Bumpy and the Fancy China: The Church Can’t Survive as a Family Heirloom
Sitting on a shelf in my 5 year-old daughter’s room is my father’s teddy bear from the 1940s, “Bumpy.” He’s light tan, about 12 inches tall and made from some velvety-like material that probably used to be soft, but now feels a little rough to the touch. My three daughters know his name, know where he is, but they have never actually played with him and he’s never made it into the coveted “lovies in the bed” rotation. It’s comforting to my father (and to me) that Bumpy is in my daughter’s room. We know where he is, and although he’s not exactly a beloved toy to my kids, at least we know he’s still there, even if in the background.
This experience with Bumpy the 80 year-old teddy bear shares some striking similarities to my experience as a pastor in an historic, downtown church. The heyday of this congregation coincided with Bumpy’s peak years. The 195 year-old church was vibrant and perhaps at its largest in the middle of the 20th century, even adding to its building to create more space for a larger fellowship hall and rooms for childcare and Bible studies. Like many downtown churches, attendance and membership have waned over the years, though the community that has remained is more committed than ever to their location as they understand their distinct calling to be their outreach ministries to neighbors living on the margins downtown. As of 2023, they are a small community with an incredible dedication to one another and to their work in the inner city.
Like many churches who find themselves in this position, they know that they can’t go on forever unless something changes drastically. Their 140 year-old building has 140 year-old problems, ones that can prove to be extremely expensive (like 4 years ago when the ceiling needed to be reinforced lest it fall in). This church is very adept at tightening the proverbial belt without diminishing the experience of the members or the quality of the outreach ministries. It’s really quite remarkable to see the faith and tenacity at work in this community of believers. They teach me about discipleship-in-action all the time.
In the time I have served at the church, I have noticed something that I suspect is not unique to our congregation. There are many individuals who claim our church as their home congregation while rarely, if ever, setting foot inside the building. I would venture to guess that the number of households who consider our congregation to be “their church” is at least four times the number of households that pledge and participate in the life of the community. I know this because of the folks I have connected with in hospital visits, or that walk up to me at public events and introduce themselves to me by explaining how our church is their home church even though they “haven’t attended regularly in some time.”
So has our church become like Bumpy? Are we the family heirloom teddy bear that no one actually wants to play with anymore but that offers a great sense of comfort and lots of warm fuzzies through the mere knowledge of our existence? Yikes! The local church will not make it if all we are to people is the “fancy china,” sitting in the cabinet (or on the corner downtown) looking pretty, but only utilized on extremely rare and special occasions.
The congregation I am serving prides itself on showing up for people, whether they have been a regular participant in the life of the community or not. When someone is sick or has died, the community pulls out all the stops to respond with abundant hospitality and grace. They never consider the last time someone was at a service, or the “seven degrees of separation” between a member and someone needing care and support from the church. This local church claims people as its own in the way that I believe God claims us all. When tragedy strikes, these folks come running to render aid. I am sure that it is extremely comforting for folks to know that they can always reach out to a church like ours when tragedy strikes and find a community of believers ready to walk with them through ceremony and grief.
In 13 years of ordained ministry, I’ve officiated dozens of weddings for folks who want the church to be the bedrock of their marriage ceremony, just not a part of their regular routines. We can’t survive this way. The truth is that if folks want the church to be there for the big moments – marriage, baptisms, deaths, holidays, etc. – they have to make the church a part of their in-between times too. If the local church is going to survive to be there when folks need it most, it needs to be there when they need it less, or at least when they think they need it less.
The question of how we communicate the urgency of our survival without sounding depressing, guilt-provoking, or manipulative is one that I do not have an answer to yet. Yet, the pressure my local church feels about their reality is very real and present. While Bumpy the teddy bear and the fancy china in my dining room can continue to exist and be looked at with appreciation regardless of the fact they are never used, the church cannot do the same. The church is made of people – it is a living and breathing thing, and even though congregations can choose to move out of old, expensive buildings, the local church cannot survive without the people. We will not continue to exist if all we are to most folks is a beloved, but rarely frequented institution. The relationships will wither. The pool of loving congregants who rush in to help in a crisis will dry out. The congregation will be unable to afford the leadership of a paid pastor.
There are so many organizations and institutions competing for our time, treasures, membership and attention in this world. Add to that the fact that the church is competing in a fierce competition for Sunday mornings along with nature, exercise, work, time with family, brunch with friends, and, that most elusive of commodities, rest. My hope and my prayer is that in this season of discerning who this beautiful, historic, inner-city church needs to be and become, that folks who consider us “home,” including those who I still have neither seen nor met, will be drawn in with us to discerning our being and becoming. Our stakeholders extend far beyond the numbers in our pews on Sundays and we need the wisdom of many at the table as we dialogue about the future.
(Actual photos of Bumpy and the never-used fancy china!)
