As Episcopalians, we pray for the poor.
The Prayers of the People in our Eucharistic liturgy include prayers for the poor, often along with the sick, the oppressed, prisoners, the unemployed and the destitute. And in the Daily Office we pray:
“Let not the needy, O Lord, be forgotten.
Nor the hope of the poor be taken away.”
In The Art of Organizing, written during the early stages of the emerging COVID pandemic, I focused on the relational aspects of organizing, often rooted in one-on-one conversations, and shared an example of an ecumenical, community-based campaign focused on housing justice.
Five years later, we find ourselves in a different set of crises, one of rising authoritarianism at the highest levels of political office and targeted attacks on many of the most vulnerable members of our community. As the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. mentioned generations ago—the “triple-prong sickness that has been lurking within our body politic from its very beginning…the sickness of racism, excessive materialism and militarism”—remain at an all-time high, and have metastasized to include many intersections of exploitation, injustice, and suffering to both people and planet. He called for a reordering of society, a revolution of values in fact, away from the “thing-oriented society to a person-oriented society.”
We’ve all heard the narrative: Church attendance and congregational practices have changed and the buildings and spaces of the mid-20th century aren’t as functional as they once were. At the same time, many cities and towns are experiencing an affordable housing crisis and with each passing season, more individuals and families are experiencing homelessness or housing insecurity.
In light of this confluence of circumstances and needs, congregations are reassessing their response to the Gospel in the 21st Century. They are rethinking mission in their communities, considering anew how God might be calling them to share the resources they have, and realizing resources they had not considered before. Notably land and buildings. Through it all, over it all, the Spirit whispers a call to welcome the stranger, share what we have, rekindle the ancient flame of holy hospitality.
As climate change and environmental degradation continue to shape the lives of our communities, our response as people of faith has never been more urgent, and full of possibility. Churches have the unique opportunity—and responsibility—to weave care for God’s creation into worship, mission, and daily life. What does it look like when a congregation takes that call seriously?
Below is a Top Nine list of the benefits of congregational creation care. You can help me with making it an even 10 by emailing your suggestion to [email protected].
Reflections from a Sabbatical Road Trip
Earlier this month, I took a short sabbatical road trip with my six-year-old son— a journey that took us from our home in Michigan through Ontario and into Quebec, with stops in Toronto, Ottawa, and Montreal. Along the way, we immersed ourselves in one of our favorite pastimes: hockey. We caught NHL games in all three cities, visited the Hockey Hall of Fame, and sang along to Stompin’ Tom Connor’s The Hockey Song more times than I can count.
The Chapel at the Seminary of the Southwest has a wall of glass. It looks out over a lawn, some beautiful native live oak trees, and a large, three-dimensional, weathered metal cross. It stands over 8 feet tall. The cross is placed outside the chapel. Whether pausing between classes or worshipping in a community Eucharist, you can’t miss it. It beckons. The life and work of the faithful is calling from beyond the chapel walls.
In part 1 of this series, I shared the back-story of how Resurrection Parish (Church of the Ascension and St. George’s Church in St. Mary’s County, MD) started putting together the sometimes disparate concepts of community + church + center. In this post, part 2 of 3, I want to share the conceptual clarity we strove to achieve as early as possible. What follows is a write-up a parishioner and I worked on in the Covid summer of 2020, and shared with our Vestry and other partners that fall. It’s essentially an exercise in ‘dilemma flipping’ – taking what some might see as a crisis or problem and flipping the script to find an opportunity or opportunities.
There’s my bias. I believe The Episcopal Church has too many buildings. More than 6,000+ congregations and more than 100 dioceses scattered throughout the United States and other countries with churches, chapels, parish halls, parish houses, vicarages, rectories, other houses, diocesan centers, retreat houses, camps and conference centers, other real estate holdings and churchyards and stuff … the list goes on. It’s a lot.
Buildings consume a lot of attention and maintenance and money. We know that.
What’s more, we built a lot of our buildings in the height, or post-height of the Baby Boom – using the inexpensive building materials and processes that were in favor in the 1960s and 70s. Those materials and processes were then, and certainly are now, unsustainable both environmentally but also financially. Today, they pose ongoing challenges – health challenges and financial challenges. What else would you expect from scores of drafty, inexpensively built buildings with gas-guzzling HVAC systems?
Church of the Ascension in Lexington Park, Maryland owned a house next door to the church. It was never the rectory. It was given to the church in 2000. For many years, Ascension rented it to a local transitional living shelter. The congregation, as landlords, managed and maintained the property as well as they could – but it wasn’t a well-built home in the first place, having been thrown up fairly inexpensively along with all the other homes in that post-WW2 neighborhood in the late 1940s. Having a constant turnover of residents as well as a shelter serving as tenant also posed ongoing challenges, but the church was serving the needs of the neighborhood. Sure, there were annual property tax payments and maintenance costs but, still, the $1,700 rent check each month was nice for the congregation’s cash flow.
What is ABCD? Asset Based Community Development is a way of looking at the people and organizations in your particular community by acknowledging and highlighting their gifts, strengths, and relationships.
When you see the community around you through an asset-based lens, you see the God-given opportunities for connection, mission, and relationship that can be overlooked by focusing on the deficits.
A critical step in ABCD is building an asset map of your surrounding community. Taking a deep look at the different kinds of people, organizations, and physical spaces in your neighborhood will help you identify potential mission fields or ministry partners.
Last Fall, five faith communities from across the country embarked on their Pivot journey, an experience that now leaves them full of excitement, energy, and a sense of abundance for what’s ahead.
The Pivot program is a year-long, cohort-based online learning experience that allows smaller, under-resourced communities of faith to discern what God is calling them to be in their particular place and time while building relationships with other congregations from across the country. It also provides space for small church leaders to “pivot” their mindsets away from scarcity and failure, into identifying the key assets their congregation offers and the opportunities to engage and support their wider communities.
A new energy is springing up in churches looking to inspire new gifts to endowment. We’ve recently talked to several churches who are making plans for an endowment campaign, whether to grow an existing endowment or start a new one. While there are several steps to success, in this blog post we’ll focus on one: engaging parishioners by telling the impact story of your church so far and linking that to a future vision.
I believe God speaks to us in confluences. When people from diverse places and backgrounds come to similar conclusions on how a problem might be solved, I listen. When the burdens of a diversity of problems might be lightened by a single program or project, I pay attention to the possibilities.
Three years since COVID rocked our ecclesial equilibrium across the United States, a new confluence is emerging. Many cities and towns are experiencing an affordable housing crisis and a growing homeless population. A tiny homes movement is causing local governments to rework housing codes and permitting processes. At the same time, fewer people are involved in church, and fewer still are attending in person on Sunday mornings. Many parking lots that once were packed with cars now have easy access. Congregations are re-thinking mission in the community, considering anew how God might be calling them to share the resources they have, and realizing resources they had not considered before. Notably land.
Monday Night Football doesn’t often trigger an agenda item for vestries. But the match-up on January 2 between the Cincinnati Bengals and the Buffalo Bills should. Most of you probably know the details by now: a few minutes into the much-anticipated game, Bills’ safety Damar Hamlin collapsed on the field, apparently suffering from a cardiac arrest. Although doctors are still determining what caused the often-fatal event, what is clear is that his life was saved by fast-acting medical personnel who delivered CPR and administered electric shocks from a defibrillator.
And here’s the agenda item for vestries across the church: schedule training for CPR AND buy a defibrillator. You may be thinking that this was a unique situation, and there’s no need to invest the money or time for such life-saving measures in the local congregation. You’re wrong.
Gleaning: It’s not just for ancient Israelites anymore!
The ancient Levitical practice of leaving excess grain for those who are experiencing hunger has found a new manifestation in modern-day Memphis.
Church of the Holy Communion’s newest outreach ministry began with a phone call from a nearby synagogue. They had started collecting unsold food from local farmers’ markets and turning it into meals for hungry neighbors. But, they faced a challenge: Too much food!
After five years of ordained ministry in parishes, and three teaching in a private school in New York City, I decided I would like to teach in one of the Episcopal seminaries. For that I would need a deeper academic background, so I pursued a Ph.D. in American Religious History at Harvard, specializing in 19th-century Episcopal history. I was especially interested in looking at the interaction of religion and culture. I was supported in this work for three years by a Fellows grant from the Episcopal Church Foundation. For my dissertation, I looked for the story of a church in an anomalous relationship to its diocese, thinking this would open a window into the religion and culture of the period. Soon I discovered St. Philip’s Church of New York City, the second Black Episcopal congregation in the country. St. Philip’s was listed in the annual diocesan journal for decades as “(colored - not in union with the diocese),” with occasional minor variations in wording. But no Episcopal parish can exist outside of the diocesan structure! My dissertation thus became the story of the 40-plus-year struggle of St. Philip’s to move from its founding in 1809, through the ordination of Peter Williams as the second Black priest in the denomination, to a regular worship life with the Book of Common Prayer and visitations by bishops, to only finally having its delegation admitted to the diocesan convention in 1853. It was a fascinating story with a great cast of characters, and after I spent a couple summers re-writing it into a more narrative form, it was published in 2005 by Columbia University Press as Faith in Their Own Color: Black Episcopalians in Antebellum New York City.
Congregations within the Episcopal Church tend to be loners. We seldom interface with our neighboring Episcopal churches and are often detached from our diocese. While we celebrate similar milestones and struggle with the same challenges, it is rare for congregations to collaborate continuously for ministry.
In 2015, a collaborative ministry was formed within the Diocese of New Jersey to address the challenges and the unique needs of the ten historically Black congregations. The members of this ministry include clergy and lay leaders from these congregations and a Diocesan staff liaison. This ministry was named the Commission on Black Ministry (COBM).
My wife and I had the pleasure of spending Holy Week and Easter in Abilene, Texas, where our son, David, is rector of Church of the Heavenly Rest. In addition to spending delightful time with our three granddaughters, we attended multiple church services with moving liturgy, inspiring preaching, great music, and lots of people. Everyone seemed so happy to be together and, after two years, have “normal” celebrations. Due to the ruling of a federal judge, the mask mandate was lifted on our flight back to New York – yet another indication of normalcy.
Based on anecdotal evidence, it seems as though Heavenly Rest was not unique and that most Episcopal parishes enjoyed robust holiday services which has generated some excitement, enthusiasm and even optimism. Was this just an Easter “flash in the pan” or an indication of new vitality? Might this mean that the pandemic slump in church attendance is finally behind us, and people will be coming back to church as before? Might we even be turning a corner when it comes to numerical decline?
$10.4 billion annually. That’s what the so-called “self-help” industry is worth. By 2025, that number is expected to grow to $14 billion.
Search “what’s my purpose?” and about 6,860,000,000 results will be returned.
It’s a question I’ve long struggled with until this past year. Something came to me during one of my early morning walks with my dog, who is the best meditation partner one could hope for. My purpose, in fact our collective purpose as Christians, is the same: to expand the presence of God on earth by fully sharing the gifts which we’ve been given.
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