Good Morning, All -- I have been reading a lot last night and today by various pastors and scholars about the state of the church. Much of it is in response to a report from a task force in our Episcopal Church about re-imagining (read, restructuring) our own Episcopal Church. (TREC - an acronym you, too, will see, and probably forget what it stands for.) I have seen a prediction that 40% of our churches will close within a few years. Some are calling denominationalism dead. The restructuring proposals are full of concerns that we have more reporting about creating genuine spiritual experiences (I thought God was in charge of that.) and about collaboration and down-sizing. There is a call to our seminaries to work with one another (even though they compete for a smaller and smaller group of students) and to create new curriculums that have measurable results in turning out clergy prepared to minister in our present world. There are committee-born, and therefore muddled, proposals for drastic changes in structure and use of resources. In all of this I have seen precious little about the Christ we call the Churchs one foundation -- a sure foundation at that. I have seen precious little about the real needs - and the real gifts - of our world and our people. I have seen proposals for things that will further alienate me, at least, from the formalities of our own denomination -- reports and numbers and measures and accountability to an anxious leadership always amplify my own craziness and increase my despair. And I have seen the diligence of observant, faithful people who cant put their fingers on what the church should be doing amidst a surprising tidal wave carrying people away from our doors. At the same time, I am seeing countless clergy on Facebook worrying about keeping Advent, using Latin names for ancient practices, complaining about theological nuances, and bemoaning shoddy liturgical practices. They post stunningly beautiful pictures of Advent altars and wreaths, wonderful seasonal prayers, and gorgeous videos of English choirs singing 8-part harmonies. Here, too I witness deep faithfulness, a certain sorrow that these things appear to be passing away, and a constant hope to commend and pass on all that has been valuable to us. Meanwhile: I have various appointments ahead as well as last week with people who all refer to our church as home even though we rarely, if ever, see them. They readily agree with me when I compare the situation to baseball and tell them I appreciate and affirm their belonging by saying, After all, how much time in a game does a baseball player actually spend at home plate? I am as apt to spend an hour with someone online who lives in California sorting out their deeply felt response to Robin Williams suicide as I am to spend an hour with someone here in town. Young people tell me their issue is not with the meaning of their grandparents dying, it is with the meaning of visiting grandparents and great-grandparents who cannot remember who they are. There are thousands more observations to be made about people coping in todays world -- but not here ... What I do want to share here is two things: I believe our little congregation is on the right track. And I believe our diocese is on the right track. Or rather, the Episcopal Church in New Hampshire is on the right track. The reason I believe these things is that I just read Mary Lutis (Mary is a Congregational scholar-pastor and former seminary leader) post and it made me remember immediately our Diocesan Convention this fall, and it made me think of our services at Faith. It made me remember that I look forward to our worship, to Gods surprises in our midst, and to the joy I feel in your company. I love Marys comment about not enough money is worrisome, not enough joy is fatal. So below is Marys post -- Folks, let us place our hope in our Lord and find joy in one anothers company. Dying of Thirst - December 16, 2014 -- Mary Luti As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and see the face of God? My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me, ‘Where is your God? These things I remember, as I pour out my soul: how I went with the throng, and led them in procession to the house of God, with glad shouts and songs of thanksgiving, a multitude keeping festival. - Psalm 42:1-4 The psalmists thirst for God is an animal need, urgent and physical. He will go mad and die unless he gets a drink of God. He has been subsisting on tears, which are plentiful (there is so much to be sad about), but drinking brine will eventually kill him. He needs water, fresh and clean. The only thing keeping him from despair is the vivid memory of what it was like to worship with the people of God, to sing and dance in jubilant procession, to behold Gods face in the elation of the assembly. Whats keeping him going is his hope to be swept up in those billows again. Worship that rarely lifts you outside yourself or brings you to your knees, praise that stays inside the lines, timid trickles of prayer, joy cut fussily into small white cubes—is this what we offer, in writer Peter Hawkins words, to all the deer who come crashing through the underbrush, hunting for water to keep them alive? If a congregation has a financial deficit, its worrisome. If it has an ecstasy deficit, it might well be fatal. Where is your God? Prayer -- Refuse our tepid songs, our threadbare words, our ungenerous rituals, great God. Intrude upon our safe remove, and plunge us into the depths to drink you in. Revive your crazed and panting deer, dying of thirst without your face. We want to live.
Posted on: Tue, 16 Dec 2014 14:36:59 +0000
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