Recently I was privileged to take a service at a church, a lovely church, full of kind and caring individuals. The people were (and remain) lovely and the welcome was ...
Tuesday 6 October 2015
Tuesday 13 January 2015
Myopic church (and deck chairs)
I had this nightmare recently where a declining church met to discuss their situation. Few turned out and those that did were confident that although the numbers had indeed fallen whilst the average age of those attending had grown - there was an assured future - all was not as bad as some might paint it!
One of their perceived strengths was that they had a central place in the community - well the building did, the congregation were pretty anonymous - and had been there since Simon de Fruitspoon (of the Norman conquests) had established the church in 1127. This was THE church in the area and so nothing could come between them and their future in the place for they were assured that there was enough money in the bank accounts, investments and property to keep the place going until they died (and after that it wouldn't be a problem anyway, would it?).
This remnant attended, no actually the word 'haunted' fits better here, the services and were faithful in the fact that they came, hell or high water, to their chosen service pretty much every week. They'd do their bit and then, clocking off, leave the building to the next shift who would do the same until the final service of the day was ticked off as done. Each would look back to the time when there were queues and seats were at a premium and remember when children 'behaved properly' in their suits, shirts and ties and brylcreemed hair (not like today's children - thank goodness we don't see them that much in here!).
Proclaiming their friendliness and the welcoming church that they were they bemoaned the fact that no one came to their services - after all, everyone knew where the church building was, it was one of the historic sites - and sighed as the echoes of the good old days washed over them.
The sadness was that the people were lovely and the church building was splendid and there was so much to commend and bless in them and the magnificent structures they occupied - but instead of looking out and reaching out and reinventing themselves to find a new relevance, they were content to leave it to the person at the top of the tree (although not to the person at the top of the cross) and shuffle in towards the final service; safe in the knowledge that as long as parish share could be paid they we safe.
As we drew to a close the conversation turned to rearranging the tea area to 'make it more appealing' - but the question was, 'To whom?' After all, there was only them. Then we talked about the old members (either dead or in care homes or moved in with their children) and how to make Sunday school more popular (simple answer: get some children into the place) and how well others were doing (with the implicit 'at our expense') before we finally ran out of steam and finished with the deck chairs all neatly set out as they should be.
Now this place could be any one of a number of churches I know of - there's nothing remarkable about them - and that's the sadness. Those who come to faith through them, finding any move to change gear and attitude rejected, tend to move into the 'popular churches' (something which causes the remnant to huddle together against the rising tide) and stuck increase the speed of decline and hopelessness.
The saddest thing of all was that the nightmare took place in real life - mercifully I don't have dreams like that which I relate here!!!
One of their perceived strengths was that they had a central place in the community - well the building did, the congregation were pretty anonymous - and had been there since Simon de Fruitspoon (of the Norman conquests) had established the church in 1127. This was THE church in the area and so nothing could come between them and their future in the place for they were assured that there was enough money in the bank accounts, investments and property to keep the place going until they died (and after that it wouldn't be a problem anyway, would it?).
This remnant attended, no actually the word 'haunted' fits better here, the services and were faithful in the fact that they came, hell or high water, to their chosen service pretty much every week. They'd do their bit and then, clocking off, leave the building to the next shift who would do the same until the final service of the day was ticked off as done. Each would look back to the time when there were queues and seats were at a premium and remember when children 'behaved properly' in their suits, shirts and ties and brylcreemed hair (not like today's children - thank goodness we don't see them that much in here!).
Proclaiming their friendliness and the welcoming church that they were they bemoaned the fact that no one came to their services - after all, everyone knew where the church building was, it was one of the historic sites - and sighed as the echoes of the good old days washed over them.
The sadness was that the people were lovely and the church building was splendid and there was so much to commend and bless in them and the magnificent structures they occupied - but instead of looking out and reaching out and reinventing themselves to find a new relevance, they were content to leave it to the person at the top of the tree (although not to the person at the top of the cross) and shuffle in towards the final service; safe in the knowledge that as long as parish share could be paid they we safe.
As we drew to a close the conversation turned to rearranging the tea area to 'make it more appealing' - but the question was, 'To whom?' After all, there was only them. Then we talked about the old members (either dead or in care homes or moved in with their children) and how to make Sunday school more popular (simple answer: get some children into the place) and how well others were doing (with the implicit 'at our expense') before we finally ran out of steam and finished with the deck chairs all neatly set out as they should be.
Now this place could be any one of a number of churches I know of - there's nothing remarkable about them - and that's the sadness. Those who come to faith through them, finding any move to change gear and attitude rejected, tend to move into the 'popular churches' (something which causes the remnant to huddle together against the rising tide) and stuck increase the speed of decline and hopelessness.
The saddest thing of all was that the nightmare took place in real life - mercifully I don't have dreams like that which I relate here!!!
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| It seems that Church works best when not constrained by its buildings! |
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Well actually the welcome was a bit pants if I'm going to be honest! They thought a warm welcome was a 'hello' a handshake and the proffering of the hymn book and service sheet.
But this was nirvana when compared to another church I visited when staying with family. This church never even managed to hand out the service sheet or hymn book - I helped myself to both and sat in a seat and then replaced it at the end of the service without anyone engaging me in any way at all - leaving, as I had come, as an unknown person!
The 'welcomer' was too engaged in conversation with a regular when I entered and vanished immediately after the service had finished: I later learned there was tea and coffee in the hall - no one told me and there was nothing on the sheet and no announcement! But I would hazard a bet that they thought they were a welcoming church!
But back to the church in question. Getting near to the start time I took a look out of the vestry and see a visitor arrive - I knew they were a visitor because I knew everyone else there - and receive their book, sheet and handshake (what I regard as the 'prize day' model of welcoming). They then went down the aisle and sat in a pew.
The welcomer followed them and said something to them which resulted in the visitor moving to the other side of the church. Others entered the building (I knew them as regulars) and took their place in front of the visitor. One of them turned to talk to the visitor and a minute or so later the visitor got up and moved to a seat nearer the rear of the church and were engaged in conversation by a churchwarden (I had now left the vestry and was walking towards the 'Vicar's stall'). As I announced the first hymn I noticed the visitor making for the door. And I never saw them again that day (or since)!
It transpired that the visitor had first sat in the place where one of the dear old ladies (if you don't cross her!) sat and so the welcomer, pointing it out to the visitor, had encouraged them to move. The visitor moved, the dear old lady never made an appearance!
Then, having moved, the people who engaged them pointed out that the nnnn family usually sat where they were sitting. Taking the hint, the visitor moved into a different seat only to be told they were the seats reserved for the welcomers. Apparently the visitor asked if there was a toilet, and being told where it was, left to visit it, and was never seen again!
The sadness is that I have encountered this sort of thing on more than one occasion in a number of church buildings and sometimes the visitor stays (but do they return I wonder) and other times they don't even make it through the service.
I am often appalled at the way some church members greet visitors, there's little welcome and the empty seats are all reserved for people who used to come; the result is an empty church full of possessive people.
Seats and welcomes: how do you do yours?