I just got off the phone with a friend who’s been priest-in-charge of a congregation that's grown from an average Sunday attendance of 30 to about 80 in a little less than two years.
"It’s a tough day!" she exclaimed. It was only noon. I'd called out of the blue, just after she finished meeting with a Vestry member – one on the verge of resigning. "It was a good conversation, a necessary conversation," she said. "But a hard one."
The first semester of our experiment ends tonight.
My church is a typical county-seat congregation in the foothills of Appalachia. If only Christmas Eve were our typical attendance on Sunday mornings, we’d be a packed 150. Instead, most Sundays, we’re half that, with each family getting their own pew.
In the past five years, we’ve tried lots of techniques to build up Christian education. Sunday School – on Sunday morning – was a flop (before – and after – the main service). We tried a once-a-month Evensong, with activities. No traction. Our Beer and Bible study had been a hit for three years, but attendance fizzled.
Last school year, we picked up kids from school and brought them to our house for two hours of GodSquad. The kids loved it – but it happened in a vacuum, 20 minutes from church and away from all of the adults (save two teachers).
The separation of church and state is a key cornerstone of the U.S. government. At the same time, everyone at my noonday meeting on Tuesday had cast their vote in a local church.
This juxtaposition struck me today as we move from one of the most contentious, fractious election cycles in my lifetime into a new era of leadership. Our churches serve as polling stations as a way to support their communities. But we have so much more to offer, especially now.
Faye laundered money. Literally.
At the small, rural church, she collected the offering at the end of the service and hid it in her clothes hamper until she could make it to the bank.
We discovered the occasions when she washed the purse with the rest of her laundry. The ink would run off the checks, and she'd call, asking how much we had given.
Today, on All Saints Day, we remember the guardians and martyrs of the faith, the Saints of The Church.
I also like to remember the saints in my churches.
Faye was nearly 90 years old -- and widowed for half a century, but she turned up at the church nearly every time the doors opened. Her shoulders hunched over and her knuckles looked like walnuts, but she never failed to clean up after potluck dinners or to give a pat to the child who hugged her leg.
She didn't offer herself to the lions or spark a reformation, but Faye and so many others seem to fit the definition of a saint -- a person of exceptional holiness.
Give a shout out to the saints in your churches, in your lives. Post their first names here. Add a sentence or two about how they have been extraordinary examples of the living Christ. And then give thanks for their witness and saint-likeness.
Amen.
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