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for Congregational Development

Toward a Theology of Identity

The Very Rev. Canon Michael J. Battle, Ph.D.

All Shall Be Well: An Approach to Wellness

Edited by William S. Craddock, Jr.

is available through Church Publishing, Inc.

http://www.churchpublishing.org

 

Who is God calling you to be? Isaiah answers through the imagery of mighty waters

suddenly appearing in the desert. It is as if for Isaiah God is calling us forth to discover a

new identity through impossible circumstances. Even in a desert, nothing can prevent the

mighty waters from springing forth, producing a something new, even a garden in a

wasteland. (Isaiah 43:19) In this chapter, I invite you to step with me into the waters of

identity. These waters are often troubled in which we immediately discover a theological

paradox—namely, a person cannot discover self-identity alone. This is a paradox because

self-identity implies solitude and isolation; so how can anyone discover self through any

other means than through self? As we aim our toes toward these murky waters of identity, let us prepare for surprises—by doing so, we will increase our wellness. In short, I think

we learn from God’s own identity, that identity cannot be discovered in the vacuum of

self; rather, self-identity will always need the healthy reference points of others in

community.

 

Misnomer of “Self-Identity”

Self-identity is not a possession about which one can say: There it is. God has

made us in the divine image that is not static and yet is identifiable. I like to put it this

way: Self is a responsible mystery! Instead of relegating self to the mysterious because

we lack the will to analyze such existence deeply, I argue that self is a responsible

mystery in which we are called to go as deep as we can, knowing that we can never reach

the bottom. In this way, self-identity is always in pursuit of new life—that is to say, a

new world of possibilities, one that is to be constructed day by day. Identity, after all,

implies movement and growth. And perhaps this rather obvious point is an indicator of

what must be central for any adequate understanding of wellness. Self-Identity is a

misnomer in the sense that one can introspectively know self. There needs to be a

reference point as the following story illustrates.

 

One Sunday morning, everyone in one bright, beautiful, tiny town got up early and went

to church. Before the services started, the townspeople were sitting in their pews and

talking about the mundane details of their lives. Suddenly, Satan appeared at the front of

the church. Everyone started screaming and running for the exits, trampling each other in

a frantic effort to get away from evil incarnate.

 

Soon the church was empty, except for one elderly lady who sat calmly in her pew, not

moving. . . seemingly oblivious to the fact that God’s ultimate enemy was in her

presence. Now, this confused Satan a bit, so he walked up to the woman and said, “Don’t

you know who I am?”

The woman replied, “Yep, sure do.”

Satan asked, “Aren’t you afraid of me?”

“Nope, sure ain’t,” said the woman,

 

Satan was a little perturbed at this and queried, “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

The woman calmly replied, “Been married to your brother for over forty-eight years.”

 

Even Jesus asked, “Who do they say I am?” (Matthew 16:13) The discovery of self is a

relational journey. Jesus, Paul, and other writers in Scripture stressed the themes of the

call to mature identity in community and the risks of regression into self-absorption. For

example, the opening chapters of I Corinthians remind a community of self-satisfied and

fractious converts that they are chosen in the first place for their weakness (I. 26:31) and

that their calling is to an ever greater identification with the humility and hiddenness of

God’s action in Christ (I. 17-25, 2: 1-9). This (2:6) is their maturity and their wisdom—a

maturity which their various self-assertions amply show they do not possess (3:1-4).

Ultimately, in Christian theology, Christ reveals the way to discover identity through

community. Such a way is not always easy, however.

 

Murky Waters of Identity

Because it is frightening and painful to be confronted with the awareness that our

belief in a controlled sense of self may often be empty and self-serving, we readily turn

away and often embrace unauthentic lives. To save us from such hell, God often

provokes a crisis to destroy our self-deceiving reliance. In other words, we cannot figure out life by ourselves and soon discover we need help. So, if we think we see ourselves

clearly, God often muddies our waters so that we do not settle on superficial self-identity.

Paul, himself, had to struggle through the murky process of finding his identity as his

eyes were open and yet he could not see. (Acts. 9:8) In fact, Paul needed someone else

(Ananias) to become aware of his new identity (Acts. 9:17). Paul took his new name and

identity through the grace of Christian community:

 

For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more

highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the

measure of faith that God has assigned. For as in one body we have many members, and

not all the members have the same function, so we, who are many, are one body in

Christ, and individually we are members one of another. (Romans 12: 3-5)

People formed through Christ’s discipleship believe, deep in the core of their being, that

God loved humanity into being. God’s love is prevenient—it is there before everything

else and calls all of our justifications for control of identity into account. In short, as a

Christian, no one can claim full control of her or his life. “We see through a mirror

dimly.” (1 Corinthians 13:12)

 

The Christian accepts the need to be transformed into a

new identity, a new perspective articulated by Archbishop Desmond Tutu:

God does not love us because we are lovable, but we are lovable precisely because

God loves us. God’s love is what gives us our worth. . . . So we are liberated from the desire to achieve, to impress. We are the children of the divine love and nothing can

change that fundamental fact about us.1

 

It is in this understanding of God’s love and human identity that we can then

make sense of one of the most fascinating concepts of the twenty-first century, Ubuntu.

Archbishop Tutu’s Ubuntu theology allows access to a new identity for South Africans,

especially as he appeals to ancient African concepts of individual and community which

John Mbiti sums up in the following statement: “I am because we are, and since we are,

therefore I am.”2

 

Ubuntu

Real unity of the individual depends on the unity of the community. I think this is

why the 2008 Lambeth Conference was designed around Indaba Groups , which are small

groups designed around the African concept of forming consensus through communal

conversation, rather than the deductive processes that often accompany gatherings in the

Western world. African spirituality begins with community and moves to individuality,

whereas Western spirituality tends to move from individuality to community. Western

definitions of “community” usually mean something like a collection of self-interested

people, each with a private set of preferences, all of whom get together because they

realize that in association they can accomplish things that they are not able to accomplish

otherwise. This definition of community is actually an aggregation, a sum of individuals.

Not only does this go against the African claims of community but, methodologically,

this Western definition of community becomes a tautology or a circular argument. In other words, Western definitions of community are based primarily on individuality.

 

Individuals pick and choose their own definitions of community. This, however, is not

the African concept of community. John Mbiti’s aphorism: “I am because we are”

suggests a thoroughly fused collective “we.” This lesson of African community is strange

for us in competitive Western cultures. Caught in the competitive schemes of the Western

world, i.e., between materialism and spirituality, and between individualism and

collectivism, the contribution of Ubuntu is in its display of a symbiosis between

individual and community. Tutu explains this symbiosis through an African idiom—a

person is a person through other persons. We are made for interdependence.

Archbishop Tutu eloquently describes this symbiosis:

 

We find that we are placed in a delicate network of vital relationship with the Divine,

with my fellow human beings and with the rest of creation. … We are meant then to live

as members of one family, the human family exhibiting a rich diversity of attributes and

gifts in our differing cultures as members of different races and coming from different

milieus—and precisely because of this diversity, made for interdependence.

[T]he peace we want is something positive and dynamic. In the Hebrew it is

called shalom which refers to wholeness, integrity; it means well being, physical and

spiritual. It means the abundance of life which Jesus Christ promised He had brought. It

has all to do with a harmonious coexistence with one’s neighbors in a wholesome

environment allowing persons to become more fully human.3

 

The totally self-sufficient human being does not exist. We all need others in order to be

human. That is why the cutthroat competitiveness of the so-called free enterprise system

is so disturbing for Africans such as Tutu.4 People should not compete against one

another to know who they are; rather, we should cooperate in order to know who we are.

Tutu explains this problem through an example of how Western culture tends to depend

on competition to form human identity:

[O]ne day at a party in England for some reason we were expected to pay for our tea. I

offered to buy a cup for an acquaintance. Now, he could have said: “No, thank you.” You

could have knocked me down with a feather when he replied, “No, I won’t be

subsidized!” Well, I never. I suppose it was an understandable attitude. You want to pay

your own way and not sponge on others. But it is an attitude that many have seemed to

carry over into our relationship with God—our refusal to be subsidized by God. It all

stems very much from the prevailing achievement ethic which permeates our very

existence. It is drummed into our heads from our most impressionable days that you must

succeed. At school you must not just do well, no you must grind the opposition into the

dust. We get so worked up that our children can become nervous wrecks as they are

egged on to greater efforts by competitive parents. Our culture has it that ulcers have

become status symbols.5

 

There is something seriously wrong with a system which encourages a high degree of

competitiveness and selfishness in a world where we seem to have been made for

interdependence. Something is clearly wrong about a system of people whose goal is to

achieve success despite the result of dehumanization. More provocatively, competition is

the sign of the fall of creation and it is the opposite of Ubuntu. Tutu concludes:

Have you seen a symphony orchestra? They are all dolled up and beautiful with their

magnificent instruments, cellos, violins, etc. Sometimes dolled up as the rest, is a chap at

the back carrying a triangle. Now and again the conductor will point to him and he will

play “ting.” That might seem so insignificant but in the conception of the composer

something irreplaceable would be lost to the total beauty of the symphony if that “ting”

did not happen.6

 

Ultimately, Ubuntu concerns the integrity of being human before God. We learn

to be human from the most humane person, Jesus Christ. In Christ we discover someone

who is fully human and fully God. To know this perfect humanity of Christ, however,

requires the paradox of knowing self-identity in which our knowledge is dependent on a

community (the church) who, being diverse and yet one, seeks to live in the mystery of the image of God. Ubuntu is the quality of interaction in which one’s own humanness

depends upon recognition of the humanness of the other. In the end, Ubuntu gives us the

insight that human endeavor is meant to be shared. We forget this at our peril. The beauty

of Archbishop Tutu’s understanding of Ubuntu is that it offers an alternative model to our

Western individualism. Ubuntu gives us encouragement that, as Christians, we are bidden

by the imperatives of our biblical faith to realize our connectedness as God’s children.

The appeal for Ubuntu for us is not for an appeal against individual uniqueness, but more

specifically to the mystery of persons (i.e., in God and creation). Ubuntu theology is

formed around the fact that there is so much about another person which cannot be

known and cannot be known without community. Tutu turns the concept of Ubuntu into a

theological concept in which human beings are called to be persons because we are made

in the image of God. Tutu concludes, “[Regarding the recording of a symphony] If it was

only one person it would be alright. But it is glorious when it is a harmony, a harmony of

different voices. Glorious. God is smart. God says it is precisely our diversity that makes

for our unity. It is precisely because you are you and I am me that [God] says, ‘you hold

on together.’”7

 

Conclusion and Challenge

We discover self-identity as we discover community. Such community should

make us more authentically ourselves. As I speak around the country, often on the topic

of reconciliation and the spirituality of community, I am inevitably challenged about my

argument that self-identity is discovered in community. The challenge carries force as

someone in the audience wants to know about communities that may not necessarily be healthy for individuals. Patricia Cranton illustrates this assumption through the problem

of being an authentic teacher in the classroom:

 

I recently discussed the idea of being an authentic teacher with a seasoned science

education professor—a man who was looking forward to retirement within the next year

after thirty years of teaching practice. He was almost appalled at the notion of being

oneself with students. “I don’t think I could go for that,” he said, startled by what he saw

as my naiveté. “Who I am in the classroom and who I am outside of the classroom are

two different people. Students don’t need to know me, they need to know how to teach

science.” Perhaps my raising the topic provoked images of personal self-disclosure or an

emotional sharing of feelings with students, things that had no place in his mind in

science teaching, but more likely, he simply saw teaching as something he does rather

than who he is.8

 

In her book, Becoming an Authentic Teacher in Higher Education, Patricia

Cranton is ambivalent about self-identity for all the reasons mentioned so far concerning

Western cultures. Cranton is especially instructive to the enterprise of how one discovers

identity. Such identity is not primarily discovered through the dispensing of information

but through formation and transformation.

 

I have argued that self-identity must be discovered in relationship. In order to be a

healthy person, you need a community; you cannot know you are handsome or beautiful,

intelligent or wise, without the reference point of someone else to provide you such

perspective. Other persons can help us truly see ourselves. We are not to live life as if we

are playing a role. Most importantly, playing a role cannot maintain authentic interaction

needed in the demanding tasks of ministry. When we grow toward a clearer perception of

ourselves as individuals in healthy community, we inevitably invite others to do the

same.

 

This is why we pray together. By prayer I understand something like maturing in

the reality of God. Such prayer is not something easily said, but something that must be done. But we typically understand prayer the other way around, as something that is

seldom done and more often only said. This is why there are so many books on prayer

and so little demonstration of it. So, movement toward a theology of identity is about

preparing a person to mature in the life of God—the ultimate community. The mystics

and spiritual writers help us see that we are preparing for an experience we cannot evoke

when we look for self-identity. “Contemplation,” says Richard of St. Victor, “is a free

and clear vision of the mind fixed upon the manifestation of wisdom in suspended

wonder.” Such contemplation, however, does not end with self. Because of the reference

point of God both in us and beyond us, our vision of self-identity is made whole. This is a

paradox—a gift from God.

 

 

1Tutu, Handwritten Sermons, at St Phillip’s, Washington D.C., Christmas III, 1984.

2John Mbiti, African Religions and Philosophies (New York: Doubleday and Company, 1970), 141.

3Tutu, Address, “The Quest for Peace,” Johannesburg, August 1986.

4Tutu, “Postcript: To Be Human is To Be Free,” 317.

5Tutu, Addresses and Speeches , “What Jesus Means to Me,” Durban University, August 6-7, 1981.

6Tutu, “What Jesus Means to Me.”

7Transcript of Tutu’s Sermon in Birmingham Cathedral, April 21, 1988. Published by: Committee for

Black Affairs, Birmingham, Diocesan Office, 4-5.

8 Patricia Cranton, Becoming an Authentic Teacher in Higher Education (Malabar, FL: Krieger Publishing

Company, 2001), 43.


Trends in Episcopal Church Membership

Researcher outlines characteristics of growing congregations

February 21, 2010

 

[Episcopal News Service – Omaha, Nebraska] The Episcopal Church's Executive Council heard here Feb. 21 that church membership and Sunday attendance continued to decline in 2008, but also heard a call for the church to promote knowledge of the characteristics of growing congregations.

During his statistic-laden hour-long report, Kirk Hadaway, the church's program officer for congregational research, told the council that congregations grow when they are in growing communities; have a clear mission and purpose; follow up with visitors; have strong leadership; and are involved in outreach and evangelism.

Congregations decline, he said, when their membership is older and predominantly female; are in conflict, particularly over leadership and where worship is "rote, predictable and uninspiring."

Hadaway suggested that "if we're going to turn this around -- or at least turn around the decline -- more attention needs to be paid to the things that result in growth, rather than to the broader cultural factors that are affecting our current patterns." Those cultural factors include such things as an aging population with declining birthrates and an increase in the number of Americans who claim no religious affiliation.

"The base problem is the fact that so many of our churches don't know why they're there," he said. "It's a caretaker sort of ministry, which is good and helpful, but it's a prescription for continuing decline."

Hadaway agreed with council member Brian Cole who suggested that "this is still ultimately a hopeful time for this way of being Christian" and said that the Episcopal Church ethos would seem to be appealing to those people who are wary of joining churches.

The problem, Hadaway said, is "we're not necessarily inviting them."

"We're just hoping they'll show up because of our lovely facilities, but then even when they're in, we don't really do anything necessarily to incorporate them," he said. "If you've been to a coffee hour, you know what I mean."

He added that very few congregations deliberately gather contact information from visitors and then follow up with them. He urged personal contact with newcomers, saying that parishes that deliberately follow up with visitors in a variety of ways are more likely to grow.

Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori said after Hadaway's report that she was struck that the most recent trend of declining membership began in 2000 and 2001, "long before the actions of General Convention 2003, which is often the spin that is out there." That meeting of convention consented to the ordination and consecration of New Hampshire Bishop Gene Robinson as the first openly gay and partnered bishop in the Anglican Communion. That decision caused intense debate across the church and the fracturing of some congregations and dioceses.

 


Downward Mobility

 

by John A.  Berntsen
Adapted from Cross-Shaped Leadership: On the Rough and Tumble of Parish Practice 

Shown here with permission from the Alban Institute.

 

There's a commonplace ministry experience I've found that many of us don't want to talk about. Every day we have to do things we're no good at. Our prospects for improvement are slim, yet we're rightly called on to do them. Say what you want about our spiritual gifts working harmoniously within the context of a suitably matched ministry. I know of very few such matches that are truly made in heaven. At best, the match is always approximate.

Not every good preacher is skilled at organization. Not every good pastoral caregiver is eloquent in the pulpit. Not every manager who is good at "minding the store" knows why we do what we do, except that it says so on the organizational flow chart. Our gifts differ, and so too do our liabilities and vulnerabilities. Part of the magical thinking that infects call committees and personnel committees is the expectation that the new hire or new call will include all of the strengths of the previous occupant of the position, plus those that were conspicuously absent. At some point, a reality check sobers everybody up. Then authentic and faithful ministry can begin.

Let me illustrate. In my early ministry years, I called a pastor friend who lived in another part of the country. We had been college roommates.

"So, how's it going?" I asked him.

"OK, I guess," he said, "but I'm really struggling with my preaching. It's hard."

"How do you live with this predicament," I asked, "since preaching is something that hangs over our heads almost every week? And after all, our tradition is big on proclamation."

"I don't really know," he said with his singsong Wyoming drawl. Frankly, his response made me worry for his personal well-being. I never stopped to consider the big picture of his giftedness that stood him in good stead with his congregation.

It's been over twenty-five years since we had that moment of long distance truth-telling. Not long ago my friend came through town, and we had a brief reunion. He's still in the mainstream of parish ministry. His self-confessed professional limitations, true or not, have not prevented him from being a faithful and effective pastor. Somehow his unique combination of gifts has enabled him to render great service to his community.

In recent years, I had a candid conversation with a prominent pastor who is head-of-staff in a high-profile congregation of a nearby synod. "John," he said, "I've always struggled with my visiting. I do it, and I work at it. But even after all these years of experience, when I'm sitting at someone's bedside in the hospital, I have trouble being present and paying attention the way they taught us in clinical pastoral education." Again, these particular limitations have in no way prevented him from rendering distinguished service.

Now, of course, what you want to know is what I'm willing to admit I'm no good at. Moreover, I presume you'd like me to do so in a way that does not cleverly redound to my credit. Okay, what I'm no good at is asking people to do things, or as we sugarcoat it in the church, "recruiting and equipping for ministry." What the better angels of ministry call "empowering others," I often experience as plain old chasing and begging. I know better. But spiritual entrepreneurship is not my forte. Just as my late father was never that good at selling insurance—Willy Loman from Death of a Salesman and the play Glengarry Glen Ross have always haunted me—I could never sell all my "Scout-O-Rama" tickets door-to-door without my sister Jane's help. The equipping of the saints is a noble business but not one for which the Spirit has specially endowed my person and work. Yet the parish has every right to expect of me a minimum level of performance even in these areas.

At this point in the discussion, what we church professionals usually do is to say that if only we could get a fix on our inventory of spiritual gifts and then match it up with the missional needs of the right ministry setting, all would run smoothly. Or we speak with hope of continuing-education plans and covenants that might overcome our ministry deficits. We invent language about "growing edges."

What we won't do, however, is to admit that we may be at the end of our rope and dangling by a professional thread. After all, it's important to stand tall as a "visionary leader." Were it not for our limitations ("the good, the bad, and the ugly"), though, would we have any qualifications for ministry? The old medieval hymn Felix culpa ("Oh, Happy Fault!") comes to mind. What if the beginning of wisdom, and for that matter, the beginning of effective and faithful ministry, is to confess that ministry is quite simply impossible? And what if this is absolutely not an excuse, not a clever lowering of expectations that allows us to avoid giving it the good old college try? What if it's simply the truth? And what if embracing this truth is not only the beginning of wisdom, but also the beginning of faithful and effective leadership?

Sooner or later a Christian worker has to face the reality that ministry itself is an impossible possibility—not because it is so professionally complex and demanding, or because the minister doesn't have all the right gifts, or even because the congregation isn't, as they say, "healthy," but rather because what God asks of the world—and what we are charged to proclaim—is something about which the world quite simply freaks out: dying in order to live. Nobody wants to die to self. In the same way, dying to our well-laid ministry plans calls for trust that there's new life on the other side of their demise.

One of the questions we may ask seminarians at the several stages of their candidacy process is this: "What does Jesus's death and resurrection mean to you? What should it mean for the life and mission of the church?" Sometimes we get a dissertation of bookish proportions. Often we get a moving testimony about heaven and the afterlife.

What is uncommon, though, is the budding leader who says something like this: "You know, Jesus's death and resurrection should mean that we Christians are willing to let some of our ways die so that we may more faithfully answer God's call and serve others. If we actually live by the promise of the cross, maybe we can let go of our set ways of doing everything. Because of Easter and the promise of the resurrection, maybe, just maybe, the future of our church is not closed but open.”

Humility leads to this down-to-earth approach to ministry. "Downward mobility" it's sometimes called. Simone Weil calls humility "the freely accepted movement toward the bottom." Count yourself lucky if you happen to work with a tested leader of this stripe.

Death and resurrection is not only the subject of preaching, the heart of liturgy, and the spirit of pastoral care, but also the unseen influence shaping the leader's daily professional functioning. The leader is humbled by the very work of ministry: by not always having the answers, by lack of giftedness for important ministries, by the need to apologize for insensitive remarks, by failure to keep commitments, by cowardice, by laxity in prayer, by anger and resentment toward "problem" people, and by disillusionment with the once-held ideal of the church. James Barrie, the sentimental author of Peter Pan, said, "Life is one long lesson in humility." So, too, is the practice of ministry.


The Need for Stress and Conflict

 

by Jeffrey D. Jones

Despite the ideal image of the loving, peaceful congregation in which everyone is happy—an image deeply ingrained in most all of us—leaders at times need to encourage conflict. They need to act in ways that make conflict inevitable. They need to enhance, not reduce, conflict. Doing these things is difficult. Few of us enjoy conflict. For many of us, taking deliberate actions that will lead to conflict runs counter to both personal desire and our image of our role in the congregation. The very thought of it may make our stomachs tighten, our hearts pound, and our palms sweat. And yet, at times inciting conflict is what effective and faithful leadership demands.

 

The leadership role in facing an adaptive challenge is not to provide answers, because no one knows what answers are needed to address the concerns the organization is confronting. The key to discovering the answers is giving the work back to the people, so that the answer can emerge from their experience. What do the people have to offer that enables this answer to emerge? In a word: conflict. The appropriate responses to adaptive challenges most often emerge out of a conflict of values within the organization. Sometimes the conflict is between values held by different groups. Sometimes it is between professed and lived values. But the answers needed nearly always emerge from a conflict of values. Without the conflict, there can be no answer.

In many organizations, conflicts, especially conflicts related to the organization's purpose, are avoided at all costs. Deeply ingrained attitudes and behaviors are transmitted, usually nonverbally, about the way one should behave so as not to provoke disagreement. Avoiding conflict, however, is one way to ensure the slow death of the organization, because if disagreements are not faced, there is no possibility of the kind of change that will enable the organization to renew itself. In this situation the leader's role needs to be one that encourages conflict. The leader doesn't create the conflict, of course. It is already there. What the leader does is bring it to the surface—usually by refusing to engage in the conflict-avoidance behaviors that are the accepted norms of the organization. The leader may simply ask questions about the issues or reflect upon what seems to be underlying stress in the organization's life. Sometimes a more direct approach may be needed, such as deliberately raising issues that everyone else is avoiding, because everyone else fears that any discussion of them will provoke disagreement.

 

Focused conflict at a controlled level enables the answers needed for positive change to emerge. Unbridled conflict about secondary issues doesn't help at all. If the role of leaders is to instigate, encourage, and enhance institutional stress and conflict, they need to be prepared to suffer the consequences. The not-very-pleasant reality is that if leaders are instrumental in bringing conflict into the open and increasing stress in an organization, much of the uneasiness, resentment, and anger created will be directed toward them.

 

Comments and emotional responses directed toward the leader are not personal—they may sound that way, but in truth they are aimed at the leader's role. If your actions seem to be creating conflict and increasing stress, it's safe to assume that most people will conclude that you are not meeting their expectations. Negative reactions are likely. Being able to make this distinction between self and role doesn't automatically eliminate the leader's feelings about the way others respond, but "it enables an individual not to be misled by his emotions into taking statements and events personally that may have little to do with him." Even personal attacks are not really about you. Reacting to them as personal can have the detrimental effect of moving the focus of the work to you and away from the adaptive change needed.

 

Most of us who are leaders in the church do not like conflict. First, it goes against our nature as caring people. Second, the image we have of the congregation as a community of faith usually does not feature conflict in any significant way. Third, those involved in congregations are dealing with stress and conflict in many areas of their lives and neither want nor need more conflict when they come to church. If church is a place of stress and conflict, they might just stop coming.

 

Part of the reality of the pastor's life is his or her awareness of the issues that create stress in the lives of people in the congregation. Such an awareness may be present to some extent for all leaders in a congregation, but pastors are often more deeply conscious of these issues than most. Knowing that people you care about are already dealing with the financial stress of being laid off from work or the emotional stress of a troubled teenager or the stress of a difficult marriage—or any number of other life situations that create stress—makes it difficult for a pastor to decide to enhance the stress level within the congregation. More than anything else, it seems, these people you care about need church to be a place in which they can find some measure of escape from the problems they face, some measure of peace.

 

The difficult reality is that it often seems that to be compassionate means to forego dealing with the issues essential to the vitality of the congregation. Time and again I've discovered a close parallel between the issues causing stress in an individual's life and the issues that need to be addressed in the congregation. The people are the congregation, after all, and the dynamics that shape their personal lives often shape congregational life as well. While surface issues may differ in many cases, the underlying and most significant issues in both personal and congregational life are similar. Working on the issues in one area has a positive impact in the other. Thus raising the level of institutional stress needs to be seen as something more than adding to the stress of already stressed-out people. It may well be that, of course, but it can also provide a setting in which it is possible to address concerns in a way that will have a significant and positive impact in people's personal lives.

 

The congregation, for example, may struggle over balancing the budget or venturing into a new ministry to which many believe God is calling them. To bring this issue into the open and to encourage dealing with it will increase stress. But it will also help the congregation deal with important issues related to the balancing of material concerns and God's will. In doing this it can have a direct impact on the way people in the congregation deal with similar tensions in their own lives.

 

The relationship is not always clear, but I am coming to believe that an important connection exists between the issues that create stress in our personal lives and those that create stress in the congregation. If the congregation can handle these issues appropriately in its life, this effort will have a significant impact on the lives of members. Yes, it still increases stress, it still means that the congregation won't be a place of refuge and peace, but it does hold out a real possibility of important growth—growth that offers enough reason to endure the stress.


Adapted from Heart, Mind, and Strength: Theory and Practice for Congregational Leadership, by Jeffrey D. Jones, copyright © 2009 by the Alban Institute. All rights reserved.


Turning Toward Life

by Mary Louise Gifford
Decreasing numbers in worship, smaller numbers of volunteers to do the work of the church, and old buildings in need of costly repairs are prompting many congregations to ask questions about their future. Quiet conversations are taking place everywhere about the relevance of a church in its neighborhood and whether even to try to reach out to the new neighbors. Options for these churches include, but are not limited to, turnarounds, merging or yoking with another church, adoption by larger churches, or closing down and using the existing buildings as sites for new church starts. Another option is to sell the buildings and use the money to help other churches continue their ministry. These were some of the decisions the folks at the church I pastor had to wrestle with as they called me and we moved forward into an uncertain future of our own. When we began our work together, we had never even heard the term turnaround church. 

Not every declining or dying church is meant to live. Not all churches can or should turn around. But there are some, like ours, that have a will to live and a strong sense of God's call to at least try. Our work together has defined us as "a new church start in an old church building."

My heart ached with compassion for the members of the church, and I began to fall in love with them right from the start. I had been called to discover and to change some of the patterns and practices that were killing their church. I likened their church to a boat. They had called me to sail the boat by granting me the authority to lead them. They wanted me to bail the boat because it was literally taking on water. They wanted me to steer the boat and lead them in a new direction. But they also wanted me to rock the boat, because some of those in the boat had to be shaken up and out. And they wanted me to help them build a new boat in which they all felt spiritually fed and empowered to do the mission and ministry of the church. Simultaneously, they wanted me to keep their boat afloat by staying true to the traditional Christian roots of the faith. Could I deliver all that? Could anyone?

Worship, stewardship, and leadership seemed to be the aspects of their congregational life that cried out for change. It became clear that I had to lead first by example and then by developing leaders. With my road map in hand, I knew that I would have to combine all my skills with those of the congregants and be very creative in approaching these congregational changes. Relying on God's Spirit in each of us, I had to jar the stagnant energy and negative patterns in the church. I had to help the members get themselves unstuck from each other and from the past. The members had given me a real gift, in that they had called me to help them change. Not all pastors are given such clear permission to lead their congregations in ways that will change the church's direction. Due to the situation's urgency and magnitude, my congregation vested me with pastoral authority right from the start. What skills would I need to lead the congregation into and through the changes they so desperately wanted and needed?

Turning a church around involves a number of years dedicated to dismantling old systems and initiating and implementing newer, more effective systems. This is one of the major obstacles that points out the difference between a new church plant and a turnaround church. Although a new church plant does have its own set of challenges, it does not carry the same baggage as a turnaround church. At our church, that baggage sometimes seemed overwhelming. As I walked around the church buildings, I saw physical plant issues everywhere: holes in the walls, paint peeling, walls caving in, closets stuffed with papers and other remnants of the past. Water came into the building every time it rained. Members of the congregation had learned to close their eyes to all of this decay, a form of visual denial. The work seemed overwhelming and eventually they just ignored it. They had not put serious effort into repair of the church building. It seemed as if they had simply lost heart because of the odds. Their collective denial allowed them to feel okay and that they and their church were safe. Yet, they also felt trapped in a situation for which they could not find any solutions. They knew that they would not be able to sustain their church because their building and finances were about to give out. I think they felt powerless, but still they had not given up hope. That was when they called me as their first full-time pastor in decades, their first female pastor ever, and they asked me to help them change. People do not necessarily resist change, they resist loss. And much was at stake to lose. 

I believed that God had a calling not just for me but also for the congregation. My job, as I came to understand it, was to use all of my experience, gifts, and skills—personally, professionally, and prophetically—to help the people grow a new church within their old church and, in the process, help them grow a new heart for God and for the mission of their church. To turn this church around from old to new, I knew that the people might have to feel worse before they began to feel better. And they did. Nothing we've done has been easy, but we know that God has been with us every step of the way, from their decision to call me as their pastor and invest authority in me to their collective hope of a future for their church. 

Not everyone in a turnaround church is going to agree with the way change happens. Power struggles and conflict need to be dealt with in calm and systemic ways. Previously, the members had lived with two major fears. The first was that the church would close, and the second was that those who had led them would leave. The second came true and others had to step up to lead. Yes, those who had threatened to leave did. When those who remained saw their worst fear come true and they survived, they felt free to change direction. The result of that group leaving was a shared leadership that set the stage for dramatic change. Members took responsibility as a spiritual community for worship, stewardship, and leadership. The congregation took a new look at itself and invited the Holy Spirit to fill the vacuum created by its former leaders' departure. The Spirit creates an environment where people can take initiative to empower themselves and others, take risks, and experience success.

We were able to change the course of our own history by interrupting the course of fifty years of decline. By exposing the denial and by opening ourselves to the truth of possibility about the church, most, but not all, of those who lived under the cloud of denial again sing God's praises. Not everyone made it, but those who stayed have found reasons to rejoice in God's finding favor in their church.

Adapted from The Turnaround Church: Inspiration and Tools for Life-Sustaining Change by Mary Louise Gifford, copyright © 2009 by the Alban Institute. All rights reserved.


Spiritual Formation and Money: Mission, Ministries, and Generosity

by John V. Clark , Wayne Whitson Floyd

For many religious people, their faith and their money live in an uneasy truce with each other. Seldom are we encouraged to see our attitudes about—and actions done with—our money as essential aspects of our spiritual formation as believers.  Our wallets don't appreciate our faith meddling with their contents, and our faith wants to think of itself as above such gritty worldly issues as money and the way we spend it.

I know there are individuals, congregations, and organizations that feel and act differently about the relationship between spiritual formation and money, and recently I have gotten to know one such group, a midwestern organization that focuses its work on stewardship and capital campaigns.  The James Company describes itself as offering "a wide range of development and fundraising services and materials to help congregations cultivate and gather their resources to accomplish specific goals."

In preparation for an upcoming series of four online webinars that the James Company will be leading for the Alban Institute, a "Year-Round Stewardship Toolkit," I invited their president, John Clark, to reflect on what congregations need to keep in mind about their relationship with their money, particularly in these tough economic times for individuals and the faith communities to which they belong. 

—Wayne Whitson Floyd, Education Program Manager, The Alban Insitute

Wayne Floyd:  John, what is your main goal in helping congregations to explore spiritual formation and their money?

John Clark: Fulfilling mission in our congregations is our primary goal.  So, focus on mission. Mission consists of identity, values, and strengths for ministry.  Whatever else you do, I tell them, do not let reactive decisions interfere with the congregation's ability to carry out its mission.  Ask, "Will what we are choosing to do jeopardize our ability to carry out our mission?"

Oftentimes the mission is not deep enough into congregational consciousness.  So be sure to communicate your reason for being, over and over.  It seems self-evident, but begin by remembering your identity—who you are.

Then be sure to account for your mission effectiveness.  Emphasize the real outcomes of your mission.  The church that consistently and creatively articulates a compelling vision and celebrates the effectiveness of its mission will attract generosity. 

Even in the midst of personally challenging times, people still want to make a difference.  The church that vividly tells its story and challenges the community to live beyond itself attracts financial resources.

Wayne Floyd: How important is it for congregational leaders to assess their ministries honestly, including how they are doing with the money their members have provided for the congregation's ministries?

John Clark: Nothing substitutes for a realistic appraisal of your ministry.  Bring the budget, contributions, and expenses into alignment and create a credible reality for everyone.  

Rather than focusing on whether or not you are increasing the budget or meeting the budget, communicate how well you are accomplishing your ministry goals.  Explain that your ministry is vital to many people and that sustained and increased giving will make a difference in people's lives.

Churches must speak more intentionally and directly about how people are dealing with day-to-day finances.  People are accustomed to a consumer-driven lifestyle.  People have too much debt and say they cannot even think about saving.  Do we think the answer is any different about their generosity?  

We need to meet people where they are in their finances.  We need to teach and coach about how we manage money resources.  We need to help people learn how to get out of debt.  We need to teach about saving.  We need to teach people to live above consumerism.

The church that teaches about sound, biblical financial practices will create a generous culture that supports a compelling vision of mission and ministry.

Build the trust connection with people.  Tell people frequently how their financial gifts are being used and how their giving is making a difference.  Celebrate generosity.  Maintain an open approach about church finances.  And most importantly, find as many ways as possible to say thank you.

Wayne Floyd: What are the most important questions you ask congregations as they plan to undertake the ministries they have decided are central to their identity?

John Clark: Our strategy for planning ministry is to ask three questions:  What are our strengths, those things we do well?  What do we do okay and should improve?  What could we begin to do?

Here's a question that is rarely asked: What is it we should stop doing?  Most churches will acknowledge that there are some activities, events, programs, or ministries that they do in order to be "full service," not because they are good at them.  

Churches need to focus on their core strengths in ministry and channel their financial resources toward them.  Stop ineffective ministry.  People have to adjust their budgets by stopping spending that they'd rather not stop, and the church needs to do the same.  We need to model how to adjust spending patterns.  

Wayne Floyd: How do you get congregations to take the first crucial steps toward deepening their generosity?

John Clark: I believe that once we put aside our fear and begin to trust God, we can awaken the desire to be as generous as we have always wanted to be.  Now is the time for generosity.  

Churches that demonstrate generosity in their commitment to sustained mission will grow generous giving. Generosity is a spiritual issue. The church that aligns spiritual formation and money will never lack.  Yet, it is hard to give generously without understanding and believing in the connection between faith and finances.  

Our mission, our ministries, and our generosity are deeply bound together.  Once we can start dealing with our money as a part of our spiritual formation, we will find we are more faithful with both.
 

Comment on this article on the Alban Roundtable blog


Bridging the Gap between Knowing and Doing

by Larry  Peers

When congregations, with all good intentions, make plans for change but don't seem to get anywhere, they may be experiencing the very common phenomenon that some have called the "knowing and doing gap." You know what you need to do, but can't seem to do it. The situation is not hopeless, however. There are approaches that we, as leaders, can take to get beyond this tendency.

First, change that endures mines the best of what has been in the past, responds thoughtfully to the challenges of the present, and discerns wisely and prayerfully a future among possible scenarios. If we attempt to solve present problems myopically—that is, without this broader perspective of the interrelationship between the congregation's past, present, and future—we may be cutting ourselves off from the congregation's enduring strengths. If we focus only on solving present problems, we may not ask ourselves what is possible. Instead, we need to be able to evoke the possibilities within the congregation that are inherently self-motivating. The following practices, drawn from an "appreciative inquiry" approach to leading, may help.

Encourage Discovery

First, ask members to reflect upon and talk about the times when the congregation was at its best—at engaging members in the life and work of the congregation, at making a difference in the surrounding community or in the spiritual lives of its members, or whatever else your particular focus may be. For example, you might ask: When have you felt most engaged in the life and the work of this congregation? What did we as a congregation do to help bring that about?

From these lived examples you will be able to discover some common themes. You can then ask the congregation to consider the root causes of these common best experiences. What qualities and practices helped to bring these experiences about?

Imagine Possibilities

Next, focus on the question: What would be possible for us as a congregation if we did more of what we know actually works—if we did more of what we do when we are at our best? A distinction is important here: rather than envisioning possibilities out of a mythical "clear blue sky," we are imagining these possibilities from what we have already actually experienced, and we are considering what would occur if the congregation intentionally did more of what it knows it can do to bring about these best experiences among its members.

Design Futures

Once you have clarified some future possibilities that are built upon your understanding—grounded in actual experience—of the best of what can be, focus your efforts on asking: What shifts in our perspective and ways of being can help bring this about? What behaviors and actions would we see more of? What changes in our approaches would we need to take to support what is possible for us as a congregation?

It is at this stage that you would proactively anticipate obstacles to your congregation's future directions and plan for what you will need to do differently in order to overcome these obstacles.

Ensure Delivery

Once a possibility has been clarified, it's important to identify the specific, feasible steps needed to make it a reality, along with a time line for accomplishing them. At this stage it often helps to extend the discussion beyond the usual committee working on the project. Innovation often comes from inviting fresh eyes and voices into the process.

Ongoing Destiny

In their book, The Knowing-Doing Gap, Jeffrey Pfeffer and Robert Sutton identify some of the tendencies that often lead to this gap, including:

·         Because we’ve talked about it we feel we’ve done it.

·         Because we have made a plan we feel that is equivalent to doing the plan.

·         We fear moving forward because of the unknown.

·         We have set ourselves up for too much change too soon. 1

 

To address these stumbling blocks, I have found it helpful for a congregation to develop a prototype of some new practices they will try over a period of three to nine months, with the explicit purpose of learning through doing. As a leader, you would need to intentionally build into this process opportunities for reflecting on the results of your new actions as a congregation, for harvesting your learning, and for making course corrections from what you have learned.

In the Protestant tradition there is the understanding that the church is always reforming. As leaders, we have the opportunity to guide that reformation in our local congregations, for the sake of our congregations and the church as a whole.

1. Jeffrey Pfeffer and Robert I. Sutton, The Knowing and Doing Gap (Boston: Harvard Business School Press, 2000)
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Adapted from "Ask Alban" in Congregations Spring 2009 (vol. 35,
no. 2), copyright © 2009 by the Alban Institute. All rights reserved
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The Beginning of the Great Disruption

By THOMAS L. FRIEDMAN

March 8, 2009

 

Sometimes the satirical newspaper The Onion is so right on, I can’t resist quoting from it. Consider this faux article from June 2005 about America’s addiction to Chinese exports:

FENGHUA, China — Chen Hsien, an employee of Fenghua Ningbo Plastic Works Ltd., a plastics factory that manufactures lightweight household items for Western markets, expressed his disbelief Monday over the “sheer amount of [garbage] Americans will buy. Often, when we’re assigned a new order for, say, ‘salad shooters,’ I will say to myself, ‘There’s no way that anyone will ever buy these.’ ... One month later, we will receive an order for the same product, but three times the quantity. How can anyone have a need for such useless [garbage]? I hear that Americans can buy anything they want, and I believe it, judging from the things I’ve made for them,” Chen said. “And I also hear that, when they no longer want an item, they simply throw it away. So wasteful and contemptible.”

 

Let’s today step out of the normal boundaries of analysis of our economic crisis and ask a radical question: What if the crisis of 2008 represents something much more fundamental than a deep recession? What if it’s telling us that the whole growth model we created over the last 50 years is simply unsustainable economically and ecologically and that 2008 was when we hit the wall — when Mother Nature and the market both said: “No more.”

 

We have created a system for growth that depended on our building more and more stores to sell more and more stuff made in more and more factories in China, powered by more and more coal that would cause more and more climate change but earn China more and more dollars to buy more and more U.S. T-bills so America would have more and more money to build more and more stores and sell more and more stuff that would employ more and more Chinese ...

We can’t do this anymore.

“We created a way of raising standards of living that we can’t possibly pass on to our children,” said Joe Romm, a physicist and climate expert who writes the indispensable blog climateprogress.org. We have been getting rich by depleting all our natural stocks — water, hydrocarbons, forests, rivers, fish and arable land — and not by generating renewable flows.

“You can get this burst of wealth that we have created from this rapacious behavior,” added Romm. “But it has to collapse, unless adults stand up and say, ‘This is a Ponzi scheme. We have not generated real wealth, and we are destroying a livable climate ...’ Real wealth is something you can pass on in a way that others can enjoy.”

Over a billion people today suffer from water scarcity; deforestation in the tropics destroys an area the size of Greece every year — more than 25 million acres; more than half of the world’s fisheries are over-fished or fished at their limit.

“Just as a few lonely economists warned us we were living beyond our financial means and overdrawing our financial assets, scientists are warning us that we’re living beyond our ecological means and overdrawing our natural assets,” argues Glenn Prickett, senior vice president at Conservation International. But, he cautioned, as environmentalists have pointed out: “Mother Nature doesn’t do bailouts.”

One of those who has been warning me of this for a long time is Paul Gilding, the Australian environmental business expert. He has a name for this moment — when both Mother Nature and Father Greed have hit the wall at once — “The Great Disruption.”

“We are taking a system operating past its capacity and driving it faster and harder,” he wrote me. “No matter how wonderful the system is, the laws of physics and biology still apply.” We must have growth, but we must grow in a different way. For starters, economies need to transition to the concept of net-zero, whereby buildings, cars, factories and homes are designed not only to generate as much energy as they use but to be infinitely recyclable in as many parts as possible. Let’s grow by creating flows rather than plundering more stocks.

Gilding says he’s actually an optimist. So am I. People are already using this economic slowdown to retool and reorient economies. Germany, Britain, China and the U.S. have all used stimulus bills to make huge new investments in clean power. South Korea’s new national paradigm for development is called: “Low carbon, green growth.” Who knew? People are realizing we need more than incremental changes — and we’re seeing the first stirrings of growth in smarter, more efficient, more responsible ways.

In the meantime, says Gilding, take notes: “When we look back, 2008 will be a momentous year in human history. Our children and grandchildren will ask us, ‘What was it like? What were you doing when it started to fall apart? What did you think? What did you do?’ ” Often in the middle of something momentous, we can’t see its significance. But for me there is no doubt: 2008 will be the marker

— the year when ‘The Great Disruption’ began.

 


In a Culture Drawn to ‘Big’, Should the Church Really Be Celebrating ‘Small’?

1st March, 2009

written by Judy Paulsen

from http://freshexpressions.ca

 

We live today in a culture of ‘Big’.  Big box stores, Multiplex Cinemas, massive subdivisions, and across North America in the last two decades, something else big-the megachurch.  Because these churches are big they can offer the very best music, audio-visual presentations, great sound systems and specialized teaching skills.  They are among the fastest growing churches today.  However, many of these churches stress that ‘the bigger we get, the smaller we need to become’.  Many of them have discovered that to disciple people effectively (or even get to know them) small groups are essential.  They’re absolutely right, of course.  And we wish them the absolute best in that endeavor.

But what does any of this mean to the thousands of small churches?  Are there things that happen in ’small’ that can’t happen (despite the very best intentions) in ‘big?

 

Story One

Last week three little girls, ages 5, 9 and 10 dropped by our church, while on their way home from school.  They asked if the littlest one, Milly, could use the washroom.  Afterwards, Amanda, 9, and the clear ringleader, asked if we had any papers that told when church happened.  She said she once went to a Catholic school and had decided it was time for her and her sister to come to church.  She wanted to know if I could show her around so she knew where to take her little sister when it came time for the kids’ program (which she had read about on the paper).  When I showed then the sanctuary, Milly exclaimed, “Look at the pretty pictures!”   Amanda knowingly replied, “Milly, those are stained glass windows”. 

Amanda informed me that she and Milly would only be here every second week because they were at her dad’s every other weekend.  She wanted to know if it was okay for their mom to drop them off since ‘She doesn’t really go to church.’  Kerry, age 10, announced that she might be able to bring her mom along this Sunday.  Then the three waved goodbye and continued on their way home.

I was left a little dumbstruck by the whole encounter, but I know one thing for sure: God is up to something in the lives of these 3 little girls: He is doing a new ’small’ thing.  And so I found myself asking a question about ’small’:  What if there hadn’t been a church in their neighbourhood?

 

Story Two

About ten months ago I sat and listened to three couples with toddlers talk about their lives, and explain why they found it so hard to honour a vow they made at their first child’s baptism, when they had promised that child would be “nurtured in the faith and life of the Christian community’.  They spoke of both partners commuting long hours to work in the city. They spoke of dropping their kids off early each day at daycare and the guilt they felt doing that.  And they spoke about how neither leaving their toddlers in the nursery or keeping them with them in worship worked.  It wasn’t that they didn’t want to nurture their kids spiritually.  They just couldn’t figure out a way in to do that.  Maybe when their kids were old enough for Sunday School.  Maybe someday.

That conversation gave rise to another ’small’.  It’s called ‘Messy Church’, and it happens once a month on Saturday mornings.  It’s a time for parents and little kids, mainly ages 2 to 6, to learn and worship together.  Messy Church has met eight times now.  Attendance has ranged between 21 and 38.  Almost all of the families who attend were very peripherally attached to the faith community.  A few families have now brought friends and their kids.  Several grandparents have started bringing their grand kids, whose parents don’t have a church connection.  Through songs, games, crafts, stories and DVD clips, we’re reaching children and adults we wouldn’t have reached otherwise.

And so this week I found myself asking another question about ’small’:  if we hadn’t known the initial couples well enough to realize they weren’t at church, how would we ever have connected with them and their kids in a more substantive way?

 

Story Three

Out of the blue a man called and asked to talk with a pastor.  The man told me his marriage was in serious trouble.  He and his wife were new in town and had chosen us because we had the same name as the church they were married in (Christ Church …. go figure!).  When I met with them two nights later it became clear that their marriage problems were very much related to deep pain in both of their pasts.  They were both the children of alcoholics and had witnessed and experienced serious dysfunction in their families.

Somewhat to my surprise, I found myself inviting them to consider taking part in a program we were starting the very next night called The Twelve Steps:  A Spiritual Journey.  Five weeks into the program (being attended by nine people), they tell me that for the first time they are talking together about the pain in their past, and about spiritual issues.  Last week the women’s sub-group of six all went to a movie together.  The husband has decided to take holiday time on several Tuesdays so that his afternoon shift won’t interfere with him doing the program.  Last Sunday they came to church for the first time.  The husband told one of the Twelve Step leaders that he felt the sermon was ‘just for him’.

And so yet again I found myself asking a question about ’small’.  If the only ‘way in’ to hear the gospel is through a large group worship event followed by the bold step of voluntarily joining a small group, how many people who seriously need to hear good news about the transforming power of God are missing out?

The Fresh Expressions movement, sweeping through much of England and now taking off in Canada, tells us ’small is beautiful’.  In its skateboard churches, bakery churches, café churches, and Goth Eucharists they are reaching small groups of people no traditional church (big or small) can reach.  I believe small neighbourhood churches can confidently say, along with Fresh Expressions, “Yes, small can be beautiful.”  So let’s celebrate ’small’, by keeping an eye on the big things God wants to do there.


The Messy Work of Renewal

by Daniel P. Smith , Mary K.  Sellon

If you’ve ever remodeled a house while attempting to live in it, you have a sense of the chaos and complexity of congregational renewal. It will take far longer, cost you more, and prove messier than you ever imagined at the start. People who have worked with both church starts and church renewal will tell you that starting a church is easy compared to renewing one. The difficulty lies in the work itself. Pogo’s line holds true here: "We have met the enemy and he is us."

 

The church seeking renewal must look beyond simply improving its programs and its building, though both may ultimately be changed. Pastors and laity leading renewal in their declining congregations are asking people to make fundamental shifts in their perspectives, their attitudes, and their behaviors. The work demands a great deal from a people and a pastor.

 

Your congregation is what it is today not because of what a bad pastor did to it, or because the neighborhood has changed, or because our culture is going to hell in a handbasket. Although those occurrences and many others have had an impact, your congregation is what it is today because of how it responded, or failed to respond, to the realities it faced. What your congregation will be in the future is up to you and the other members and how you work together to create something new from the realities you face. What you do or don’t do now will make the difference. Your actions will either reinforce the patterns that have become established in your congregation, or start to counter and shift them. The leadership provided by your pastor can help or hinder, but it cannot make your congregation succeed or keep it from ultimately achieving the goals you set for yourselves.

Some wonder, "Is it even possible? Can people with little or no experience of their congregation’s being church in this way create this kind of community?" We’ve seen it happen enough times to know that the hope is true and that renewal is possible—not easy, but possible. The path to renewal looks different for each congregation, but some common elements can be observed. Here’s what we know.

Renewal has both outer and inner aspects. To move to a new place, a congregation must tend to both. Organizationally, there are three phases of work:

1.       Developing readiness: preparing the leaders to lead the congregation in a new direction

2.       Surfacing a compelling congregational vision that will guide decision making

3.       Developing and implementing strategies that move the congregation toward the envisioned future

 

These three fundamental tasks frame the work that ultimately realigns a congregation. Addressed sequentially, they break renewal up into understandable and manageable phases of work. The work of the first two phases culminates in pivotal decisions that prepare the congregation to tackle the final phase of work. Phase 1 results in leaders' declaring the congregation’s current trajectory unacceptable and committing to lead in a new direction. Phase 2 results in a vision of a better future, discerned by the congregation and formally adopted by the congregation's leaders.

While making such decisions might be a simple thing for an individual, it takes a fairly long time for a congregation to make informed and "owned" choices. Whatever the congregation decides must be desired, claimed, and lived into. It’s one thing to say you want something; it’s another to want it enough that you follow through and act on the intention. Phase 3 focuses on exactly that—creating the future that’s been envisioned.

 

Each of these three phases demands significant work on the part of the people involved. The real work of renewal, however, is inner work. It is here that the greatest challenge lies. To complete these organizational tasks, the people of the congregation must make inner shifts, making the transition from one way of thinking about the congregation to quite another. During renewal, people let go of what feels right and normal to create a new normal for themselves.

 

The congregation’s inner work of transition has multiple steps. It begins with the recognition that something is wrong—that congregational life, while adequate, is missing something. Because a congregation is an outpost of the Christian church, the next step is to become anchored in a biblical and historical understanding of the purpose of church. When that purpose seems clear, the next step is to name and let go of preconceived notions about the form ministry should take. This step leads to a period of genuinely not knowing what to do. Rather than jumping in and filling that void with a quick solution, the challenge is to open ourselves to God and wait. From that place of expectant waiting, God’s leading is sensed and a path forward is chosen. Finally, actions are aligned with intent, and a new way of being and doing church is created. The congregation moves through these steps of transition only as individuals in the congregation are able to move through these shifts.

 

This inner work is the real work of renewal, and it is a work of the people. Pastors and outside consultants have much to offer, but they can’t do the work for the people. It may help to think of renewal as physical therapy for the body of Christ. The body is renewed as the people engage in practices that develop and strengthen the muscles of Christian discipleship and community. It isn’t easy work, but it’s worth it.
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Adapted from Pathway to Renewal: Practical Steps for Congregations by Daniel P. Smith and Mary K. Sellon, copyright © 2008 by the Alban Institute. All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2008, the Alban Institute. All rights reserved. We encourage you to share articles from the Alban Weekly with your congregation. We gladly allow permission to reprint articles from the Alban Weekly for one-time use by congregations and their leaders when the material is offered free of charge. All we ask is that you write to us at weekly@alban.org and let us know how the Alban Weekly is making an impact in your congregation. If you would like to use any other Alban material, or if your intended use of the Alban Weekly does not fall within this scope, please submit our reprint permission request form
.

 


Myths about Communicating Congregational Identity

by Lynne M. Baab


Adapted from Reaching Out in a Networked World: Expressing Your Congregation's Heart and Soul by Lynne M. Baab, copyright © 2008 by the Alban Institute. All rights reserved.


Conveying a congregation’s identity and values clearly and through a variety of means of communication will help the congregation connect to the community around it. At the same time, clear expressions of values and identity will also have a deep impact on the congregation itself. The people involved in a congregation are shaped by what they hear about that congregation. Their expectations for the life of faith and for their involvement in the community are influenced by the ways in which the congregation talks about itself and its values.

 

For decades congregational leaders have been making decisions—both consciously and unconsciously—about identity and values and how they are communicated. The nine myths below lay out some of the underlying issues that may influence these choices and their effectiveness.

 

Myth 1: We’ve got a mission statement, so we’ve figured out who we are.
Mission (or vision) statements can be helpful to congregations in expressing who they are and what they care about. Leaders and members are tempted to believe that once a mission statement is in place, the congregation can get on with doing ministry. A mission statement, however, is simply one small way among many that a congregation can communicate its heart and soul. In fact, everything about a congregation communicates. Its bulletin, newsletter, and website may include its mission statement, but the photos, layout, and additional text also contribute to the reader’s perception of who the congregation is. The actions of a congregation—its worship style, preaching, ministries, and mission activities—speak of its DNA, its story. Because of its power to influence, all of the congregation’s communication needs to be evaluated from time to time to see if it reflects the values and identity of the congregation.

 

Myth 2: Our identity is rooted in our faith.

Leaders and members are tempted to believe they don’t need to spend time considering the specific identity of their congregation because they assume their faith values provide the DNA for their congregation. And it is absolutely true that in communities of faith, identity comes primarily from the congregation’s faith tradition. Faith communities are not businesses or other organizations that need to create an identity from scratch. However, in the same way that individuals within any faith tradition bring specific gifts in service, so faith communities have particular values and emphases. One might have a strong commitment to justice, another to outreach within the local community, and another to ministry with seniors or teenagers or adoptive families. Sometimes it appears that megachurches can do it all, so congregational leaders might think their congregation should do everything, too. But even megachurches have particular emphases and priorities.

 

Myth 3: If we focus too much on figuring out our own identity, we may become self-absorbed.
This is another statement with some truth to it, but not the whole truth. Congregational identity is only part of what congregational leaders should be attending to. While focusing on it all the time would definitely cause an imbalance, many congregations are already out of balance in that they focus too little on the way their actions, publications, and use of symbols communicate their priorities and the distinctiveness of who they are. “Who are we and what are we about?” is a key question that needs to be front and center for all congregations.

 

Myth 4: We don’t need to think any further about the implications of new communication technology because we already use it well.
A number of congregations have mastered necessary skills related to new forms of communication in admirable ways. Many congregations offer podcasted and streaming video sermons on websites, have wonderful teams of people who run the data projectors on Sunday morning, and embrace new communication technologies as they emerge. But that doesn’t mean they are communicating wisely. In some congregations, the message communicated about values differs from one mode of communication to the next because the various forms of communication haven’t been evaluated well. In other congregations, the message is so unified that the congregation’s diversity is not represented well. Focusing on the deeper questions, the issues that lie behind the use of new technologies, is important. Congregational leaders need to consider how everything the congregation does—communication technologies as well as things like programming and the use of physical space in the building—speaks about the congregation’s priorities.

 

Myth 5: We’re a traditional congregation, and we have chosen not to use most of the new communication technologies. We’ve figured out our identity; it’s the same as it’s always been, so why complicate things?
All congregations need to periodically rethink and explore who they are and what they value. Even if all the people attending a congregation stay the same over a decade, each of those people would undergo personal changes in that time, and those personal changes would change the priorities and emphases of that community of faith. And, of course, no congregation is composed of exactly the same members over a decade or more. The flow of people in and out of a congregation, and in and out of leadership roles, shapes the values of each congregation. And while I do think new communication technologies offer some wonderful opportunities for congregations, I would never suggest that congregations need to use all of them. I do argue, however, that everything congregations say and do contributes to their identity. Therefore paying some attention to the issue is wise, no matter what forms of communication are used.

 

Myth 6: We avoid the new technologies because we’re leery of the consumer culture, and we don’t want our congregation and even our faith to turn into yet one more consumer item.
I am concerned that communities of faith have become consumer items and that people looking for a congregation are engaged in a form of shopping. However, I see congregational identity as an issue that relates to much more than selling something. Very simply, everything we say and do communicates what we consider to be important, and what congregations communicate about faith values shapes how members act on their faith. Therefore, from time to time, congregations need to stop and evaluate what they are communicating. Congregational leaders will likely choose not to use certain forms of communication that don’t fit the ethos of that congregation.

 

Myth 7: Our congregational values are being communicated effectively through words.

Our pastor and leaders preach the sermons and put a lot of thought into the words used in our newsletter and on our website.
People are increasingly influenced by images as well as by words. According to communication research, the images projected on a screen during worship and the images used in newsletters and on websites often have as much or more impact than the words associated with them. Much of Jewish and Christian tradition is strongly word oriented, emphasizing the significance of words over images. With the move away from a word-based to an image-based culture, leaders of congregations need to do some careful thinking about the role of visual communication in our time.

 

Myth 8: We’ve got a great Web designer and newsletter editor, and our newsletter and website are terrific.
In many congregations, one person creates most of the publications. Often, congregational leaders supply the text, but the Web designer or newsletter editor decides on the layout, photos, and graphics. In this increasingly visual culture, forms of visual communication such as layout, photos, and graphics need to be evaluated to see if they communicate the desired message, particularly if one person is choosing most of them. I believe that all the new communication technologies have created the necessity for “critical friends,” people who understand the importance of the new forms of communication for congregations and, at the same time, are willing to look at those forms with a critical eye. These critical friends pay attention to the congregation’s websites, blogs, projection screens, and other forms of communication that have a large visual component to see if the visuals harmonize with the words used and whether the verbal and visual components together communicate important values about the congregation.

 

Myth 9: If your heart is in the right place, communication takes care of itself.

I agree that the single most important thing for congregations is to worship and follow God in a way that engages hearts and minds. Without faith as the center of its life, a congregation has nothing to offer its members or the world. Faith values cannot be communicated if no faith values are present. But I do not agree that the result of a vibrant faith is that all communication will automatically be okay. Just as individuals with good intentions can benefit from learning listening skills for their personal relationships and speaking skills for their oral communication, so congregations can benefit from considering the implications of the ways they communicate and what they are communicating. In this age of rapidly proliferating communication technologies, this task of evaluation is even more urgent.

 

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The Church in Exile: Being a Missionary to the Dominant Culture

by Lee Beach

from Congregations, Fall 2008 issue, pp. 6-10

   A colleague of mine at the seminary where I work recently presented a paper on the places in the world where the church had once been a strong and vibrant entity but, for various reasons, had become extinct within a few short generations. In each case, he pointed out that, at the height of the church’s cultural power, the idea that one day it would cease to exist in those countries would have been utterly unthinkable. Yet it happened. The possibility of such a thing happening in North America seems very remote, and yet the majority of us who participate in local church life understand that things have changed in terms of the church and its place in culture. At one time, not so long ago, the church stood at or near the center of cultural life. It played a vital role in helping to shape the contours of North American culture and was a significant part of the lives of most people within society. This is increasingly less true. Recent research done by the Barna Group indicates that just one quarter of American adults possess an active faith, with “active” defined as engaging in weekly prayer, church attendance, and Bible reading. In Canada a recent poll showed weekly church attendance at 17 percent. Similar polls show that younger generations are even less inclined to engage in traditional Christian rituals. While such data is limited in its overall analysis of religious life, few of us would question that trends in western culture are moving away from fidelity to traditional Christian beliefs and practices. This creates a new cultural reality for the church and continues to challenge church leaders as they seek to help the church find its way through the murky waters of contemporary culture.


   Perhaps in these days of immense cultural change, where the once sure foundation of pseudo-Christendom that shaped Western culture slowly (and at times not so slowly) crumbles, exile is an appropriate motif for the church to understand itself. Several scholars, notably Walter Brueggeman and Michael Frost, have affirmed as much, pointing out that the experience of exile goes beyond simple physical dislocation. It is a cultural and spiritual condition where one feels at odds with the dominant values of the prevailing cultural ethos. Put simply, people can feel as if they are in exile without ever being “cast out of the land.”

 

   It many ways the biblical people of God are, by nature, exilic people. Has there ever been a time when the people who worship the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob have not been a threatened minority, struggling to preserve their particular identity and beliefs? From the nomadic journeys of the patriarchs, to slavery in Egypt, to the constant threats of enemies throughout the period of the monarchy, to the drastic events of being conquered by Babylon (597–587 B.C.), and their subsequent existence under Persian, Greek, and Roman rule, the people of Israel have never lived as a super power.

 

In the New Testament, Peter describes his audience as exiles (1:1, 2:11). Perhaps this should be the experience of Christians within any given culture. Exile is, in its very essence, living away from home. This is at the heart of the Christian faith as we live away from our ultimate eschatological home, called to live in and see the world in a different way from the dominant culture.

If the paradigm of exile can help the church understand itself more faithfully in this current age, are there any resources that ancient Israel can offer to the contemporary church from their exilic experience? As the people of Israel responded to Babylonian and Persian exile, there are at least three contours of exilic life that connect with the 21st-century exile of the church in North America.

 

Learning the Language of Exile

The first priority for exilic living is identifying where we are and how we got here. In order to orient the church to its changing place on the cultural landscape, it will take honest reflection on our experience. Further, that experience must be given a voice if it is to become formative and ultimately redemptive in the life of the church. For ancient Israel, it was through the language of prayer that they named their experience and began to shape it in hopeful directions. It is in the bold prayers of lament, penitence, and hope that the experience of exile was described and understood. Just as these acts of speech formed the core of a spirituality that sustained the ancient community, so too can they inform modern communities in exile. In particular, the book of Lamentations and the exilic Psalms (44, 74, 79, 89, and 137) provide a canonical foundation for giving expression to the experience of exile.

 

   While lament is not a practice widely utilized in many sectors of today’s church, it is the language that gives voice to a sense of loss and allows for the voice of protest to find its generative expression. In congregations throughout North America there is a sense of loss and sorrow that must be given voice. It comes out in church board meetings, informal conversations, and seminary classrooms. The sorrow is found in the cultural realities that remind us that the Christian faith holds less and less influence over the culture. Old certainties are not so certain, old institutions are eroding and carry less attraction to new generations; social fabrics seem to be fraying and are replaced with confusion, frustration, and sometimes anger. There is a lack of clarity about truth, authority, ethics, and what is “right.” The church itself struggles (sometimes unsuccessfully) to hold its membership, and finances are an ongoing struggle. These are sorrow-producing realities that are lamentable. To properly appropriate the resources of exilic spirituality, the congregation should find ways to lament these changes. There must be a refusal to decorate our marginalization with platitudes or empty complaint. In giving voice to our sadness the church will gain a voice that is honest and realistic, just as the voice of the poet was in Babylon.

He has cut down in fierce anger
All the might of Israel;
He has withdrawn his right hand
from them.

He has bent his bow like an enemy
With his right hand set like a foe;
He has killed all in whom we took pride
In the tent of daughter Zion.

The Lord has become like an enemy;
He has destroyed Israel.
(Lamentations 2:3-5)

 

   Helping give voice to the sorrow of loss is a crucial pastoral task in the post-Christendom church. Further, prayers of lament allow us to speak a word of protest toward our host culture by expressing our sorrow at its idolatry and our refusal to be co-opted by it. Just as the gods of Babylon may have seemed powerful to Israel (after all, they “won”) and the opulence of the city may have been alluring, the faithful used lament as a voice to speak ill against both. Thus lament was subversive speech, rejecting both the idols and their seductive powers. We need to speak in a similar voice, naming the prevailing “isms” of contemporary culture as idols and clearly stating our opposition to them. Lament enables such expression. This happens through leadership. Leadership must help congregations define reality: How is culture changing? What impact does that have on ministry? How can the church faithfully respond? This is a significant task in the church’s life today, as helping people understand the answers to these questions is crucial to giving voice to their sense of loss and orienting them to new cultural realities. Also, corporate prayer, sermons, and formal and informal discussion groups, where people are invited to share their concerns and frustrations with the situation that the church finds itself in, are other venues for exploring and employing lament in its various forms. Without an honest articulation of our reality and a frank naming of those things that have contributed to our marginalization, including our propensity to be co-opted by them, the church can never fully engage the new reality of a postmodern, post-Christian society because it will never truly be oriented to it.

 

   Prayers of penitence (or repentance) can also be easily brushed over in our corporate worship services. We either neglect the discipline or we are guilty of denying our complicity in things, instead blaming others for our demise and powerlessness. Yet lament must be accompanied by penitence if it is to become meaningful and ultimately give way to the renewal of hope.

   For ancient Israel, repentance began to break through as lament gave way to the trickle of confession in their prayer tradition. Psalm 79 demonstrates this emerging voice:

Help us, O God of our salvation,
For the glory of your name;
Deliver us, and forgive our sins,
For your name’s sake. (Psalm 79:9)

 

   How does the church go about the practice of corporate penitence? Further, what do we need to be repentant about? In 1971, as the Vietnam War dragged on, the editors of The Christian Century issued a call to American Christians to lament their attitudes toward the war. They challenged the church for being too tolerant of those in power and too forgetful of the victims of war.

 

   From here they listed several accusations against the governmental leaders and their handling of the Vietnam crises. Based on this lament they pressed further and called the church into a time of genuine repentance during holy week of that year. Following this, five statements were listed, calling for action and changed behavior on the part of the church in response to the war.

This example of a call to corporate repentance reminds us of the place for such activity. Are there places where the contemporary church has remained silent about (or even co-operated with) systems that injure others or advance agendas that ultimately lead to further human suffering? Maybe our collaboration needs to be assessed and confessed. While it can be controversial and painful, it is also a profound act of spirituality that sustains corporate life in the midst of exile. Having the courage to be honest about those things and calling for repentance through corporate prayer is a vital act of leadership for the church’s existence in a time of exile.

 

   This is true because lament and penitence create the possibility for hope. Though the people of ancient Israel lamented their lot, they still believed that God was present to bring deliverance:

Why have you forsaken us these many days?
Restore us to yourself O Lord, that we may
be restored. (Lamentations 5:20-21)

 

   The prayer functions as both a plaintive cry regarding God’s seeming absence as well as an acknowledgment that God is still present to restore. The writer/pray-er of Psalm 44 bursts forth in hopeful prayer after a time of lament and repentance:

Rise up, come to our help.
Redeem us for the sake of your steadfast
love. (v. 26)

 

   This is the fulcrum of hope for those in exile. God is never fully absent, thus restoration can still be part of the vocabulary of exilic prayer, and hope remains alive.

 

   Even in the midst of drastically changing times the church can face its exile when it is willing to honestly name its circumstances, confess its sin, and ask God to move in fresh ways. Leading the church in the language of lament, penitence, and hope is foundational to contemporary pastoral leadership.

 

Living Life in Exile

   When a people feel threatened and are displaced in some way, the community is always thrown into a situation where agreement on what to do next is not always clear. Ancient Israel found itself in such a situation. There was no agreement as to how to respond to exile. Some thought accommodation to Babylon was best, some resisted new cultural traditions and recommitted themselves to former ways. Others fled the mainstream to isolated communities where they could live their traditional lives unfettered by pagan influence. Still others took aggressive action against their oppressors. Finally there were those who sought to work with their occupiers to bring the benefits of the empire to Jerusalem.

 

While there was not a uniform response to exile among the people of ancient Israel, the prevailing canonical response clearly included a renewed call and commitment to holiness. Put another way, there was a call for the people of God to behave differently from their hosts, to present themselves as an alternative community. This is most distinctly present in the books of Nehemiah and Ezra, where the people of Israel are commanded to exclude non-Israelites from the community because they may contaminate it. However, it is also seen in the call to conscientiously renew the practice of Sabbath keeping (Jer. 17:19-27; Isa. 56:2-6, Ezek. 44:24) as an act of faithfulness to Yahweh, which in Babylon would have been a confessional act that would have made Israel stand out from its environment. The book of Daniel explicitly presents a Hebrew hero who is able to thrive in the court of a foreign king by being faithful to the ways of the God of Israel. Daniel embodies the call to holiness that was understood as being essential to Israel thriving as a people living with minimal power and influence in a foreign culture. His story gives testimony to the exilic ideal of presenting an alternate, set-apart way of life that challenges the status quo on one hand and yet brings blessing to it on the other.

 

   The church is called to continue this calling and, in exile, it is even more important that the church show itself to be something other than a duplication of the ideals and ideas of the empire in which it resides. Instead, the life of the church must be marked by a distinct quality that allows it to be a continuation of Jesus’s own incarnational life.

 

   This compels church leaders to explore with their congregations what exactly makes the church distinct in North American culture in 2008. In what ways are we called to live that reflect the beauty of God’s holiness in, and against, the place that we live as exiles? It may be that the most significant thing we can do as church leaders is to lead our congregations through a prolonged, careful consideration of the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7) and ask what it would mean for us as a Christian community to truly embody its principles in contemporary life.

 

Engaging in Mission While in Exile

   For ancient Israel the loss of land and political autonomy was a catastrophic and potentially terminal event. They were, after all, a people whose identity as God’s people was predicated, at least in part, upon their appropriation of the land promised to them by God himself. Such a disorienting turn of events could easily lead them to neglect their calling to be a witness to the life and ways of God to the rest of the world. However, the exilic prophets would give the people no such option. Isaiah reminds the people that they remain a “light to the Gentiles” (42:5-7). The story of Jonah reveals God’s intention that Israel be a witness to their subjugators so that they may come to repentance despite Israel’s resistance to such a notion.

 

As the church’s power and influence as a predominant shaper of cultural life ebbs away, it leads the church to struggle with its identity in a new societal arrangement. Yet, if the church is to find its way in its new exilic reality, mission must take a central place in its self-understanding. Further, it must understand that being involved in mission is not the same as it used to be.

 

   For many years churches have had the luxury of being able to engage their culture by simply being present. A church could open its doors and, by offering Sunday worship and some standard programs, it could develop a congregation. This may be an oversimplified description of reality, but not by much. Churches that grew faster and larger often did so by running innovative programs that were deemed to be “relevant” and thus reached more people because of their “cutting-edge” approach to church-based programming. This model is becoming less and less useful. As the gap between church and culture increases and the general population becomes increasingly unchurched, attractional or invitational models of mission can no longer be counted on to work. If the church is to live out its calling as a witness of the gospel it will become necessary for it to see itself as a missionary to its culture. This means discerning ways in which the church can go into its community and engage it with acts of servanthood and proclamation instead of running programs in the church building itself and hoping that people, in a culture that is increasingly distant from organized religion, will keep coming to them.

 

   For ancient Israel, setting up a temple in Babylon was not an option. Even if it had been, would it have been in any way realistic to expect the citizens of that city to ever set foot inside? Instead, Jonah is called to go and proclaim a message of mercy to the people of Nineveh. Daniel is called to a place of secular service where he is able to demonstrate the superiority of his God as compared to the gods of Babylon. The people are instructed to settle in Babylon and “seek the prosperity of the city.” (Jer. 29:7) This is the place of mission in an exilic setting. Church leaders have to figure out how to emulate this in the post-Christian culture of North America.

   This involves at least two key activities. The first involves the work of education. For many within the established church there is an inertia that causes them to think that not much has changed or, at worst, that those changes are superficial and have little impact on the life and ministry of the church. In Canada the cultural shifts that have taken place in the last 40 years are almost unfathomable. While the situation in the United States may not be as drastic, and in some places the concept of the church being in exile may even seem ludicrous, this is a temporary lag. As we have already noted, the work of researchers like George Barna demonstrates that cultural and ecclesiastical norms are in tremendous flux. Helping our people see the realities and their looming impact on ministry is a major responsibility for contemporary church leaders, just as warning Israel of pending judgment was for the prophets.

 

   The second vital activity for leadership is to increasingly look outward and identify the needs in the local community in which the congregation resides. As these needs are discerned, the temptation is often to create programs within the walls of the church that will meet those needs. Instead, the work of the church must become more outwardly focused, and there needs to be a growing understanding that its work is accomplished outside of traditional church programs and through mobilizing its membership to “go” (Matt. 28:18) and serve in creative ways outside the walls of the church. Thus the work of discerning community needs and helping church members see how their ministry energies can be best expended in helping to meet those needs is primary pastoral work for a church in exile.

 

   While exile presents immense challenges to a people, just as Israel found its way through exile so, too, will the church today. Not because we are so astute but because God is always faithful to his promises and is constantly working in new and inventive ways. The work of ministry in an exilic context is to discern what God is doing and how he may want us to collaborate. These are challenging times. The move into exile was a devastating event in Israelite life and faith, and it is disconcerting for many in the contemporary church. But, as Episcopal priest and theologian Ephraim Radner eloquently states, “Exile is also a movement by which our Lord delineated deliverance. As such, it can hardly be a cause for fear.”

 

Secular Spirituality
Anne Van Dusen
This is also available as a Web resource:
www.congregationalresources.org/SecularSpirituality/Home.asp

You may have heard “I’m spiritual but not religious”—from talk show guests, the next door neighbor, or your daughter’s college roommate. What does it mean? And how do you respond?

For some, the phrase "I’m spiritual but not religious" brings with it images of crystals, unicorns, and polyester ritual robes smelling of cheap incense. For others, it offers a sense of personal clarity about self-care, care for others and living as a whole person without the complications of organized religion. What do artistically arranged rocks painted with the words "peace", "love", and "self-respect" have to
offer those more accustomed to the heavy stone pillars of a church or synagogue? This quest for the Divine—for an experience beyond the ordinary—has been around long enough to lead to lots of clichés and stereotypes. But unlike pet rocks and hoola hoops, this trend may be here to stay.

In fact, this quest for personal fulfillment and Divine relationship may be infiltrating the spiritual territory of traditional religious organizations and structures, siphoning off energy and enthusiasm from the already foundering mainline congregation. Instead of waiting for the fad to end, perhaps we might explore this "secular spirituality," understand it, and use it as a point of connection for those without
religious affiliation.

"I’m spiritual but not religious" is shorthand for a search for the meaning of life, a sense of transcendent connection, or deeper growth and understanding. Spirituality revolves around the intangible components of human life—often connecting thoughts, emotions, and experience with something beyond the self. Traditionally explored through organized religion, this search is now fair game in a variety of nonreligious settings.

This phenomenon isn’t new—aspects of this search for meaning undergirded the peace and love movements of the 1960s, the "me-ism" of the 1970s, and the New Age spirituality of the 1980s and 90s. What is new is the breadth of the expression of secular spirituality. God-talk used to be a societal taboo. Now it seems to be everywhere in one form or another. In the entertainment industry, TV shows such as Touched by an Angel and Joan of Arcadia deal specifically with God and faith. Don Brown's The Da Vinci Code and Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ attracted thousands of Christians and non-Christians. Hugely successful movies such as The Lord of the Rings and The Matrix deal with the
conflict between good and evil as entities in the universe that humanity fights for and against. (The Matrix has generated a lot of press—to learn more, consider this article from the Christian Science Monitor: "The Gospel According to Neo" at http://www.csmonitor.com/2003/0509/p16s01-almo.htm). Christian rock groups cross over to top billboard charts with pop culture audiences. Twelve-step programs, which rely on a "higher power," exist to cope with almost any life addiction or challenge.

Functions
These examples are the tip of a deeper cultural phenomenon we’ve dubbed "secular spirituality." This spirituality serves a number of functions:
• Secular spirituality provides connection to and experience with the Divine traditionally associated with religious institutions and religious practice.
• Secular spirituality addresses a personal quest for deeper meaning without the "encumbrances" of organized religion. People can attend to spiritual health and well-being while striving for understanding and enlightenment— without having to consider or agree with issues of doctrine, creed, or practice.
• Secular spirituality explores traditionally religious themes (such as morals, ethics, civic engagement, serving the poor, the golden rule) through cultural mechanisms.
• Secular spirituality engages people primarily with methods that focus on the individual rather than on a community.

Characteristics
Since secular spirituality is part of secular culture, it isn’t always easy to identify. In some cases, it is in the eye of the beholder. A few common characteristics may help identify secular spirituality.

1. Secular spirituality may reclaim or redefine a lost discipline.
Near extinct religious practices, traditionally reserved for clergy and mystics, are finding their way into secular society. People meet regularly with life coaches or spiritual directors. Icons and devotional candles are on sale at Wal-mart. Books of "life" or "earth" prayers are best-sellers. "Touch therapy" healing is available at the local spa and sometimes even in the doctor’s office.

2. Secular spirituality may be a collection of previously disparate practices.
Buddhist meditation and similar spiritual practices aren’t new to our culture, but there are more choices today. Consumers pick and choose from across the religious and cultural landscape. One might pray adopting a Zen meditation stance, reciting earth-centric Native American words, and lighting a South American luminara. A neighborhood event in Boston marked the anniversary of September 11 with origami peace doves, Tibetan prayer flags, and singing the National Anthem. In a pluralistic society people may be aware of spiritual symbols and practices but not aware of their intended faithbased
context.

3. Secular spirituality may redefine religious rituals.
Traditionally religious rituals are practiced without a specific religious foundation. The church
wedding is a good example. What used to be a religious ritual has evolved into a secular or cultural practice. It remains a deeply significant experience, but often it lacks religious underpinnings.

Ritual, an outward expression of a deeper significance, is expressed in more ordinary experiences, too. Friends gathering to share a meal and "check in" with each other is similar to a prayer circle. Likewise, lighting candles at dinner, singing around a campfire, or marking a significant birthday or anniversary with a special gift or celebration can take on ritual aspects. Some secular Jews are reviving the Sabbath candle lighting ceremony—not as a religious practice, but to reinforce their Jewish identity in society.
In the religious setting, ritual can provide access to a deeper experience of faith. Ritual itself can nurture and structure faith. Likewise, in the secular setting, such ritual serves as a framework that organizes and catalogs individual spiritual experience.

4. Secular spirituality may focus on individual rather than communal approaches.
Perhaps mirroring the continued breakdown of civic identity and communal engagement, people may be more comfortable and more familiar with a "shop as you go" approach to spiritual practice. Support for individual secular religion abounds. Individual hand-held labyrinths, tabletop Zen meditation gardens, online prayer sites, the resurgence of rosaries used as worry beads are just a few examples.
Community commitment takes time, energy, and coordination with others; individual practice doesn’t. Yet ironically, it is the same pursuit of a greater sense of authenticity and deeper religious experience that draws the individual to a practice or ritual that was originally developed to deepen a communal religious experience. New configurations of community, without arduous religious expectations or assumptions, may offer an otherwise inaccessible effervescence. What we may be seeing in new adaptations of ritual and practice is not so much an original idea, but a refreshment and reinvigoration of innately human spirituality.

Sometimes, secular spiritual practice is specifically anti-religion. Though often borrowing heavily from religious practice, a key element of its attraction may be the fact that it circumvents religious practice or doctrine of any sort.

So, what's going on here?
Why is there such a dramatic movement away from organized religion in favor of secular spirituality? As public expression of faith becomes less common, people may feel freer to embrace the practices of other faith traditions. Perhaps people recognize that, even without a specific faith, their secular experience alone doesn’t provide the spiritual nurture they seek. Any intentional expression of spirituality reinforces that "something" in human nature that seeks to transcend everyday experience (see Andrew Newberg's Why God Won't Go Away at http://www.randomhouse.com/rhpg/catalog/display.pperl?034544034X).

Challenges for Congregations
The predominance of secular spirituality presents challenges to traditional congregations. As part of our culture, secular spiritual experience serves to further isolate traditional religious experience, making it increasingly unfamiliar and often uncomfortable. The ease with which people consume secular messages and images, especially when reinforced by the entertainment industry, can make more traditional expressions harder to access and communicate.

1. As practices cross religious boundaries, their intended structure, meaning, and significance may be diffused. Such boundary crossing can lead to confusion around the tenets or practices of specific faith traditions or denominations. The faith or denominational affiliation continues to lose importance and distinction.
2. Cultural stimuli, especially when steeped in religious symbolism and themes, can overload and compete with the experience of similar symbols in the religious setting. People may check out simply because there are too many options from which to choose.
3. Congregational leaders may be tempted to appeal to the entertainment and consumerist values at the expense of faith values and challenges.
4. Adopting the immediate-gratification mentality so omnipresent in our culture, congregations have to compete with spiritual practices that promise "Give us fifteen minutes and we’ll lead you to spiritual happiness."
5. As spirituality becomes part of everyday culture and even replaces traditional religion, the gap between those with a faith affiliation and those without widens. Religious institutions find it difficult to offer seekers a means for spiritual connection that is unavailable in secular society.

Opportunities for Congregations
But there is good news as well. A cultural predisposition to spiritual matters may prepare people for a deeper experience of faith. Religion that is more closely aligned with cultural experience may serve to make faith a regular part of everyday life and experience. As the culture sets the stage, congregations can delve deeper to develop and nurture faith in ways that may actually be more meaningful and integrated with the realities of contemporary living. Instead of being in conflict with cultural realities,
congregational life builds on and enhances spiritual experience. Congregations can build on this potential in a variety of ways:

1. Congregations can include more ritual and practice into worship, education, and special offerings. With spiritual practice in the communal repertoire, ordinary activities can take on extra significance.
2. Organized religion may deliver more than diffuse cultural religion. Congregational leaders can use the disposition to spiritual practice as a teaching tool, something along the lines of "If you think this [secular practice] is meaningful, you might try this [traditional religious practice]." As a comparison, congregational leaders can highlight the overlaps and differences between secular spirituality and religious spirituality.
3. A shared secular culture "homogenizes" the collective experience of those who, due to different faith or experiences, might not be able to connect. An immigrant from Haiti may have little in common with a sixth-generation Bostonian, but both are likely to be familiar with Disney or the Simpsons (see
Mark Pinsky's The Gospel According to Disney at http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0664225918 and The Gospel According to the Simpsons at , as well as other "Gospel According to" titles listed under
"Suggestions and Resouces.").

Modern spirituality often finds spiritual significance in ordinary objects, such as crystals and gemstones. But sometimes spiritual needs cannot be met through individual or small group practice alone. At times, when a rock is simply a rock, the structure and support of a practicing faith community may offer what’s missing.

Suggestions and Resources
Congregations that embrace and use cultural realities are likely to be more successful than those who try to fight exclusively for traditional practice. The Roman Catholic church started "Tap Room Theology" sessions for college students several years back, which has grown in the Roman Catholic and other Christian denominations. The premise is that congregational leaders work within the existing cultural parameters (students hanging out in bars and restaurants) to find a venue for conversation about faith and cultural issues. Topics range from how to land a first job that honors personal ethics, to discussions of marriage, family life, politics and academic life. Two articles that explain how Tap Room theology works: "The Holy Spirits" at http://www.njmonthly.com/issues/Sept04/holy.html; "Cardinal Preaches at Happy Hour" at
http://www.beliefnet.com/story/71/story_7126.html.
Westminster John Knox Press publishes "The Gospel According to:" series of books that consider the theological and spiritual themes expressed in specific cultural icons. The series is intended for group discussion and several offerings come with a leader guide. The following titles are in publication:
The Gospel According to Disney: Faith, Trust and Pixie Dust, Mark I. Pinsky, Louisville, KY, Westminster John Knox, 2004. http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0664225918
The Gospel According to the Simpsons: The Spiritual Life of the World's Most Animated Family, Mark I. Pinsky, Louisville, KY, Westminster John Knox,
2001. http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0664224199
The Gospel According to Harry Potter: Spirituality in the Stories of the World's Most Famous Seeker, Connie Neal, Louisville, KY, Westminster John Knox,
2002. http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0664226019
The Gospel According to Harry Potter: Leader's Guide for Group Study, Connie Neal, Samuel F. "Skip" Parvin, Louisville, KY, Westminster John Knox, 2004.
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0664226698
The Gospel According to Tolkien: Visions of the Kingdom in Middle-Earth, Ralph C. Wood, Louisville, KY, Westminster John Knox, 2003.
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0664226108
The Gospel According to Peanuts, Robert L. Short, Louisville, KY, Westminster John Knox, 2001 (Rereleased and updated edition with an introduction by Martin Marty). http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0664222226
Becoming a Goddess of Inner Poise: Spirituality for the Bridget Jones in All of Us, Donna Freitas, San Francisco, CA, Jossey-Bass, 2004. Donna Freitas, professor of spirituality at St. Michael’s College in Colchester, Vermont specializes in pop culture and women’s spirituality—particularly the spirituality of
women in their 20s and 30s. Written in the style of the Bridget Jones novels, this book explores the spiritual themes expressed by Bridget and her contemporaries. This book could be a helpful resource for conversation with the 20- and 30-something generation.
http://www.josseybass.com/WileyCDA/WileyTitle/productCd-0787976288.html

Summary
Culture can push things to extremes—and end up in some pretty peculiar places. Consider fireplace videos, for example. The video shows the fire and records the crackling of the flames for the full length of the tape or DVD. (There’s also a fishtank version.) Advertisers claim that the fireplace video will recreate the fire experience wherever it’s needed, without the mess or smell of a real fire. But if you’ve ever experienced a fire, the video is a far cry from reality. There’s an essence to a fire that can’t be captured on a screen.

Likewise is a bias toward the experience of faith practiced in community. Secular spirituality can emulate some aspects of the faith experience, and meet some spiritual needs, but it cannot entirely replace the experience. The challenge is for congregations to maintain religious integrity while embracing aspects of secular culture.

The danger in relying too heavily on the particulars of secular spirituality lies in the propensity to miss critical elements of shared faith. The purpose of most spiritual practice is to transcend the self in order to experience or interact with a deeper divinity. This seems the antithesis of much secular spirituality—which tends to focus on the self and on self-improvement. "The Gospel According to…" series explores spiritual themes, but tends to treat them superficially or cynically. Most of these books may attempt to oversimplify God and the complexities of religion. Many cater to consumerist desires rather than offer the spiritual joys and challenges of living in convenantal relationship with others.

So we are left wondering: where is the room for the human condition in secular spirituality? Where is the concept of universal grace and renewal? Secular spirituality often fails to address issues related to spiritual community, worship, celebration, or service to others. While not perfect, spiritual practices within a grounded community of faith includes—and in the best cases, embodies— these concepts.

-- Anne Van Dusen, Senior Research Associate, The Alban Institute

Crunching the Numbers
by James P. Wind
March, 2008

Recently, the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life released the first set of findings from its massive U.S. Religious Landscape Survey 2008. As I studied the report and tracked its initial coverage in the mainstream media, I took special note of the provocative phrases employed to catch the public’s attention: “many Americans switch faith identity,” “faith identity fluctuates,” “constant membership turnover,” “a quantum leap in the rate of change,” “Churn. Churn. Churn.”

For those who read beyond the headlines and initial paragraphs of these news stories there was important information. Based on a sample of more than 30,000 adults and done with a methodological rigor that will make this survey a benchmark for future attempts to map the religious life of Americans, the Landscape Survey offered much to ponder. First, America remains stunningly Christian, at least in terms of religious self-identification. Of those polled, 78.4 percent identified themselves that way. After more than a century of modernity, secularism, higher education, enlightenment, and new religions, the vast majority still see themselves as in some way Christian.

That “in some way” is important. The survey documents the amazing variety of ways that Christians understand and practice their faith. And here is where the survey’s detailed analysis simultaneously confirms, sharpens, and challenges what many of us thought was going on. According to the surveyors, the biggest chunk of American Christianity is Protestantism, which makes up 51.3 percent of the adult population. So Protestants are still the religious majority in our society, but just barely so. The study goes on to note trends that suggest that any Protestant triumphalist celebrations better take place quickly. The Protestant majority has declined in relative size from the 60 to 65 percent level often noted by surveys taken during the 1970s and 1980s. Steady decline has been Protestantism’s overall trajectory from the 1990s on.

When the researchers slice the story generationally we see that 62 percent of those 70 and older are Protestant, while only 43 percent of those aged 18 to 29 identify themselves that way. Unless major and unanticipated changes take place, this survey may be the last one to paint a picture of American religious life before Protestants experience a historic shift and become a minority movement in the land they once claimed to shape.

The researchers have much more to say about Protestantism, about the three major subtraditions that comprise it—evangelical (26.3 percent), mainline (18.1 percent), and historically black (6.9 percent)—and about the generational, educational, income, and family-size dynamics that are shaping it. But what I found especially noteworthy was the discovery that “roughly one-third of all Protestants…were either unable or unwilling to describe their specific denominational affiliation.” Thus not only is Protestantism a composite of very different traditions, but many who placed themselves within this category did so with considerable vagueness about what that means. Specific denominational identities recede into the background in the story the survey tells.

One of the findings that has generated the earliest buzz is the dramatic growth of what the researchers call the fourth largest religious tradition in America. After the evangelicals, which make up 26.3 percent of the adult population, the Catholics (23.9 percent), and the mainline (18.1 percent), come the unaffiliated (16.1 percent). Almost equal in size to mainline Protestantism, the unaffiliated have as much internal diversity as the rest of America’s faith communities. Consisting of small groups of atheists and agnostics, this “tradition” included 12.1 percent of Americans who identified themselves as “nothing in particular.” For those interested in emerging trends, it is important to note that this group experienced the largest net growth of any of the major religious groupings, climbing from 5 percent in the 1980s to 16 percent today.

There are other startling revelations when one crunches these numbers. At first glance, American Catholicism looks relatively stable, making up 23.9 percent of the adult population, a figure very similar to the 25 percent regularly reported over the past several decades—except, as the researchers remind us, for the stunning fact that actually American Catholicism has suffered the greatest losses of any faith community. Almost one-third of the survey respondents who claimed to have been raised as Catholics no longer label themselves that way. Now fully 10 percent of America’s adults are former Catholics. How, given that massive exodus, could Catholicism’s numbers change so little? In a word, immigration. Nearly half (46 percent) of the 34 million immigrants surveyed by the pollsters identified themselves as Catholic. A very different Catholic reality is emerging behind the surface stability.

The great flux that is condensed within the numbers in the preceding paragraph is not just a Catholic story. The Landscape Survey tells us that all denominations are experiencing many exits and entrances. In fact, fully 44 percent of those surveyed indicated that they had moved from the religious tradition they were born into to another.

What do all these statistics mean for those who lead American congregations? Interestingly, the survey does not focus on congregations at all. Yet the local churches, synagogues, and temples of the land are the places where all this switching, fluidity,and vagueness manifest themselves week after week. In every worship service, board meeting, Sunday school class, social event, and rite of passage, all the churn that the Landscape Survey points to “out there” in the national environment is going on “in here”—in the lives of individual members and the small faith communities they belong to. Once upon a time religious leaders represented very distinct religious communities that were clearly differentiated from the ones down the street or across town. Now our leaders work in a sea of religious vagueness and search for ways to help people surrounded by a growing tide of “nothing in particular” find something in particular to build a life upon. Stay tuned.

James P. Wind is president of the Alban Institute. A version of this article will appear in the Spring 2008 issue of Congregations magazine.
 
Copyright © 2008, the Alban Institute. All rights reserved. We encourage you to share Alban Weekly articles with your congregation. We gladly allow permission to reprint articles from the Alban Weekly for one-time use by congregations and their leaders when the material is offered free of charge. All we ask is that you write to us at weekly@alban.org and let us know how Alban Weekly is making an impact in your congregation. If you would like to use any other Alban material, or if your intended use of Alban Weekly does not fall within this scope, please submit our reprint permission request form.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Problem Trap
A Narrative Therapy Approach to Escaping Our Limiting Stories
by Larry Peers
from the Winter 2008 issue of Congregations

In my work as a congregational consultant, I have discovered that narrative therapy offers a number of lessons that can help church leaders navigate the change process in some distinctive ways beyond the push-pull dynamic that characterizes many congregational change efforts. These frameworks can help congregational leaders to not only avoid some common pitfalls but also to shift the conversation in ways that reveal possibilities and directions that would otherwise be obscured by some of the typical congregational dynamics and patterns of interaction around change.

To effect deep change, leaders must be able to stand outside the dominant story of whatever it is we are trying to change—rather than being so immersed in it that we cannot truly observe how to lead this particular group in this particular situation. Ron Heifetz often talks about this as being able to take a balcony perspective. I have found the tools and perspectives of narrative therapy especially useful in helping clergy begin to get up on the balcony and become different observers of their situations, allowing for different actions and different results to become possible.

Recognizing the Problem-Saturated Story

One of the primary kinds of stories that takes hold in congregations and makes change difficult is what is known in narrative therapy as the “problem-saturated story,” or one in which the focus is on who or what is or has been wrong.

A problem-saturated story has a dynamic of its own. Often when we are telling a problem-saturated story about our congregational situation it has a trance-like effect. The story is reinforcing. We “see” only those things that reinforce the story. Whatever is contradictory to this problem-saturated story goes un-storied and is not “seen.”

You can recognize the problem-saturated story when you’re in a group where someone offers an example of how difficult or awful something is in the congregation and before you know it the rest of us can’t help but chime in with more evidence for how truly bad and impossible the situation is. We can almost hear ourselves saying, even if the words aren’t verbalized, “You think that’s bad, let me tell you how it is even worse than that!”

Problem-saturated stories have the impact of being taken as fact rather than as a narrative created by a particular sifting of facts.

As leaders, we can easily succumb to the power of the problem-saturated story and, in fact, can become the main storyteller—if not the main character—in many of these stories. I have often noticed in clergy groups that a pastor or rabbi will tell a story about his or her congregation and seek support from others. In response to some well-intentioned advice from colleagues, the clergyperson often goes deeper into why these suggestions wouldn’t work—or delves into more of the problem story. At this point even the helpers may chime in with sympathetic remarks about how desperate and despairing situations like this can be.

In moments like these, I help to spoil the pity party. I ask questions like, “What would someone else in the congregation say? What would the newest or longest member of the congregation say about this situation?” “What would a child say?” or, better yet, “What would someone who disagrees with your version of events say about this situation?”

In asking these obnoxious questions, I am merely trying to point out the possibility of multiple perspectives and to introduce various versions of the story in order to interrupt the trance of the problem-saturated story, at least momentarily. I also want to give the clergyperson an opportunity to take on the perspective of a different observer.

Sometimes just recognizing the dynamic of the problem-saturated story can release people from its mesmerizing effect and allow them to stand outside of it. Other times, taking on a different perspective allows the leader to recognize that the observer they have been offers only one of many perspectives. Shifting the observer can often reveal different actions that are available and different results that are possible.

In a recent gathering, a pastor realized that she tended to look at all the ways laypeople fell short of their commitments. She became the “micromanager” in a way that created a great deal of stress in her life and reinforced her story that “you can’t trust lay leaders to follow up.” When encouraged to look at the big picture outside of her own story, she realized that she was a character in the story she was creating (a story in which, by the way, she tended to be the “rescuer” and save the day when others didn’t follow through). Her constant nagging and her mistrust produced the congregation’s dependency on her constant prodding. When she realized that she could be an “equipper” (as in “equipping the saints”), her observer shifted. She began to see all the ways that she could encourage and pass on skill and then let lay leaders own their own way of doing things. She relaxed and then realized that there were already exceptions to the problem-oriented story she tended to tell.

Any effort of a congregation that is motivated only by the problem-saturated version of its story can propel the congregation in a direction of change that may be misguided or limited. All the more reason for a leader to be consciously aware of the problem-saturated story—and to be intentional about other ways to interact about a congregational situation.

Externalizing versus Personalizing

A feature of the problem-saturated story within a congregation is that often there is a villain, a problem child, an unmensch.

There is usually a tendency to personalize what is going on in such a way that conveys the message that if only “so and so” would change all would be well. In congregations, the tendency is to give this distinguished place of dishonor to the clergy or to a group of leaders, a group within the congregation, or even an individual. In my consulting work, I often hear the phrase “those people” used to refer to those considered the “problem children” in the congregation.

The role of a consultant is often to help a congregation see their situation systemically, to see how everyone is playing some role in keeping a problem situation intact. Recently, I heard a story about a woman who had been disruptive within a congregation for so long that the other members of the congregation worked overtime to anticipate questions she might ask so as to avoid conflict with her. After more than a decade of this, and under the guidance of a new leader, they were finally recognizing that a disruptive person in a congregation is kept in place by those who, often with good intentions, tolerate this sort of behavior until it is no longer bearable.

From narrative training, we begin to see that the person is not the problem, the problem is the problem—and, indeed, it is our relationship to the problem that is the problem. A shift toward changing one’s relationship to the problem was apparent in a recent training with rabbis. In this training, a new rabbi mentioned how he felt he was being blamed for the fact that in his congregation they could not gather a minyan (a group of at least 10) for evening prayers. The rabbi explained that he was doing his part—he showed up as one of the 10. He called members and asked for their commitment to attend. Invariably, not enough folks showed up—and those who had gathered resented taking the time or felt annoyed at those who did not keep their promises. Even if they did not explicitly blame the rabbi for the low commitment, he often felt that they did.

In the conversation with the rabbi, I shifted the focus from who was to blame (an endless cycle leading nowhere) to an externalizing conversation. As Michael White, one of the originators of narrative therapy, says, an externalizing conversation includes describing the problem using the “parlance of the people seeking therapy and that is based on their understanding of life.”1

In this interaction, I began to talk with the rabbi about the “not enough commitment” problem. This allowed us to depersonalize the problem and to begin to talk about when “not enough commitment” is present. Then we explored the effects of “not enough commitment” on the synagogue, on the rabbi, on the people in the synagogue, etc. In narrative therapy this is called “mapping the effects of the problem.” From there we could evaluate whether the effects of this problem were welcome or not—and if not, why not.

As our conversation proceeded, we realized that there were times when the problem, “not enough commitment,” was not present, such as on “high holy days,” at “memorial services,” and especially at family events. We then talked about what was present in these circumstances. The rabbi was able to see that people found something meaningful in these events; there were generations of commitment and loyalty that supported people in making the commitment to these high holy days services. This allowed him to see that he could refocus his efforts on the alternate story of what contributes to “not enough commitment” not being present in the life of the synagogue. This allowed him to stand outside of the problem-saturated story and to see more possibilities for how he could lead and what he could teach.

Clearly, this conversation allowed the rabbi to not only stand outside of the problem but to also take on the role of a different observer of the situation. By doing so he saw a whole range of new actions that could lead to some new results.

Seeing the Exceptions

Once leaders can externalize the problem they are facing, what often happens is that the leadership is also freed up to recognize more of the situation than is usually allowed in our typical discourses about “what’s wrong with this congregation.” In the externalizing conversations, often a new kind of conversation—what White calls a “reauthorizing conversation”—begins to emerge. “Reauthoring conversations,” he explains, “invite people to continue to develop and tell stories about their lives, but they also help people to include some of the more neglected but potentially significant events and experiences that are ‘out of phase’ with their dominant storylines. These events and experiences can be considered ‘unique outcomes’ or ‘exceptions.’”2

In a consultation with a congregation that was badly in need of redevelopment since its membership was graying and its endowment was shrinking, the congregation told the story of how every time they tried some growth initiative it would be met with an effort to sabotage or undermine the effort. Consequently, they felt caught and in an impasse. The image that emerged in our conversations was that they had a “finger-trap problem,” where pulling in opposite directions kept them trapped, much like the child’s toy known as a finger trap.3

We focused on the effects of this finger-trap problem, mapping its effects on their community, on their capacity to grow, and on their ability to initiate change. The congregation readily agreed that they did not like the effects of this recurring problem because it kept them “trapped,” didn’t allow them to move forward, and it was simply painful. People tended to stay in their factions, reacting to each other, and finding the push and pull more engaging than the effort to “pull” in the same direction.

We then explored all the times in the life of the congregation when the finger-trap problem was not present. We looked at what White calls the “landscape of action,”4 what they were doing as a congregation during the “exceptional” times when their finger-trap problem was not prevalent. One clear example was the time when the youth of the church organized a benefit for the victims of the tsunami disaster in 2006.Without exception, members of the church supported their efforts—even when they were promoting music and inviting people to the church who did not fit their stereotyped understanding of themselves. People in the congregation worked together in spite of their differences. The event was successful not only as a fundraiser but also as a congregation-acting-as-a-whole event. This was an example of their “pulling together in the same direction,” an exception to their finger-trap problem.

“What would the youth of this church, who saw you as a congregation act so readily and cooperatively to their fundraising project, say about you as a congregation?” I asked. This and other reauthoring questions allowed them to see that an alternate story was possible and that there were dynamics to the alternate story that were different than their dominant, problem- saturated story about themselves.

Singing the Songs of the Lord

In the time of the Babylonian exile of the Jewish people, the prophet Jeremiah could have commiserated with the problem-saturated story of a people who were in despair, far from home, and in captivity once again. Instead, he spoke the prophetic word:

Build houses to dwell in; plant gardens, and eat their fruits.

Take wives and beget sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters husbands, so that they may bear sons and daughters. There you must increase in number, not decrease.

Promote the welfare of the city to which I have exiled you; pray for it to the Lord, for upon its welfare depends your own. 5

In essence, he was saying, “Don’t cave in to your sense of despair and hopelessness.” He reminded them of who they were outside of the problem and encouraged them to do what they knew how to do when they were not in exile: plant gardens, start families, and promote the well-being of the place where they dwelled. These actions were the start of a new story. Jeremiah was prophetically helping the people of Israel to “reauthor” their story in the midst of exile.

The Psalmist ponders, “How can we sing the songs of the Lord while in a foreign land?” (Psalms 137:4). As religious leaders, we, too, ponder how we can sing in the midst of turmoil. A narrative leader must dare to be as prophetic as Jeremiah. Even in the midst of trouble or uncertainty, the narrative leader must be able to help others stand outside the mesmerizing effects of the problem-saturated story. The narrative leader must be resilient and resourceful enough to resist internalizing the situation. Instead, by recognizing that the “problem is the problem,” the conversation the leader can facilitate is one that studies with curiosity the dynamic effects of this problem on the health, capacities, and faithfulness of the congregation.

Shifting the relationship to the problem comes only when the congregation can examine these effects and deeply and resoundingly say, “No, we don’t want to continue with these effects of the problem.” Then a threshold to a new possibility for the congregation emerges. This new threshold arises when the leader is able to ask, “What would you like instead? Where would you like to be headed?” “What would be the first sign that we are moving in that new direction?”

A narrative leader uses questions to help point a congregation toward the possibilities and directions that are inherent in a situation but often obscured by our usual problem-saturated and internalizing approaches to the situation.

The cumulative effect of the steps outlined here allow for a conversation of possibilities to emerge in what would otherwise seem like a dead-end. Margaret Wheatley, in her book Turning to One Another, underlines the power of conversation and the role of leaders in creating the kinds of conversations that can promote deep change:

There is no power greater than a community discovering what it cares about. Ask, “What’s possible?” not “What’s wrong?” Keep asking… Be brave enough to start a conversation that matters. 6

_______________
NOTES
1. Michael White, Maps of Narrative Practice (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2007), 41.
2. White, 61.
3. Also known as a “Chinese finger trap” or “Mexican handcuffs.”
4. White, 99–100.
5. Jeremiah 29: 5-7, New American Bible.
6. Margaret J. Wheatley, Turning to One Another (San Francisco: Berrett-Koehler, 2002), 145.

Congregations, 2008-01-01
Winter 2008, Number 1

Questions to Ponder

for the "Stuck" Congregation

by Larry Peers
from Congregations, 2008-01-01
Winter 2008, Number 1

Q: Our Congregation feels stuck. How do we get unstuck?

A: It’s fairly common for congregational leaders and members to sometimes conclude that their congregation is “stuck.” When this happens, the underlying belief may be that something other than what is currently going on should be happening. Or there may be a desire that the congregation move forward in some direction—any direction! While the temptation is strong to move quickly into trying to “get unstuck,” there is a danger in moving too quickly—in other words, before learning from the present experience.

Grounding Your Assessment

Before rushing into action, take some time to explore what is actually occurring. First, be curious about why this feels like a “stuck” time in your congregation. Other than a feeling, what is your assessment based upon? Listing the facts or the events that you are basing your assessment upon will help to ground your assessment of “stuckness.”

Have you noticed how often we make assessments or judgments that are not grounded in facts or actual events? In fact, sometimes assessments are taken as facts. When we are open to having our assessments reviewed, we might discover that others are looking at the same events and coming up with different assessments or judgments of those same facts.

I have sometimes encountered congregations that get so enamored with their assessments, opinions, or judgments that they don’t think to ground these opinions in actual events. Sometimes congregations become so attached to their problem-saturated story about themselves that they don't see the exceptions to this story.

How Grounded Is It?

So first, be curious. Then examine how grounded or ungrounded your assessment may be.

When I am called into a consultation with a congregation in some sort of turmoil, I often start out by asking them a question like, “If I were to spend some time with you over the next few months, what would I come to appreciate about you as a congregation?” This is a disarming question for those who are ready to move into a litany of complaints about the congregation and its various problems. However, it is also an opportunity for the congregation and its leaders to affirm who they are outside of their current problems and complaints. So I encourage you to consider asking a similar question: What would those who encounter our congregation say they can appreciate about us?

A “Way Through”

Sometimes we may move forward haphazardly or prematurely in an attempt to “fix” things. The poet Theodore Roethke wrote that “the way out is the way through.” Based on my training in narrative therapy and my consulting work with congregations, I have found that asking questions can often provide a “way through” the stuckness so many of these congregations describe. Some of the questions I have found most effective for helping congregations decide upon a direction in which to move are as follows. I suggest trying these out in your own congregation.

+ Where would you like to be headed as a congregation? What would like to be as a congregation?
+ What constraints you from heading in this direction or from being what you have just described? Rank the seriousness of these constraints.
+ What are the effects of these constraints on who you are and on who you can become as a congregation?
+ What supports you in moving in this direction or in being what you have just described you'd like to become as a congregation?
+ Do you, as a congregation, favor where you are now? Why or why not?
+ If not, what would you like to be doing instead?
+ How will you notice that you are moving in this direction?


One congregation I know realized that they were stuck in a pattern of blaming their minister or the members of certain congregational groups for why they were not doing well as a congregation. As they examined the effects of blaming, they realized that it led to factions, to finding more fault, and to stagnation. This, they saw, was not helping them be who they wanted to be or to move in the direction they wanted to go.

So shift the conversation. Ask some different questions—and find a “way through.”


Larry Peers is a consultant with the Alban Institute. He specializes in whole systems approaches to congregational revitalization and coaches clergy and staff teams.


VIVA: Discovering a Congregation's Unique
 Values, Identity, Vision, and Action (Purpose Plan)
 
The basis for our V.I.V.A. workshops comes from work done by Robert Dilts’ and Gregory Bateson’s Logical Levels of Learning. See From Coach to Awakener, Dilts, R. (2003) Meta Publications Capitola, CA. Rob Voyle     of the Clergy leadership Insitute has adapted this material for his coaching and interim training. A brief introduction to the theory from which I have adapted V.I.P. can be found at the following hyperlink:
 
 

 
Letting Go and Moving On
An excerpt from  A Wing and A Prayer: A Message of Faith and Hope
Copyright © 2007, Used by permission of Morehouse Publishing. To order call  <챤ˋ>             1-800-242-1918         1-800-242-1918 or visit us at www.morehousepublishing.org
by Katharine Jefferts Schori
 
Sometimes the comic strip Sally Forth nails our humanity. Here's one of my favorites: The husband has gotten a new video camera, and he's sticking the lens into every possible moment in the family's life. The daughter has put "KEEP OUT" signs on her door; the wife has to chase him out of the bathroom when she's taking a shower; and everybody is getting royally annoyed.

We live in a society that seems to pay a lot of attention to preserving memories—think about the industry built up around taking pictures, and now we have video cameras, and digital cameras, and tape recorders. I've seen ads recently for classes that will teach you how to build memory-boxes, or put together scrapbooks.

What would you take with you if you had to evacuate your house with five minutes' notice? Photo albums and legal documents seem to be what people most often mention.

What is so important to us about the past? Why do we try to hang on to it so tightly?
The prophet Isaiah, though, tells the people, "Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old" (Isa 43:18). The great exodus from Egypt, that great and wonderful tale of delivery—how can Israel for-get that? But God seems to be saying, "Forget about the past, for I am doing a new thing—don't you see it?" (Phil 3:13). Paul talks about letting go of the past as well: "This one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead."

What kind of letting go are they talking about? Why should Israel for-get about the exodus? It seems to have more to do with perspective, with focusing on the new thing, and what lies ahead, rather than on the past. There is something about an attitude that focuses on the past that keeps us from recognizing the new thing that is happening all around us.

If I have an image in my head of a little boy at age three, it's going to be very difficult for me to appreciate who he is at age six. My expectations color what I see. If my relationship with someone is focused on what she did to offend me three years ago, I'm going to have a really hard time greeting her with any kind of openness. If my self-image is based on having some disease, then that's going to shape and limit who or what I can be in the future.

Something closer to home: if our understanding of church is based solely on what it's been in the past, then how will we be able to grow and change as the culture changes and those who come to join us change? The idea isn't to give up every good memory or every good influence from the past, but not to let the past define who or what you are now, or who you might become. Isaiah is saying to Israel, "The exodus was great and wonderful, but God continues to deliver you. The passage through the Red Sea wasn't your defining moment—you continue to have a relationship with God."

New things aren't always so easy to accept. Consider the parable of the vineyard. Our natural tendency is to identify with the tenants of the vine-yard. They're rebelling because things are changing. They're being asked to share the produce with the landlord. But it seems like life has gone on for a long time without any account being asked, and now they resent the change, even though they knew it would come eventually. So they try to maintain the status quo by beating up the bill collectors. Finally they kill the heir. Forget the past, even if it was a liberating act, like getting out of Egypt, or receiving a vineyard to tend. Listen and watch for the new thing. The future is not going to look like the past.

Those messengers from the landlord are fascinating figures. I wonder how many messengers of change we beat up and throw out, because we don't want to hear the message. I have the sense that they are all around us, and it's probably not too hard to recognize them for who they are. If they bring a message that sounds like Jesus, we can probably trust that they're the real thing. If they call us to fruitfulness, if they call us to love our neighbor as ourselves, they've probably come from the landlord.

"The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone." The new building is being constructed out of the rejects of the last building. Who or what has been rejected from your building? Who doesn't fit the picture? Look well, for the rejected is probably of God.

Think about the parts of ourselves we are least willing to acknowledge—that part of us that seems most wayward, most sinful. Maybe it's a habit of shading the truth, or maybe we have a hard time remembering whose vineyard we're living in. Maybe it's that part of ourselves we think is least forgivable. But that part of ourselves is our greatest opportunity for relationship with God—that wound, if you will, has the most potential for healing. But nothing's going to happen until we can begin to let go of its defining nature. In some sense, we can't see the new thing God is working in us until we stop expecting this wound to define our future.

If we look for it, we can see new life springing up everywhere. None of us, I think, really wants to hang on to the dead past of winter. Why do we hang on to the past of our lives? What new thing is God doing in your life and in mine, if we will only notice?
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