The Dying Church

People keep saying that the church is dying, which is kind of a bummer, since I just signed up with it.  They tell me that the new gig I’m so excited about is actually with the dance band on the Titanic.  They tell me that the faith of our fathers is worn out and we need to rethink things. These predictions of the church’s demise bug me a little.  After all, I just got to the party and now it’s closing time?  That kind of sucks.  Just a few years ago, I was an “unchurched person”, someone who didn’t believe my beliefs were reflected by sitting in pews on Sunday mornings, singing Amazing Grace.  I was in the spiritual-but-not-religious camp, and quite happy there.  Recently though, I find myself on the inside-looking-out of church windows, asking the age-old question, “Why don’t people want to come to church?”  It’s surprising how quickly I have become an insider, wondering about the outsider I used to be.

What is it that brought me, a product of this post-modern, secular world, to this ancient institution?  Well, what kept me away?  Why didn’t I need church, during those years?  It wasn’t because I was living a life of sin and depravity.  Without church, I was still a moral, kind person (most of the time), who meditated, ate responsibly, and gave money to Free Tibet.  I walked away from the Christian faith as a young adult, because I hadn’t found enough space there. I didn’t believe in the Sunday School version of faith I’d crafted in my mind:  the old man in the sky judging everyone and sending the good ones to heaven and the bad ones to hell.  I wished for an expansive version of the faith of my childhood, something a little stretchier, with room to breathe. I looked into the big world religions, determined to craft my own theology.

Imagine my shock when my spiritual-but-not-religious reading list led me to Robert Farrar Capon’s explanation of the mystery of Christ.  Suddenly, I realized the church I thought I left was not Christianity at all; Christianity was much more mysterious, compelling, and filled with love.  I learned of a Jesus who is The Light of the World--not the lighting company.  I learned of a savior who became incarnate, but is not bound by time and space, a savior that had been with mankind since the beginning of the world, and will continue to save mankind until the end of the world.   Here was a God who won by losing, who conquered with love, and succeeded with unselfishness.  Here was a God who loves the lost, the wicked, who loves the prostitutes, the tax-collectors, the poor, the marginalized, the rednecks, the homeless, the suburban soccer-moms, the hipsters, who loves all of us lovable and unlovable losers, every one of us.  He always has loved us and he always will.  Here was the immeasurable, unearned, catholic grace of God in Jesus Christ.  My immature version of Christianity transformed into something expansive, inclusive, and irresistible.

So, now that I could swallow Christianity, hook, line, and sinker, what should I do?  The idea of attending a traditional church was quite frightening.  Would I find a message of grace or just guilt and fear?  I didn’t believe my beliefs would be reflected by a Christian preacher.  I didn’t want to hear about original sin, about going to hell, about women submitting to men, or about how homosexuality was a sin.  Would Christians greet me with love or with judgment?  I’d known enough of them to hope for the best, but fear the worst.  Eventually, a longing for community brought me through those red doors.  After months of reading, praying, and listening to hymns in solitude, I needed company.  The hope outweighed the fear; I screwed up my courage and packed up the kids on Sunday morning.  I found the party, I found the grace, and I found the love.  

So, what brought me to church?  What transformed me from a “none”, a spiritual-but-not-religious, non-churched person into a vestry member, Sunday school teacher, and Vacation Bible School leader in an Episcopal church?  The holy, mysterious gospel of Christ and the welcoming love of Christians.  I don’t know if our church is dying, or how to revive it.  I do know that the mystery of the grace and love of God through Christ becomes real through ancient rituals, hymns, and communion.  I do know that when churches focus on what they can do for others, rather than how they can fill the pews, when they proclaim love rather than sanctimonious threats, and when they look to serve rather than sell, they are bringing in the kingdom of God.  We may have to die before it is born, but then we believe in resurrection, don’t we?