal Church

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.

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We interviewed Jeff Sharlet, the author of The Family, on God Complex Radio yesterday (as usual, you can click on the right to hear the interview). It was pretty fascinating. He was a part of Ivanwald, a home for men, who are the chosen ones. They were men from affluent households, who were being groomed, through hard work, close mentorships, and prayer meetings for leadership. Ivanwald also has a connection to C Street, a home for congressmen who are connected to the Family and have been highlighted in a number of scandals lately. The Family is a secretive, and extremely powerful fundamentalist group.

It was actually a pretty emotional experience for me, reading the book. I don’t want to over-play my relationship to the Religious Right—I left it before I turned twenty-one. But it answered a lot of questions for me.

It also reminded me of many of the differences between my Conservative roots and my Progressive present. Most of the shifts are wonderful, and I embrace them, but reading this haunting history reminded me that there are some things that we can… well… I’m groping for words here… learn from Conservatives? Things that I’m thankful for?

One of the most shocking realizations as I read this book is the lack of mentoring that happens in Progressive circles. I always hear people who lived through the 60s, decrying the fact that there are no good young leaders. We have a leadership vacuum. There is no respected, loud and clear voice, speaking out for progressive values.

It always confused me, because I’m surrounded by smart, young progressive leaders. To me, it seemed like they were speaking clearly, but no one was listening.

Yet, as I work more and more within our progressive faith tradition, I realize that there is almost an undercurrent of hostility toward the young. I feel it often. Working with generational issues, all across the country, I am always hitting on some raw wound. It often comes up when I point out sociological research that says that Generation X is the most innovative generation in our country’s history. We have more entrepreneurs, we’ve started more companies, fueled the tech boom, etc.

People often get furious.

And let me be clear. I brought up Gen X because their span still includes people in their 20s. But I’m not talking about people like me. I’m not so young any more. I’m talking about those who are younger than me. For instance, I have also been startled by attitudes toward Campus Ministry.

I have been working with college students, in one way or another, ever since I became a pastor, because it’s important. I know that we are overshadowed by the phenomenal success of Campus Crusade for Christ (which always makes me wonder… what college student wants to be a part of a “crusade”? What organization would embrace that name? The crusades were a dark and terrible blot for Christians…), Intervarsity, and Fellowship of Christian Athletes. Even on George Washington University’s campus, where most of the students are politically progressive, why would CCC’s ministry be so robust?

Well, I’m not sure how many full-time staff that CCC has on George Washington University campus, but I know it’s at least two. At least 80 hours a week dedicated to developing young Christian leaders. In comparison, I work ten hours a week, and I am in a constant struggle for funding to hold on to the ten hours.

Most of our Campus Ministers, in Mainline Denominations across the country, spend most of their time trying to justify their jobs, and trying to fundraise in the midst of denominations who question our existence. Denominational funding has been slashed, governing bodies don’t understand the point, the local church feels to strapped to reach out. There is always something more pressing than Campus Ministry.

There would never be a question in a conservative church. Never. If the ministry was struggling, they would fire the person and put someone effective in. Why? Because they are just much more focused on young leadership. They don’t wait for young leaders to kick down the doors, they open the doors for young leaders. And if there is no door to open, they build a door for them.

It seems that we have lost our vision in Mainline Christianity for mentoring, challenging, developing, and loving young leadership. There are exceptions (thank God) to this overarching theme. Will Willimon spoke about his frustrations on this issue quite clearly. But, it still remains as the most startling difference between the two cultures.

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Miriam’s Kitchen, the feeding and social services program at Western, was on Anderson Cooper yesterday. They’re doing amazing things, in difficult times.

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Being a parent has made me very adept at sneaking into the toy box and pitching whatever I can. You know, as a pastor’s kid, my daughter has inherited multiple boxes of Barbies, complete with clothes and cars circa 1980-something. And then there are the kid’s meal toys, the toddler cuddlies, the puzzles with missing pieces, or the games whose money is hiding in a plastic red wallet somewhere….

You get the picture. Even though my daughter loves all of her toys with intensity, sometimes they’ve just got to go. Quietly. In the night.

I say that being a parent taught me this. But, actually, I think I learned it when I became a pastor. Which brings me to the point of this post.

We’ve all got crap in our churches. Stuff that needs to go, even though someone in our history loved it with intensity. So, my husband Brian, a.k.a. the pastor of disaster, issued the stealth summer challenge. Now that our churches have quieted down a bit, what can we purge?

Here is your mission, if you choose to take it up. Throw something away, or at least hide it, and then report back in the comments. And, in general, what’s the funniest thing that you’ve thrown away? How did you get rid of it? Did anyone notice? What’s the weirdest thing that your church can’t let go of? Have you gotten in trouble for tossing something? And any ideas on why they keep so much stuff?

the photo’s by Art Visionary

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We are a country of rugged individuals. We raise our sons and daughters to be independent. Self-sufficiency is the ultimate goal of parenting, and we would like for them to achieve it at age eighteen. As young adults, we won’t think of getting married until we are financially independent, even though we often need two incomes to sustain one household. And when we do get married, even in our own families, we are seeking a secluded life.

The Wall Street Journal observed this as it reported new trends in architecture. We are designing homes to make sure that people stay to themselves. “Major builders and top architects are walling off space. They’re touting one-person ‘Internet alcoves,’ locked-door ‘away rooms,’ and his-and her-offices on opposite ends of the house. In fact, the showcase of the Ultimate Family Home hardly had a family room. The boy’s personal playroom had its own forty-two-inch plasma TV, and the girl’s bedroom had a secret mirrored door leading to a ‘hideaway karaoke room.’”

We live in a society where ultimate happiness is portrayed by a man, in an expensive car, with leather seats, with a blasting stereo, driving as fast as he can, making smooth corners on a road somewhere, completely isolated, completely alone.

Of course, after driving in traffic gridlock of D.C., I do understand this fantasy a bit more… but the problem with this advertising fairytale is that the isolation, even in with great wealth, is not making us any happier. This era of independence, of self, does not bring us contentment.

Bill McKibben writes about all of this in his book, Deep Economy. As wealth has grown in the last couple of decades in our country, happiness has declined. Americans who said they visited with their neighbors fell from one-third to one-fifth, and it keeps falling. We’ve been working too hard. We’ve been entertaining ourselves in our own personal playrooms.

Our sense of independence has affected American religion, where a personal, privatized faith in Jesus Christ has become much more important than the faith community. I know of some churches have difficulty maintaining their budgets because people give so much to televangelists. What they receive in the privacy of their own homes is more important than being a part of a body of believers.

We have based so much of our economy on individual gain, even though our communities suffer. Wal-Mart is a good example of this. My brother-in-law and sister-in-law work for Sam’s, so I know a lot about Wal-Mart and their employment practices. People shop there because the prices are so low for the individual customer. And yet, as the superstores have multiplied, we know that they are bad for our communities.

In the few years that Wal-Mart was expanding in Iowa, “the state lost 555 grocery stores, 298 hardware stores, 293 building supply stores, 161 variety shops, 158 women’s clothing stores, and 116 pharmacies.” A new Wal-Mart eliminates a job and a half for every job it creates. Comprehensive studies have shown that counties with Wal-Marts have grown poorer than surrounding counties, and the more Wal-Marts stores in the county, the faster they grew poorer. Communities suffered but the individual benefits, from lower prices.

The other problem with putting individual gain over the community is that humans seem to be genetically wired for community. People who have good friends or who are close to their families are happier than those who are not. People who participate in religious communities are happier than those who are not. Joining a club, a society, a church of some kind cuts in half the risk that you will die in the next year.

And the activity that makes Americans happy, that produced all kinds of joy? Volunteer work. People make friends through it. They see results. It broadens their experience of life. It gets people out of themselves.

(Speaking of volunteering, here is the latest news on Miriam’s Kitchen, the homeless program in our church. The photo is also of our happy volunteers.)

Now, how do we convince our culture? How do we let people who have grown up in an onslaught of “buy this and you’ll be happy and independent” messages know that it doesn’t actually work that way?

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–T-shirt on a guy meeting with friends at a coffeehouse.

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I have a friend who’s in her late thirties, going to seminary. She has a job that she loves, but she sensed a calling into ordained ministry nonetheless. She started the long route through grad school. She owned her home and didn’t want to move, so she picked up classes here and there, went part-time, commuted. Studied in between her shifts at her full-time job. 

Soon she became very tired and frustrated that her seminary wasn’t working around her schedule more. They failed to keep her needs in mind and didn’t seem to understand that many students commute. 

I struggle with this. As a person who welcomes change, I rarely find myself in the old-model, traditionalist camp, but somehow I am having difficulty embracing new models of seminary education.

I was a full-time student. Young. Without any children. No house. I have a very skewed perspective. But my fondest memories of seminary education were the classes, the library, and the community. There was something about moving to a place and living with other called people that helped me to become a religious person.

I’m sure the experience would not have been the same if I had not been studying Greek at all hours of the night, lamenting, celebrating, and praying. It wasn’t all good. Living among other students, I watched as my brilliant friends rarely picked up a book, and seemed to always get straight A’s. And some of the most unlikely students got the best positions at the end of it.

As I juggled four jobs in an attempt to keep my loans low, I often felt like I was working twice as hard to accomplish half as much (and I’m sure many of my classmates had the same complaints about me).

But, even in the messy stuff of community–especially in the messy stuff–I learned something about being a pastor. As I got annoyed with my neighbors and figured out how to deal with competition in a healthy manner, I was being formed.

Also, being a pastor is a life-altering job. So it might as well start changing our lives three years earlier.

But then, I go back to this article. They are talking about reconfiguring religious education. As the piece says, people can’t keep leaving seminary with student loan payments of more than $12,000 — with an average starting salary of just $45,500 (the 2005 student loan debt for PCUSA students was actually $32,959). The model of leaving everything to go to seminary, being in community, is breaking down. I just hope we don’t give up to much in the formation of our spiritual vocations as we rethink our models.

So what do you think? Does seminary work the same way for commuting students? Should seminaries start thinking of commuters as the norm and residents as the exception? Is it even possible for schools as small as our seminaries to tailor their schedules to people who are working a nine-to-five somewhere else? Is community an essential for seminary education?

the photo’s by darling.clandestine

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So, there’s a pattern in most of our churches. And working with campus ministries, I’ve noticed it even more. We love to confirm our youth, send them off, and never talk to them again…until they have children of their own. It’s the life cycle of our church. We get that early branding in, make sure our children can identify our logo, then we figure that they can come back in time, you know, when their own kids need to be baptized.

But it doesn’t work so well anymore, because people get married later now, if they get married at all. Then they usually marry someone outside of their tradition, someone of another religion, or someone who’s agnostic or an atheist. The denominational label doesn’t mean anything. So the chance that anyone’s wandering back into our church is pretty slim. 

In the FTE seminar that we had last week, we talked about this, and one pastor described the beautiful ceremony that they had for their youth, complete with white graduation gowns and red carnations, but he realized that they were saying something with the ritual. The congregation was saying, “You’ve graduated! It’s time to move away from home. See you later!” And the youth heard the message, loud and clear. They disappeared from church after confirmation.

So what can we do as churches to change this thinking, both on the part of the families and churches?

At the meeting to form this learning exchange, I learned what Roman Catholics do. Tim Muldoon and Lee Nagel introduced me to the practice of mystagogy. Mystagogy means to lead into deeper mystery. And (ideally…they admittedly have difficulties in practice as well) each person who goes through catechism is not considered a graduate, but a novice in the faith.

You notice the shift? For them, the journey into deeper faith is beginning, for us, it’s ending. For Roman Catholics, there’s a mentoring process inherent in the training, a relationship of pastoral care. In our discussions, there was not a sense that this was age-related. The novice could be older than the mentor, but rather, there was a sense of deepening the mystery.

We have done this in churches that I pastored, in the way of sponsoring someone who just went through confirmation. But, I think we could do a better job. If we could begin to change the culture of our congregations, so that we can begin to understand that the journeys and the mysteries are only just beginning.

the photo’s entitled, “The ideal confirmation photo” by druzli

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I’m having a conversation with Adam at A Wee Blether (Or, what would it be? A bloggersation?) about the Rev. Dr. Jeremiah Wright. As the famous pastor began making media headlines, there were so many interesting and complicated issues surrounding what was happening, especially for us, as church leaders. So as the initial media frenzy died down, Adam and I decided examine it, to see what we can learn from this moment.

Most recently, Adam asked me: How do you approach a sermon with which you deeply disagree? If you don’t agree with it, does that mean it’s not God’s word, or not God’s word for you?

You know, I like to see our presidents to go to church. I wouldn’t ever vote against someone for not attending, but it does make me feel a little better knowing that the most powerful man in the world can take an hour to seek guidance from someone other than the political and military experts. It’s good when a leader is a part of that complicated community that seeks to know God, that listens for God’s word.

Bill Clinton didn’t miss too many Sundays. George W. Bush talks a lot about his faith, but he doesn’t darken the door of any church on a regular basis.

Barack Obama was an active church-goer, of a UCC congregation. He donated his gifts and money for decades. Which would normally help him in the running, but not this time. His pastor, widely known as a great religious mind, said things in the pulpit… things that are difficult to hear.

Of course, we know that Republicans have been supported by religious men like Jerry Falwell, Pat Robertson, and James Dobson, who regularly said things that horrify us. They pepper their broadcasts with vitriol against gays, lesbians, women, and even the poor. Michael Gerson addressed this recently:

Didn’t George Bush and other Republican politicians accept the support of Jerry Falwell, who spouted hate of his own? Yes, but they didn’t financially support his ministry and sit directly under his teaching for decades.

Okay, so Gerson only addresses Falwell, who is conveniently dead. Gerson’s explaining that religious right candidates have received the abundant money, the votes, the grass-roots organization, but they would never subject themselves to any sort of guidance from these men.

I wonder…how does that make the religious right feel? Do they feel played with this stark admission from one of Bush’s former speechwriters? Gerson outlines the harsh reality of the conservative/religious/political stew. It is not a quid pro quo, something for something. It is something for nothing. There is no relationship here.

Gerson says Obama’s case was different. Obama didn’t just have a supporter, he had a pastor. Obama was not receiving money from Wright’s organization. He was giving money to a church. And when the words came out of Wright’s mouth, Obama did not leave.

Why didn’t he leave?

As Barack Obama explained in his speech, the church was more than a place where he could garner support for his promising political career. Obama was part of a relationship, a community, a family. The words of his pastor made him cringe. But he learned something very important there. He learned to listen to the generations who came before him. And through those words, he learned who he was and who he was not. Obama is not casting Wright off as a “batty old uncle” (as Gerson proclaims), Obama is explaining that sacred, intergenerational understanding that forms in our spiritual communities. 

In the Reformed tradition, Karl Barth writes that the Word of God refers three things: Jesus Christ (the Word made flesh), the Scriptures (as they point to Jesus Christ), and the Word proclaimed (which means our preaching. Gulp.).

I don’t think that everything that comes out of my mouth on a Sunday morning during my 12 minute time slot is the Word of God, but I will say that there is something about that relationship between the words and the congregation that is significant. There is something about how those sermons are held in a community, how the syllables sink into our bellies and then come out through our hands and feet, in the amazing work of reconciliation and peace. There is something about how the stories are understood from generation to generation that make them the Word of God.

But that is not the complete answer to Adam’s question. Because there are those dark times when slavery and oppression have been condoned from our pulpits. When racism, segregation, misogyny, and abuse has spewed from the mouths of preachers. And, at those times, I have to say, those words have nothing to do with the Word of God.

So how would you answer Adam’s question? How would you approach a sermon with which you deeply disagree? Is it the Word of God?

And my question for Adam: When a member leaves a church, it’s always difficult. And watching this pastoral relationship dissolve in such a public way has been particularly painful. What are you learning, as in intern and seminarian, about the relationship between pastors and members? 

photo’s by babasteve

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We had dinner with some friends last night. F-R-I-E-N-D-S. Our kids became friends first, but then we had an immediate bond over Mexican folk art. Strange, but true. We both have homes filled with masks, hammered metal, woodcarvings, and books. She walked into our oddly familiar living room, looked at me and said, “What are you doing Friday night?”

That’s what I miss the most about being a pastor. Having friends.

My husband and I are very social people, and over the years, we’ve made a lot of our friends at work or at church. Now that our church is our work, we don’t do that so much. I have friends in my congregation, of course. I mean, the church’s pretty amazing, filled very fun and interesting people. But I usually don’t hang out with them on my days off.

Since we often need to be available when others are done with their business hours, between the two of us, we have meetings almost every night, and we work on weekends. Our house is rarely clean, so other than a constant stream of neighborhood kids, we don’t have people over very much.

We have wonderful clergy friends, but they have the same nutty schedules, and it’s impossible to get something on the calendar with them.

And then we have to move a lot. And if we’re not moving, then our clergy friends are moving. So just when you find another pastor who’s not utterly work-oriented, and can squeeze in a movie every once in a while, then they move away. Or you have to move. And the whole friendship-making process starts all over again.

Our lives get so busy, and we’re public figures, we’re surrounded with people, and so we hardly realize that we have… no friends. Pastors are usually introverted and being around people takes a lot of energy. But we can easily slip from that comforting solitude to distressing loneliness.

So, in every place we’ve moved, we’ve had to figure the friend-thing out. We have friends who are far away, but we need friends who are close by. It’s important. Otherwise we become isolated, our view of reality becomes distorted, and we start living in that really strange church-bubble.

We’ve found friends in our neighborhood and in art communities. Now, most of my friends are at my daughter’s school. Other moms and dads. I actually didn’t realize that they were that close, until I got in a bind one day. Someone died and I had to have a babysitter. So I called about ten other parents and neighbors, explaining the situation to the various cell phone answering machines. And then, when I was in the shower, my answering machine became flooded:

“Of course.” “No problem.” “Bring her right over.” “That would be great.” “Anything for a friend.” “Anytime.” “Please, call me if you need anything else.” I let out a deep sigh of relief. Because it’s just so much better when we have some friends around.

So, what do you do? Do you find it difficult to make friends? How do you stay connected?

photo’s by m o d e

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