When I used to walk into a church for the first time, I’d show up within 5 minutes of the start of worship. I’d try to find a seat in the back, and I would just sort of find my way in.

I didn’t really want to be shown how to worship there. I knew what I was doing. And If I didn’t, I’d fake it.

And during the whole service, I would think about how I fit into this place, this moment, and how this all fit into me. Now I would say that I was searching and asking “where is GOD in this?” Then, I was just searching for the feeling.

'These lines of relationship are shifting and they don't mean what they once did.' Share on X

Growing up in the church, I always had a comfort and familiarity with worship. The older I get, the less it has to be the way I knew it to be and the more I am able to see the bigger picture of worship.

I also came with my judging hat on. As a cradle Episcopalian who is also a PK (Priest’s/Preacher’s/Pastor’s Kid), there is no way that worship in one church wasn’t going to get compared to something else. No way. I couldn’t help it. This priest or pastor was going to get compared to my Dad. There was no hope. The worship was going to be compared to Trinity Episcopal Church in Alpena, Michigan.

I knew Alpena wasn’t the epicenter of Anglicanism, but still. I had my likes.

And it wasn’t because the liturgy was outstanding at the time. In some ways, I was judging you in spite of a favorable comparison to my home church.

I was judging you because I loved Trinity and I am deeply grateful for the support and love they continue to show me, even though half of my life has been spent away from them.

Giving our best

I understand that devotion and that need to judge. I know where it comes from.

I am also glad that I don’t really do that anymore.

Occasionally I get a little catty. And it is usually in the most egregious of choices (which is more than the misuse of vestments). Things like taming the gospel and limiting the people. That does get to me.

Today I can go to a church with its nose in a Prayer Book and one with its hands in the air and feel comfortable. I can work with people with an orthodox faith and those with an unorthodox and seeking faith. I can walk in ecumenical circles and do my best to tolerate my clergy friends when they gush over the arcana and pretty things of our tradition. I can do this, not because I have some super faith or think so highly of myself. I can do this because I feel that I can trust that we are all trying our best. And I need to try my best. Which means participating more fully in someone else’s preference.

I’ve written before that I can do this because I don’t feel like my church is 100% me. And I don’t need 100% of what we do to reflect me. In some ways, this is actually a new, and changing, phenomenon.

Identity

We didn’t always think that our organizations were 100% us. It is a relatively new thing; the era we have been in. I am confident that this is changing. We have been incredibly selfish, expecting the church to be so much like us.

How I’ve experienced this in my congregations is that the members who disliked certain decisions stopped pledging. Or else, got fed up and walked away. Often very publicly. They want to make sure people know why.

I often point to the back door, the door the quiet, unheard, unrecognized, and often silenced members slip out. The ones who are never invited to share, to participate, or encouraged to contribute. Or perhaps they are invited, but are used to hearing “no” or “not right now” or “our people aren’t ready for that sort of thing.” The ones who don’t get included because they don’t have the “right” beliefs or keep asking why we need to say the Creed every Sunday or want the opportunity to try more creative liturgies.

The ones who aren’t worried about being 100% the same. Just 25%. Maybe 2 out of 10 the same.

I’m confident that we don’t have to worry. It’s all changing.

We are rediscovering our great sense of community and collaboration. Our youth and young adults are being trained to work together way more than their parents did. They are already making waves, trying to change the world.

While, at the same time, the stranglehold we have on the concepts of identity and membership are slipping through our fingers.

Multi-memberships

It wasn’t that long ago that church membership mattered. Before the city and state kept records, the church did. So we were the primary archives. Not any more.

Then it mattered because you got something out of it. You have to be a member to vote in the annual meeting (yippee!) or to represent the congregation at convention (don’t you want to go?). Membership has given us free access to the church for weddings (unlike those other suckers!) and the privilege of getting harassed about our pledge (it is stewardship season right now!). Membership does have its perks.

Of course, it is totally without value any longer. Not deep value. Not when you can punish your neighbors for a decision by withholding your pledge or walking away when you don’t like the direction we’re going in. That isn’t the behavior of a member; it’s the behavior of a visitor, a seeker, an outsider who doesn’t really want to be in. One who is willing to destroy to get her way.

These lines of relationship are shifting and they don’t mean what they once did.

Our sense of membership is more fluid and more emotional. But I don’t think it is inherently bad. Instead, it seems to be shifting, rather than weakening; becoming something else entirely. More flexible and adaptive. It is becoming more rooted and less ideological. It involves more of our deep selves to join, but allows for more opportunities to share in other ministries and to become leaders in new endeavors.

It means joining a campus ministry and a traditional church, perhaps. Or being with a congregation while you are at school, but maintaining the rootedness back home. It means joining an emergent gathering on Thursday night and a praise service on Sunday. Connecting deeply with people with a variety of needs and gifts and hopes and expectations with the incredible trust that we can do something bigger than ourselves.

We are being called to membership in the church more than to the congregation. And for those watching the member rolls and balancing the budgets, that difference is terrifying.

Ask Yourself

Much of our understanding of church is geared around building up membership in the local congregation. How can this be maintained in a multi-membership age? Should it?

What happens to our sense of community if we are members of something bigger, rather than smaller; if our connections are less local?

How can we maintain commitments in two places at once? Is it possible to have “dual citizenship” when it comes to churches.

Are we losing something if we aren’t maintaining a consistent membership expectation? Or does this free us to new ideas of gathering community and building relationships?

Can we have community without citizenship, a country without borders, or a church without membership?

 

[This is Day 29 of How to start deconstructing church. The next in the series is “Liturgy & the Event”. To start from the beginning, read the introduction here.]