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New ways of "doing church"
By Beverly Bartlett
They light a candle to remind themselves of God's presence, and sit for several minutes in silent meditation. Then after discussing the meaning of the phrase "to die with Christ," the five young women who had gathered for "church" in a Louisville, Kentucky, living room last spring start talking about their faith lives. Some evenings they may talk about their struggles to make time for a daily devotion. Or about the way they answer their children's questions about faith. Or about a doubt they have entertained or a question that has bugged them. But on this night they discuss Lent and whether observing it has made a difference for them. Joanna Flanigan says that the diet changes she made for Lent—giving up meat, dairy and bread, among other things—often seem more like a hassle than a spiritual step. "I'm kind of disappointed," she says. "I'm not feeling closer to God." Lori Hendrix, who gave up coffee and soft drinks, says she feels the same way. "I've been drinking the heck out of my water," she says with a laugh, "but spiritually—nothing." A third woman, Jerilyn Whitesitt, says maybe they are not supposed to always feel something magical. She tells the others that her husband, a student, recently started trying to visit a chapel each day to pray. It sounded, she says, like an impressive and meaningful gesture, but some days he is distracted or feels disengaged. What he hopes, however, is that the act of carving out time, of making the effort, would lead, if not to a glorious emotional experience, to a more Christlike demeanor. Maybe he will be more patient with children. Maybe he will be kinder to strangers. Whitesitt says she thought her husband was right about that, and his approach made her feel less pressure to feel close to God every moment. "I was kind of encouraged," she says. It was clear from the nods and murmurs that the other women were, too. This made sense and helped them resolve their questions about Lent. What kind of Presbyterian church is this? "This is cultural," she says. "It's happening everywhere." At the Arvada (Colorado) Presbyterian Church, for example, a new Christian Spirituality Team has gradually started re-introducing rituals that have long been ignored by Protestant denominations.
Two years ago at Easter they set up a labyrinth for people to walk. Then they held a workshop on the stations of the cross for Protestants. Now they have started a monthly worship service that is much more contemplative than a traditional mainstream Protestant service. The 30 minutes of worship includes about 8 minutes of silence and several sensual elements—burning incense, for example, and dimming the lights. A desire to experience a moment of contemplation, to truly feel peace, to sense your own oneness with God—these are the things that make the service special. In the non-Christian world these things are arguably what is also driving the sale of New Age books, aromatherapy ointments, and tapes on meditation. Some of the products offered on the consumer market seem a little sad to Haig. "You have the ritual," she says, "but without the theology that gives it meaning."
For many Christians the very word spirituality has taken on a negative, New Age, meaning, because it is associated so often with non-Christian traditions. "We wanted to offer that kind of food in a Christian context," Inglis says. "We made sure we rooted everything in the Christian tradition. " Something was missing The Presbyterian Church addressed the issue in large and small ways. Seminaries began to add spirituality programs to their roster, and conferences and workshops were scheduled to help lay and ordained leaders reintroduce spiritual practices to their congregations. About seven years ago Davis (California) Community Church, a Presbyterian church, established a Bread of Life Center for Spiritual Formation to help clergy and lay people reconnect with the spiritual part of their Christian lives. Sandra Lommasson, the director of the Center, says this is different from the Christian education tradition in many churches.
Christian education tends to be viewed as a way to delve into Bible study, learning in-depth information about the time and context in which the stories of the Bible were told. "I love those kind of things," she says. "But that's a feast for the mind. There is more to the human person than the mind. Our focus is bringing all of ourselves to that relationship with God—heart, soul, spirit." House churches Trinity Presbyterian Church in Harrisonburg, Virginia, is perhaps the oldest Presbyterian example. For about 40 years Trinity has organized church life around a community of "house churches"—groups that gather together, usually weekly in a member's home, and are committed to a joint mission project. This means that the group's mission work is blended with their spiritual lives in a way that gives more meaning to each. Besides, Held says, there is something special about getting to know people in this way. "You're hammering together, you're handing out clothes together, you're cooking together, whatever, but you are in a small group, and you break down and say, 'My mother was just diagnosed with cancer.' You can do that because you are with people you know. Or you say, 'I'm not feeling close to God anymore and I don't want to admit that to the pastor.' "You have more time, the Sunday school bell isn't going to ring, you're sipping coffee, and it's a little more relaxed attitude. I think when you're in a home there is an element of 'someone has opened up their home, and maybe I can open up myself at the same time.'" "In, Out and With" On the surface Covenant's intentional communities would seem to be part of the same movement that launched Trinity's house churches 40 years ago. But Haig thinks the idea of house churches, which gained some popularity at about the time Trinity started, caught on—at least in some quarters—because of a longing to emulate New Testament communities. This fit in with the secular idea of communal living that was also trendy at that time. Today's movement, while prompting similar results, Haig believes is rooted more in a widespread sense of "spiritual restlessness." But both, she says, share a search for a "vessel ... adequate to contain the life of faith" and to create real community. Covenant's intentional communities started two years ago after Jud Hendrix and Elizabeth Kaznak Trexler, both associate pastors for large Presbyterian congregations in Louisville, realized they were both dissatisfied with traditional church life. "We were more like a social service provider for people's spiritual needs," Hendrix says. It was not anything that was specifically wrong with his own congregation or others. But churches were spending a lot of time on things that had little to nothing to do with the true spiritual needs of their people.
"When did churches become so concerned about gyms? Or child care centers?" Hendrix asks. "Not that these things in and of themselves are bad"—after all, they serve the legitimate needs of people. "But there are plenty of gyms and quite a few child care centers. Shouldn't the church be largely focused on the things it provides that no other organization or institution does?" But the "intentional communities" like the young mothers group are what Hendrix considers the real "church." They are groups that meet to focus on their inner spiritual lives, their outer work of discipleship, and the role they should be playing to help each other along in their faith journey. "In, Out, and With" is the shorthand phrase they use to describe this threefold focus. The mothers, for example, not only encourage and hold each other accountable about finding daily time for spiritual practices. They also have worked together to bring justice to the world in ways they see connected to their role as parents of young children. For example, they have baby-sat for women who are working on a GED. Trexler says that when she and Hendrix were planning the church, they thought mission work would be its most notable attribute and the thing that would appeal to young people yearning to find a way to make a difference. Instead, they have found that the young people they have attracted are drawn primarily by a desire to find a close-knit group of people to share a spiritual journey with. "They want to engage the big questions," she says. "They want spiritually to be able to practice with a community." Beverly Bartlett, a free-lance writer, is a member of Crescent Hill Presbyterian Church in Louisville, Ky. Permission has been given by Presbyterians Today to reprint this article. |
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