Thoughts about ends and beginnings...

I had a most insightful moment today about the changed and changing nature of ministry in my faith community. This morning we laid to rest one of the town's prominent native sons - a person who contributed greatly to the social well-being of the Berkshires - and who inspired hundreds of people to turn out to pay their respects. It was an honor to the legacy of his work, a tribute to his family and wife and an honest public display of sorrow and loss. It was also a privilege for me to assist the family as they begin the journey from sadness into grief and beyond.

Now, two sociological insights struck me as the ceremony matured:

+ First, the Sanctuary was filled with people from the business and philanthropic community in the region who had worked and played with the deceased over the past 50 years. They were - and sometimes still are - the captains of industry - who have a deep and abiding love for the Berkshires. Back in the day, many of these movers and shakers were members of our congregation, but not any more and their absence helped me appreciate how hard it must be for those of a certain generation to own and accept this change.

Our church, you see, is no longer the center of the elite. As a faith community, we are neither the "country club at prayer" as people used to say nor the heart of the town's spiritual life. Today - like much of the formerly "main line" but now "side line" churches - we are often barely relevant as the world rushes past our doors. To be sure, we are the first church - an historic fact born of a time when Massachusetts towns could not be chartered without a Congregational church - but contemporary folk have little to no understanding of what that means for 2009.

During my first month in town, for example, I discovered that most of the merchants on main street don't know where our building is located even though we are at the center of the town square (hence my commitment to informally identifying ourselves as First Church on Park Square.) But we still have an enormous job before us because on Thanksgiving Eve even the desk sergeant at the police station right behind our church couldn't tell people where to find our folk music concert! It would seem that the days of being at the heart of it all are over.

Now, I can see this because as the new kid on the block I have beginners mind about the role of the church; but for the once elite, this change is problematic and unsettling - so much so that some choose to act like it never happened. We have endured a massive cultural and spiritual shift in a very short period of time. Part of my calling, therefore, has been to encourage the whole church to embrace the various stages of grief on the road towards renewal. Another part of this calling is to help others not only own our new reality but also find God's mission for us in this new context. As the book of Revelation puts it: what is the Spirit saying to the church today! And while I think we have turned a corner in embracing our new reality, seeing the old world in action today helped me appreciate all the various layers.

+ Second, there was a surprising unanimity of comments from those retired folks or those who have taken new jobs: "Oh, we just ache for the loss that has happened here." Simultaneous translation: we - and this church - were once at the center of everything; we had the money and power to make things happen and now that is all gone away. One of the clergy who had been ordained here back in the early 50s even blurted out something about how "it must be so hard to continue after the great days of this church are over." (NOTE: I wanted to ask, where did you learn to do such arrogant theology but simply bit my tongue observing the old axiom that you simply have to pick your battles, yes? I this too harsh? Maybe...)

I do not want to suggest in any way, shape or form that those who made these comments are somehow morally bankrupt or spiritually inept. (Except, perhaps, those with some theologicaly training who fail to distinquish between culture and context?!!?) They are not. They are good-hearted and often faithful people. At the same time it is equally true that the great days of this church ARE NOT OVER. Our changes are not a curse, but a blessing.

For what has happened here - and throughout much of North America -is is not a tragedy but an opportunity to be authentic to the Living God in the spirit of Christ in this generation. Theologian Douglas John Hall has clearly articulated that the charism of this time for once powerful churches is that we no long have to maintain the illusion of influence. Because we are no longer the "country club at prayer," we can embrace a mission with those that remain in the region. We can learn how to live and do ministry together. And it will be grounded in partnership, not noblesse oblige or civil religion - and that is another huge shift.

Two biblical texts come to my mind. Jeremiah 29 speaks of God's call to build houses in what had become a place of exile: put down roots in your new reality - take wives and husbands and have sons and daughters with those in your new land - and seek the welfare of the city... for in its welfare you will find your welfare, too. This is an invitation and call to live in the present, not look towards the past. It is a challenge to let go of the tears of weeping that took place by the waters of Babylon and get on with creating new life beyond the grief.

The other comes from the gospel of Matthew where in chapter 16: 3 Jesus speaks to the religious and social leaders of his day saying: "When evening comes, you say, 'It will be fair weather, for the sky is red,' and in the morning, 'Today it will be stormy, for the sky is red and overcast.' You know how to interpret the appearance of the sky, but you cannot interpret the signs of the times." That is, you know about the past and certain immediate realities, but you can't and won't deal with the big picture. My old buddies in AA are clear: if you always do what you've always done, you'll always get what you've always got. 2010 is very different from 1950 and we can lament the passing of time (or not) but we can't escape it.

To say it was a fascinating time - in addition to the blessings of comfort born of the liturgy - would be an understatement. I give thanks to God for the whole of it.

(credits: various pictures of Pittsfield, MA as it has changed.)