Hartley’s Band

Felt the thud. People started scrambling…

Non-denominational churches were coming into their heyday when I graduated from seminary in 1987.  U.S. Mainline congregations accustomed to dominating American religion for 2 centuries were badly drifting. We just assumed we were too big to fail.

Down south pastor friends were already accustomed to being surrounded and overwhelmed by Baptists, conservative theology and more regressive politics. Out West growth of the un-churched and “Post-Christian” sounded ominous. Up on the Atlantic coast where my career was launched tradition (including stately religion) holds more sway. The sailing was smoother, but just.

Moving to Idaho in the 90’s some already joked the “Mainline” was becoming the “Sideline.” Independent churches sprang up around Boise. We Presbyterians were plateaued at best, and alarms began ringing. Most of us – millions of Methodists, Episcopalians, United Church of Christ and Lutherans too – were already sinking.

We tried small groups, and could get large minorities of the congregation to sign on, for a few weeks anyways. Then they always fizzled. A decade into professional ministry it seemed I was unable to significantly alter the social contract. The emotional distance between church and parishioner remained stable, regardless of what program we tried. Those committed and involved mostly remained that way, even through difficulty. Those on the perimeter had soccer, kids, work, cabins in the woods… They showed up irregularly or as a favor if asked, but the arrangement of carefully measured commitment remained constant.

We couldn’t attract enough new people to make up for the steady drip of departures. Mostly folks departing never joined anyplace else, they just stopped doing the whole church thing. Seeking volunteers we found continually fewer hands on deck. What was that sound?

We streamlined by doing away with many committees and meetings – why consider talking about ministry actual ministry? We didn’t miss the minutes and long gatherings, and folks appreciated honoring their tight schedules, but some socializing was lost overboard as well. It became increasingly difficult to find members to serve on committees and governing bodies in order to keep programs afloat. My retired friend Dorothy chastised the gathered congregation one morning at an annual meeting: it was our younger generation’s time to step up. It was our duty to say “yes” to meetings and leadership. None of my contemporaries found this compelling in the least. So who would address these constant problems, this rushing water?

Listing, we tried focusing more on outreach in the early 2000s; becoming “missional” should clarify our reason for being and attract new energies. No change, just more decline. It became exhausting and sad only ever having the good years pile up in our wake. Debt, financial woes, and an incessant sense of loss weighed heavy.

Reducing leadership, cutting terms of service for volunteers, becoming more permission giving and less controlling…these helped reduce stress and improve our spiritual health. We waded through decline that worsened at every level of church life. Moving to a third ministry call I enjoyed a couple of short seasons of vitality as New Captain with New Promise.

We soon gave up Vacation Bible School: the immense outlay of resources for fewer and fewer children we never saw again stopped making sense. Our basement preschools dwindled as other neighborhood options multiplied. We reluctantly acknowledged the family outreach had never been the pathway to congregational involvement for which we had hoped. Sunday School and youth groups shrank (along with their attendant staff) before being overcome entirely amidst the perennial question: what on earth are we doing wrong?

We are trying desperately to be faithful but given the complete demise of momentum the distance between victories has become impossible to navigate. As more of my friends bail, pastoral ministry becomes more and more lonely. Clergy gatherings in the later 2010s are newly laced with fatalism. There is an unfamiliar desperate look in my contemporary’s eyes. The wild remaining questions: What can we do? How can we worship and affirm? Where might professional security lie? What does faithfulness require that doesn’t ignore the vast grey reality all around, underfoot and at our knees?   How long can we even survive and where the hell did all this water come from?

Through the fog and cold of increasing secularization it is painfully evident as the years tick by that  the national church will not be coming to our rescue. They have no answers, and in many cases are years behind in awareness of the issues swamping us. But what has been sad for decades now in recent months has become downright frightening as beloved congregations near us simply fold up, sink and disappear. 

We musicians both entertain and lead. My congregations have been mostly spared the worship wars so many suffered. We blended worship, projected words on screen and used Powerpoint. Singing sounded better with heads up, preaching and teaching were more fun with visuals, but all of it for ever declining numbers. I keep smiling and playing. But even my guitar lately feels ancient; an anachronism from a more positive era I hardly remember. 

I’ve made many a mistake in my 30 years as pastor, but no titanic ones. Hope is terribly important and I understand my responsibility to maintain it for the community. But when does hope become mere denial? What if in a futile attempt to right ship I am helping lose opportunity for creative, life saving new endeavors ? Reaching out to other clergy I find my desperate foundering profoundly common.

In fact I have no hope for the cruise we have been on. I no longer even understand what changes we could have made much earlier to avoid this situation. It feels more tragic all the time. In recent months I am scanning the horizon even as I feel terribly guilty for doing so.

And while I yet believe I am called to lead and pastor I am not feeling Nearer, My God, to Thee.