Drew Downs

Why shrinking is a good thing

A new story in the New York Times by David Streitfeld highlights an initiative underway in Flint, Michigan. The basic principle is to use the existing Land Bank to shrink the city.

The principle is this: the city’s footprint is too big for its foot. In the 1950s, some 200,000 people lived in Flint, and the city anticipated that it would grow to 350,000. Today, it is at 110,000. There are blocks of the city with noone living there and even more with only a few residents.

The plan is to orchestrate a mass reimagining of the city, inviting people to “trade up” to a new home in a better part of town and then return the old property to wilderness and green space.

It is definately worth a read, and the page includes an audio interview as well that is worth listening to. I think this is great stuff and should be taken up by other cities.

Apr 22, 2009
Doomed to repeat
A recent conversation with a friend gave me pause.

We were talking about history, and I think I was rambling about being a fan of “recent” history (perhaps more accurately described as an interest in cultural studies, but oh well). I then made these three statements (in paraphrase):
1. I’m interested in the post-World War II history.
2. I’m interested in WWI era history.
3. I’m not that into WWII: I think it has been over-examined / over-described / over-inflated.
And then it hit me like a freight train. We are doomed to repeat it. Of course, we aren’t doomed to repeat that in the same way, but we are doomed to create unnecessary horrors because we forgot to learn one simple thing: why.

Let me explain myself. World War II, as we all know, has several primary conflicts:
1. A European land / air war
2. An American / Japanese war
3. The Holocaust
Our perpetual focus on the Holocaust and the evil expressed by Hitler’s Nazi-controlled Germany certainly serves as a terrifying testament to the evil of which humanity is certainly capable.

At the same time, we neglect to examine why Hitler acted this way. We either smooth it over, simply suggesting that he is “pure evil,” making the moral of the story to avoid electing leaders with a simultaneous God and inferiority complexes. As if we could even pick a Hitler out of a lineup before he amasses power.

The other response is to hide our heads and suggest that because Hitler was evil, there is no point in determining why: as if his reasoning were so tainted, we could not possibly hope to gain anything from it. This is much more dangerous. We witnessed this line of argument after September 11, 2001: al-Qaeda gave us many reasons for these acts of murder, before and after, but we decided to ignore them.

What occurs to me, however, is that a new problem arises from this. Not only are we ignoring the simple, localized Why–the one that must have made sense in 1939 to this group or in 1941 to this group–but also the bigger Why. The Why that spawned the conditions that led to WWII, the uneasy European alliance, and the humiliation described by many Nazi sympathizers in the 1930s. The Why can be found, of course, in the Great War.

Now, the reason I said at the beginning that I was more interested in World War I is this: we can see in WWII the direct face of evil, whereas WWI is the quintessential example of human misunderstanding. Instead of personifying evil in a single national figure (Hitler), WWI possess a high level of moral ambiguity–no obvious “rights” and “wrongs”. It was believed at the time that it was the war that would end all wars, but it served, in some ways, as the benchmark by which the next war would need to surpass.

There are so many interesting aspects to the Great War, but let me use only these few components:
1. It began with a single assassination.
2. The countries involved were forced to mobilize in a show of strength.
3. The German military put into place a principle of “mobilization means war” (think: threats should be treated as threats–not bluffs)
4. After the war, France and Great Britain, operating from a place of hurt and vindictiveness, encouraged the United States to support harsh, draconian punishments on Germany.
The simplicity of the situation is made insufferable by our willingness to ignore it. Germany, the aggressor, was treated like a pariah and was therefore emboldened to reconstitute their military strength. Germany, the responder, was not only acting to protect and defend a weaker ally, but it was simply calling a bluff. France and Britain, the victims, used the international community to humiliate and dehumanize the German military. France and Britain, the defenders, responded to a hostile occupation of territory with a harsh rebuke in an attempt to make it so that this kind of war would never happen again. This, of course, planted the seeds that made Hitler’s climb to power incredibly easy. A similar relationship to conflict can be found in the last several decades in Israel, in which pro-conflict candidates have had a stranglehold of the top post, while pro-peace candidates are boxed out.

My point? By 1) focusing solely on the atrocity, 2) classifying it as evil, and 3) only occasionally asking why, 4) we set ourselves up to repeat the very conflict 5) by ignoring its precipitating causes.

The Holocaust doesn’t happen without WWI. And WWI served as a very different conflict from WWII.

What are our simple misunderstandings today? What are the things that will get us involved in a conflict now that will cause a greater atrocity tomorrow? Is it possible that we are already in the midst of part 1?

The church’s failure in WWII, especially, are well documented and obvious. But perhaps its time we learned our lesson from history.
Apr 22, 2009
Change has already happened
The church in which I grew up dates back to the 19^th Century. Its exterior is stone. The Parish Hall, adjacently attached in the 20^th Century, is built of cement, no doubt from the local cement plant. It has a high ceiling and an old bell tower. Walking through the heavy red doors, one is greeted to dark woods and red-carpeted stairs taking you up into the back of the church. The interior possess that same dark wood, against white walls, with a pale blue ceiling with gold-colored designs and hanging chandeliers. Behind the high altar is a large stained-glassed window. On your left (the north side of the building), are four depictions of Jesus, from birth until his final week, each depicted in a stained-glass window. On the right side are saints, including St. George slaying a dragon. The set up was clearly designed for morning prayer as the pews, made of the same dark wood face east and the altar, the choir sits antiphonally (facing each other) in the front, with a small chancel with an altar rail. There is also a high, ornate pulpit, again, made of the same dark wood.

The church in which I am currently serving dates back to the 1960s. Its exterior is made of concrete, with a much lower sightline and a memorial garden on the entrance side. Walking through the glass doors on the side of the building, one is greeted to up-directed lighting and a few hallways. To the right is the sanctuary. The walls are insulated with drywall, painted white; the pews and ceiling are made from a medium wood; and the room is carpeted in beige. The front wall is composed of naturally-shaped stones, cemented in place, and a faux iron is used for an altar rail and altar candles, set up for morning office. A wooden crucifix centers the eye and 60’s style modern art stained glass adorn the two sides of the space.

The difference in colors and building materials no doubt affect the way one worships in these two spaces. The former represents the “traditional” or the “old” church and the latter represents the “modern” or the “new” church. Generally, I think this an inaccurate means of describing these spaces, when one calls something more than 40 years old “new,” but no matter.

But notice some of the differences in the two structures, beyond style:
1. Building materials. One of the obvious differences is in the material in which the church was constructed. Modern building methods have made building a church cheaper and more efficient.
2. Appearance. Not only are the materials different, but no attempt to replicate the appearance of the materials was made—no fake stone or decorative blocks are used to ornament the new church. Also, the dark appearance of the wood, traveling up the walls was not replicated with a cheap alternative—it was replaced simply by bare walls.
3. Color. The dark reds, popping off of the door and carpet of the “old” church, are replaced with a more soothing beige. The lighter wood used in the chancel and on the pews in the “newer” church is not the contrast with the white as the dark wood is.
4. Form. The “old” church has an obviously busy chancel with the addition of the choir and organ console and small altar space. In the “old” church, the high altar is preserved, though the altar itself has been pulled forward. The “newer” church, sporting a stone altar, is in the same position, several feet from the front, east-facing wall. The orientation of the “newer” and “old” churches are also identical.
What I also notice about these two churches is something surprising: not just what is different, but what has been “given up”.

The 19^th Century church was built lavishly to glorify God.

The 20^th Century church was built efficiently to demonstrate stewardship of church resources.

The 19^th Century church was built with a striking appearance.

The 20^th Century church was built with a soothing appearance.

The exterior of the 19^th Century church was unmistakable.

The exterior of the 20^th Century church was unremarkable.

There were such drastic differences, and yet, so much stays the same. There are some serious elements that have remained common practice:
1. Orientation toward the front.
2. A raised, pointed ceiling.
3. Separate pulpit and lectern.
4. An altar at the “front” of the church.
5. A pipe organ.
6. A small baptismal font, tucked off to the side.
So here is my prevailing question: what if we got rid of the wrong stuff? What if, in building our cheaper, more efficient church, we tossed out the types of things that were essential to our worship, while preserving the very things that are in greater need of an update? What if we made a great, big mistake?

It is my current hypothesis that one of the prevailing reasons many of our older members fear change in church is that they perceive that their church has already changed. And I don’t mean changed a little bit—I mean drastically. Many of our older members, who attended churches in their childhood before the 1960s, have already given something up to attend a church built in the 1960s. They have given up the dark colors and the rich textures. They have given up a building that screams to them “I stand here as a church!” and instead attend a non-descript building that whispers “come see our little worship place.” To invite these people to make more changes is inviting a devastation of psychic proportions.

I also can’t help but wonder about the developing theology of the time. The ’79 Prayer Book represented a theology that was prevailing well before its adoption. When these churches were built in the 1960s, they were built in the midst of dramatically changed theology and expectations. Many of these expectations would not be realized architecturally until after many of the more staid 1960s churches were completed.

Look at the list of things that stayed the same. Which ones shouldn’t? Shouldn’t we reconfigure our seating arrangement and the placement of our altar and baptismal font to better match our theology? Would it help to see these as positive changes in the midst of a different environment?

As I said in the opening, I was raised in what I called an “old” church. Now, when I find myself in a church built before the 20^th Century, I feel it: that sense of “the other”. I don’t feel the same way about many churches built in the 20^th Century—especially in the 1960s. What caused me to think about this was pictures of old English churches that have been updated. In one, the pews were taken out and replaced by a great labyrinth in the stone floor. The beauty found in this old church was mixed with an even older method of prayer to affect a new environment. The people worshipping in this space were young and relatively unchurched. To them, this building was clearly a church yet, it was progressive—it looked fresh and invited them in.

So, what does this mean for your church?
Apr 21, 2009
12 things the Church can do to save itself

There are so many things that we do–right and wrong. Most of them go unexamined. The following list of twelve things is intended to shed a light on how we actually behave, and hopefully, reveal ways to make worthwhile changes.

12. be as we say
The cliché is to not only talk the talk but walk the walk; but I would alter the emphasis. For many Christians, they actually believe we are all walking the walk. So the emphasis shouldn’t be on the walk but on walking. We should operate continually as faithful people.

11. welcome the stranger
Another thought that everybody knows intuitively, but hardly do we think about what “welcoming” really implies. Not just sitting there and letting somebody sit there, too, but engaging and showing a kind heart to others.

I heard once that we read the parable of the Good Samaritan wrong. The context of the Samaritan to the Jewish people didn’t simply mean an outsider or outcast, wrongly accused and cast aside, but that Samaritans were a murderous and vile people, with a long history of brutality and inhumanity. That someone so evil could be found to be doing something good is truly revolutionary. If we are to overthrow the hypocrite label, we ought to recognize that we actually persecute evil and find ways to be charitable, despite our prejudice.

Now that we are recognizing that the undesirable is worthy of love, let’s recognize what it actually means to include a stranger into the group. How are we meeting their needs? What are they asking for that we can or cannot provide? Are we inviting them to even ask this question? And what are we doing to help transition someone from stranger-to-friend-to-partner?

10. treat children as the present, not the future
One of the things we assume is that our relationship as adults with children is that we have knowledge to impart on them and that they have to behave a certain way (also prescribed by us). Our theology tells us that children are full members of the church, but our practice tends to exclude them. So here’s the real suggestion: recognize that as children age, they are perpetual newcomers—seeing the church for the first time—and consummate life-long members—who can point out everything that is out of place. Children must be treated as both, today.

9. reflect on what is being said—sometimes with words
Apologies to St. Francis, but as he pointed out, we can communicate a great deal with our actions, not just our words. The truth is, we are already communicating something with our actions. What do we give the majority of time to? What do we focus on? How do we spend our money? What are our priorities? And what are we communicating when we do use words?

8. look in the mirror…but not too much

I don’t mean this in a vain way, I mean, actually look at the church. What do our buildings look like? Is our worship vital for the people that are here? How are people showing their devotion? If we don’t take time to examine ourselves and how we operate, we cannot possibly understand what others are trying to communicate when they stay home on Sunday morning.

When we look in the mirror, we tend to look at the same things—our hair, for instance. But it isn’t just our hair, it’s the part, or the hairs that are sticking up, or the cowlick that you can never do anything with. How much of our time is wasted on character flaws and not things that we are likely to be able to change? Are we too busy looking at our hair to notice the bags under our eyes? How did they get there? Did we get enough sleep or did we have a wild time last night? Or did we get up too early in the morning? Spending too much time in front of the mirror means that we aren’t spending enough time outside.

7. get out of the church building
We seem to spend all of our time around and in our church building. We put great care in its maintenance and incredible interest in how it is decorated. We gather every week to worship in the building. And yet—it seems to end there. We need to get out more and participate in the life of the community in a visible way.

6. realize that the more we cater to one group, the more others don’t feel welcome
The funny thing is that this isn’t a criticism. We love to be inclusive, so we talk a good game about having enough stuff for all people, but the truth is that niche markets aren’t always bad—we just have to realize that we are catering to a niche market and what that means. As the church gives more opportunities for seniors (its most prominent group), it gives fewer opportunities for youth and young adults. Planning programs during the day (9-5) means nobody but retirees is likely to show up. Planning programs late at night means that few seniors are likely to show up (or adults with young children that would otherwise be in bed). The point is that we should know who we are and who we want to be.

5. stop using free-market economic theory to direct congregational development
We must move away from operating our churches as if they were spiritual Wal-Mart stores. We don’t have a product to sell and we don’t want to pitch anything to willing consumers. Not only does this seem antithetical to our morals, but it runs counter to our theological foundation. In church terms, this means less focus on what ‘programs’ we are running and more interest in what living in community actually looks like. How can we actually live together and practice spiritual discipline?

4. children and youth are not a commodity
Similarly, we must stop seeing our children and youth as a commodity—something either extracted like oil from the ground or sold (or stolen from us) to an eager and hungry congregation. Not only must we allow children and youth to be a part of the church, we must help them demand that place—draw the passion for participation out of each one.

3. get rid of junk and salvage treasures
The church has a lot of trash: physical, emotional, and historical memory. We have collected practices that no longer matter to us—or have lost any sense of meaning; and yet we still do them. I joked with a friend after his ordination that, as he was offering the chalice, and saying “The blood of Christ, shed for you,” I was going to say (or dare his wife to say) “damn straight!” Of course he was glad that I did not (nor did his wife), but in some way, I was actually being serious—cheeky, but serious. The word ‘amen’ doesn’t have the same cache today, nor does it describe our spiritual response to God the way “damn straight!” would. If we got rid of all of our Christmas Pageants and Easter Egg Hunts and flowering crosses—what do you suppose we could do to spark our imaginations?

2. learn from the church’s mistake with Galileo
It is much easier for the church to lash out against what it doesn’t like—easier still in the Internet Age for individual Christians to call for the crucifixion of others—than for it to deal with reality. The problem is compounded by an irrational belief that it similarly cannot deal with being wrong. For Roman Catholics, this is especially difficult. But the truth is that we have done some incredibly nasty things and strangely, centuries go by before we apologize—let alone seek to amend for it. What do you think the impact on the world would be if we confessed to all of our sins in a timely fashion? What would it mean to those that don’t feel as if they could trust us? Is it possible that humility and a humble heart might actually work?

1. learn from Galileo himself
The theory that struck fear in the heart of Rome: that the earth is not the center of the universe: is an essential analogy for us today. Virtually everything above is dealing with the notion that perhaps Christians and the Church itself, is not the center of the universe. That we, in fact, revolve around the sun (or son). That we not only are failing, but have failed. That we are not the only ones that revolve around the sun, either—there are many planets—7 more, in fact. We are just lucky enough to inhabit life. This analogy is about reorienting relationship. It could also be described this way: instead of seeking ways to attract young people to church, perhaps we should find ways to be relevant to young people.

Apr 8, 2009