So Why Do I Go to Church?

The following is a re-posting of a blog entry of mine from August 27, 2011 that was titled, "Are You Soiritual but Not Religous?" I re-post it today as a follow up to Wednesdays post about "leaving church." I list ten reasons why I do go to church.

Rabbi Rami, in his blog on Friday, talks about  a recent Barna Group survey that indicates that while 95% of Americans believe in God, there continues to be a decline in regular worship attendance. This really comes as no surprise since we often hear of more and more people who claim to be “spiritual but not religious.” It is also a trend I can understand as we see more and more spiritual options available to people while so many churches remain stodgy, often stuck in another time. On the other hand we are seeing the rise of evangelical mega churches catering to the whims of the suburban class, and whose services sound to me like just another day at the mall.

The Rabbi makes a very good case in his blog post for being spiritual without bothering with regular worship attendance. He then asks his readers to respond, explaining why they do or do not go to a house of worship regularly.  I took him up on it and responded  with the following reasons I do attend worship regularly:

Why I Go to Church

1. I value sacred places and ritual. I know that a church, synagogue, mosque, or temple are not the only sacred spots, but there is something to be valued in a place that a community holds as sacred.  One of the values of liturgy as I see it in Catholic, Episcopal, and Orthodox Churches is that it is always there. There are some days when I am not particularly into it, and that’s okay because other times I can really step into it and experience the sacred moment.  It is always there for me to either step into or to observe.  One day I may really be “into it” while another is just going through the motions. Another day we will change roles and I’ll be the one going through the motions, but the liturgy is always there and available, nevertheless.

2.  It is a habit. I like the continuity. I like that there is a group to which I can belong, even when I am feeling like an outsider.   I read a research study that claimed that people who gather weekly with others are healthier. That just affirmed to me the value of my habit. (Of course, I also pay attention to those surveys that say coffee is good for you, but disregard the ones that say coffee is bad for you – you know how research goes.)

3. I am stubborn.  I see those surveys that claim that regular churchgoers are more likely to vote conservative Republican.  I am determined that I will be one churchgoer who will skew the numbers by voting for a liberal Democrat whenever I get the chance.

4. Sometimes I hear something that I need to hear. I must admit that I don’t read the Bible like I did when I was a young Evangelical, but at church I will sit and listen to the readings. Each week I’ll hear readings from the Old Testament, the Psalms, a New Testament epistle, and the Gospels. I may even hear something in the homily that is enriching.

5. I know that when I carry non-perishable goods to the First Sunday Food Drive, it will get to people who really need it, and I’ll be helping more people than I could by my own efforts (though I will continue to support liberal government programs than can help even more).

6. I am an introvert, so I have to work at this, but I recognize the need for community.

7. Sometimes programs will be offered that I really enjoy. For example, during the last Lenten season, a study in the English metaphysical poets was offered at our parish – a most inspiring series for one who loves poetry. This summer, our parish took part in an urban gardens project which my daughter participated in, growing vegetables for the local food bank.

8. I’m not saying that I go every single Sunday, so the days I choose not to attend services (when I realize, as Jesus said, "the Sabbath was made for man (sic), not man for the Sabbath") that in itself becomes a restful, nourishing time.

9. I think it is important to keep institutions intact which can convey our spiritual heritage. Even though most people I know who have a vibrant spiritual life must move on from the rote elementary practices found at the parish level, we still need that traditional institution to provide us with some common language and concepts.

10. I like the music. Sometimes the music does more for me than anything else. For me, music is a quick path to transcendence.

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I would also add that worship attendance would not be as meaningful if I were not open to spiritual experiences throughout the week. Those experiences can arise from a hike in the woods, music, drama, poetry, and interaction with family and friends. On another blog I recently discovered, Spiritually Speaking, Jane "Silver Spirit" reminds us that Pierre Teilhard de Chardin said. “We are not human beings having a spiritual experience.  We are spiritual beings having a human experience.”



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Living Between the Times

Our little systems have their day;

They have their day and cease to be:

They are but broken lights of thee,

And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

                       ~ Alfred Lord Tennyson

  From In Memoriam

There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in.

                                                                         ~ Leonard Cohen

                                                                             From "Anthem"

Living Among the Dying

We have been hearing statements and arguments, seeing graphs and data, witnessing lots of hand-wringing lately about whether or not the church is dying. The truth is, so much of what we know is in the process of dying.  Many of our major institutions – government, banking, schools, churches – were born during the Industrial Revolution. We are living with 19th century institutions and have not yet figured out how to organize ourselves in the post-industrial age. Some will counter, "but the church is 2,000 years old." Well, yes, but not the "church" we have been accustomed to with the pews in the sanctuary, the Sunday School programs in the educational building, etc. I grew up as a Baptist, becoming accustomed to evangelistic sermons, calling for people to come down the aisle to make a decision not realizing that no one did church that way until about 200 years ago.  As an adult, I came to appreciate the stately and ancient liturgy found in “the one holy catholic and apostolic church” as expressed within the large stone edifices of Anglican, Catholic, and Orthodox churches. I found them to be a solid grounding in an ancient tradition, even as I realized that my attraction to that ancient form was a bit out of step with where society was moving.

But where is society moving? It is difficult to tell when you are living in between the times as we are today. When you look at the sweep of history, you can get a sense of what structures were needed for different stages of our social development. What served the hunter-gatherer tribes was not sufficient for the agrarian city-states as urban life became possible. The Roman Empire was one among many organizational structures that arose as civilization continued to advance toward a global as well as urban orientation. When the structures of the Roman Empire began to fail it took a few hundred years for that to happen. Even then, Augustine of Hippo felt compelled to write a treatise, City of God,  to explain that the end of the Roman Empire was not the end of the church (and that Christianity did not bring about the decline of Rome).  Eventually people saw that the end of the Empire was not the end of civilization either. People had to adjust their organizational structures. When the times change and structures are dying, it becomes necessary to reevaluate. Yet just as those living at the end of the hunter-gatherer period or at the end of the Roman Empire could not see that they were at the end of an age and heading toward another, neither can we fully grasp where we are or where we are going. "Aye, there's the rub," as the playwright who also lived during changing times said.

“Things Fall Apart”

There is a crisis in New York that is emblematic of the times. The Episcopal Church’s General Theological Seminary is undergoing a heart-rending conflict as faculty, who have by all accounts been faithful servants of the church and of academia, find themselves ousted from their positions in a struggle with their new dean. The conflict raises many questions about where theological education is headed, and whether current church structures are sustainable. People who held not just fond memories, but deep and meaningful connections with the worship and the grand and stately buildings at the seminary find themselves overcome with heartache and riddled with questions. “Things fall apart; the centre  cannot hold,” is the ominous phrase Yeats uses in “The Second Coming.” Life was not supposed to unfold this way. There was supposed to always be a center, a strong and reassuring ridgepole of security. Now people are even questioning the role of the church and the academy. Should we even be tied to buildings of mortar and creeds of old men? The world has scattered itself into a digital structure formed in cyberspace. We can all find our connections on the world-wide web. There is no longer a need for a physical cluster of buildings or a specific geographical area– so some may say.

Others will counter that we still need physical proximity, we still need solemn worship within a sacred space. We cannot become “commuter lackeys”– always moving, never settled– nor can we resign ourselves to becoming just a digital brick in the cyberspace wall. The problem is that neither camp really knows where we are. We do not have the benefit of hindsight nor the gift of looking back over the arc of posterity’s history. We are living it as we go along. 

Guided by Broken Lights

We will eventually figure out what kinds of institutions will serve us better in the current age, and the church will adapt, just as surely as it did in the Medieval Period and in the Industrial Period. It will be here, in some form. Moreover, our other societal institutions will die, adapt, and/or arise to meet the needs of society-as-it-is. For now, we can only try to live with compassion in a society that is at once clinging to the little systems that have had their day while at the same time flailing against the fabric of another time and place. When the system falls, when the center does not hold, then we at least have a chance to look toward the next window which will be but broken lights of that which we seek, but which will serve us well on our pilgrimage from here to there. 


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Photo: The Chapel of the Good Shepherd at the General Theological Seminary in New York.
Credit              by Nicole Bengiveno/The New York Times

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Wednesdays with Dorothy: Religion in the Institution

(This is part of a series. For Table of Contents go here)

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Vineland Baptist Church, Magengo County, Ala
(Wikimedia Commons)

Dorothy had mentioned in our conversations about Partlow State School that there was a building she called the Community House that served as school, auditorium, movie theater, and was also a place for church.  I couldn’t quite tell if church in the institution was part of the official program or if  it was a volunteer effort organized by churches outside the institution. At any rate it was fascinating to hear about Sunday activities and to hear about the resident’s attitudes toward those in charge, knowing that it was not that different from what was happening elsewhere throughout the South.

Church on Sunday

“We had church every Sunday. They let whoever wanted to go to church, and sometimes they would make some of them go. There were different preachers there. There was this one preacher, he’s dead now, Rev, George Butte, and he used to preach in the chapel [at Partlow] and his brother goes to Glen Iris Baptist Church where I go now. I sang in the choir when he was there. Then that preacher left and we got another preacher. We had one old man, we called him “Fairy Tales.” I never will forget his name, it was Dubose Murphy. I don’t know whatever happened to him. Then we got another preacher, it was Brother Clyde E. Brazelle, one day I was talking to somebody and I said, ‘That old nosey Brother Brazelle, he’s always nosing in on something,’ and him a-standin’ right there.  Another lady said, ‘Dorothy Faye, he heard you – he’s standing right over there.’ I said, ‘I can’t help it if he heard me, I meant for him to anyway,’ Whether he did or didn’t. And then I happened to think, ‘Oh mercy! Forgive me Jesus, I’m talking about a preacher.’

“He would always come in we would be a-talking and he would be standing there listening and everything. It just hit me that he was nosey.”

“The one we called “Fairy Tale”, he was tall and skinny, and wore glasses. He’d come out, I think every fourth Sunday. We didn’t much care for him – he never would get to the point of the Bible, hardly, he was always talking about something else. We began to call him Fairy Tales. I thought that name up for him.”

“There was a little ol’ bitty girl [at Partlow who] told me all about Jesus. I didn’t know she knew so much about it. She was the one that told me. Then another lady told me. If it weren’t for them, I probably never would have known about him. I’d go to church or Sunday School, I didn’t hardly pay no mind, what they were talking about, until somebody told me.  My legal guardian tried to tell me. I didn’t understand what she meant when she was talking about the mark of the beast. I thought it was some big old ugly something coming up out of the bottom of the sea.”

Seeing with the Eye of the Heart

On a few occasions, Dorothy described moments that she realized were not “real” in the sense of being  part of the normal physical world, yet had some reality and meaning to her.  One can see how her understanding of religion played a role in some of the things Dorothy “saw” with the eye of her heart.

 “When I was a little girl, I really did believe that I could see Jesus sittin’ on the side of my cot. I was looking up at him talking to him and he was looking down at me smiling. In my mind, I believe I really saw Jesus as a little girl.  I think I was about 12 or 13 years old.”

“Then one night I saw my mother coming down the ward, She wore an orange coat, the coat she always wore when she went to work. She didn’t have no regular job, she had to clean off the grave yards. Anyway, I could see her, and I told her I wanted to go with her. She told me I couldn’t go with her right now. I asked her why. She said they’re not ready for you yet. And she seemed to have on a long white robe, and then she vanished. It really made me feel real good. I thought, she’s come back to get me. She had a pretty color in her face and looked so natural and she was so pretty, I could just see her.”

Another time, Dorothy told about a staff person who had been important to her and whose influence obviously continued after she died:

“The most important people in my life were some of the attendants, and the most important one of them, her name was Aunt Lily Wilson. I remember one Saturday morning at breakfast she was fixin’ to eat a bowl of corn flakes, and she had a heart attack and fell out of the chair. She died that instant. The night after she died, I could just see her with that pale blue sweater on.  I thought about her and I thought, ‘She’s with Jesus.’  I don’t remember how old I was, but that’s what I was thinking.  When I went to sleep, I dreamed that I could see her. She was really good to us. I called her Aunt Lily because she was so sweet. She would always talk to me about Jesus.  She really taught me to love Jesus.”

On the subject of seeing things that are more “spiritual” than “physical,” Dorothy shared some more recent events in her life. As I heard her recount a moment while she was in the hospital in Birmingham, I realized that this was a time when she was alone and facing uncertainty.  In that uncertainty, she saw and heard things that gave her hope and comfort:

“I used to stand in the window in the bathroom and I’d hear them having a revival. I didn’t know where they were. I would just think, ‘I wish I was down there.’ I could hear them having a revival. And when I was in the hospital, I could hear them having a revival. I could see people; they were going to be saved. They were singing and the preacher was preaching. It was really real – it wasn’t no radio or nothing, I could just hear them…it went on of a couple of hours. I thought. God’s gonna do something. I really thought it was a revival going on. That was when I was in the hospital the first time. The second time, I lost my breath and they took me down to the hospital and I thought that I could see Jesus. He was there by my bed side. He was looking at me and I reached out and took his hand. I said, ‘I love you.’ And he said ‘I love you too – I died for you.’  I really thought that I could see Jesus. It really made me feel good. 

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Are Men Losing Their Religion?

A friend passed on to me another fascinating article from The Huffington Post, "The Vanishing American Religious Male," by Rabbi Scott Perlo. He speaks from his perspective as a rabbi concerned about the distance men hold from the Torah and Judaism, and their lack of participation. He notes “their great silence on issues of religious significance…"

Toward the end of the article I found these notable statements:

“Our culture is changing, feminism and gender theory have had an impact, and the men of my generation were raised with much greater emotional consciousness than those who came before us. Yet these cultural changes have not changed the pattern of men's disengagement from religion.”

“We Jews often wonder why the most famous of our prayers, the reading of the Shma, teaches, "ve'ahavta" -- and you will love, rather than "ve'he'emanta" -- and you will believe. It is because belief is not Judaism's fulcrum, but rather closeness. The secret to living a life of Torah is holding it close, and letting it give expression to our souls. We men need to ask ourselves why it feels so far away.”

My View

There are many layers to this phenomenon, I’m sure. Without taking the time to do any academic research or analysis, here’s my quick take on it:

1. Patriarchal society, in addition to suppressing women, has damaged men. We men are expected to be the perfect warrior with all the answers who can always do the job. Since few (if any) are that perfect warrior, we instead keep a quiet, low profile so that maybe no one will notice what we’re not.

2. I heard a fellow a couple of years back who was trying to get more men involved in the church. He seemed to be coming from an evangelical Christian background and said the problem was that a lot of church experience is geared toward things men are uncomfortable with, e.g. holding hands and singing kumbaya. He wanted to see room for more masculine expressions in worship. I disagreed with him about worship, but I had to admit that he had a point. Should we try to get men to be more into prayer and worship, or should we try to bring more masculine elements that men can relate to into the worship setting?

3. Years ago I noticed that just about the time we were seeing more women in pastoral roles we were also seeing a de-valuing of religion in society. So while we were celebrating the acceptance of women in leadership roles, society as a whole was assigning less value to church leadership.

The above are just some quick observations. Add to this, just last week I attended a seminar about taking patient's spiritual needs into account in the healthcare setting. The seminar was led by a physician at a large teaching hospital in my state. She made the statement that our society is becoming more religious/spiritual, not less. If that is true, and if men are more alientated from religion, what are the implications? I cannot claim to have any solutions. Does anyone out there have some other clues? What kind of spiritual practice is needed for men, and how do we get there?



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