Sometimes I’m in a position—usually either during a haircut on donating blood—when somebody feels like they need to make conversation with me by asking what I do for a living. Now, when I first began my ordained ministry, back in the late 1980s in south Louisiana, I would routinely answer, “I’m an Episcopal priest,” and that would pretty much work.
But our culture has changed and our society has changed. For anyone under the age of 50 or so, I no longer have any confidence that Episcopalian conveys one of an array of brand names by which Christians sort themselves out. I’ll begin to answer that casual question by asking, “Have you ever heard of the Episcopal Church?” If they answer Yes, I’ll explain that I’m a retired bishop. But if I just see a blank stare, I’ll fall back to the British royal family and, you know, the most recent royal wedding, when Presiding Bishop Michael Curry made a bit of a homiletical splash.
If the person says, “Yeah, I saw that on TV,” then I’ll say, “Well that’s us. We’re that church.” But … if I strike out on the royal wedding, I really have nowhere else to go. Short of a laborious and technical explanation, which the person’s really interested in, I have no cultural footholds, no societal grammar, that I can exploit to explain succinctly what I did for a living. So sometimes I make a joke about Episcopal being an anagram of Pepsi Cola, and leave it at that.
Now, I realize that, in some places in the United States, the evolution of our society may not have reached that point. There seems to still be a fair bit of dressing up and showing up for church on Sunday mornings in places like the Deep South and Texas. But that’s only a reprieve, not a pardon. It’s only a matter of time, and probably not very much time, before an expectation of church affiliation disappears throughout our culture.
No one has ever wanted to enact this hypothetical illustration, but I would bet that, from any given Episcopal church, parishioners could fan out and knock on doors asking, “True or False: Easter is about Jesus walking out of his tomb, and if he sees his shadow, that means six more weeks of winter.” The majority would say either “True” or “I don’t know.” When I started school in the late 1950s, baptismal certificates were accepted as proof of age for purposes of school registration. Churches and clergy were presumed to be pillars of our society, strengthening the social fabric (and therefore deserving of tax breaks and other courtesies). Now, clergy are presumptively shady characters, and city councils and neighborhood associations consider churches to be leeches on municipal infrastructure and the tax base, a drag on society rather than an asset. Churches now must compete with organized athletic and other events for the attention of kids and families on Sunday morning.
What we are experiencing is not just a natural cycle, not just a pendulum swing. This is, rather, a sea change, not an organic evolution, but a tectonic shift of the sort that happens only every several hundred years. It is plausible that the change we are in the middle of will turn out to be more significant than the Reformation of the 16th century. In fact, we may need to go back about 1,700 years, to the early fourth century, to find the other bookend.
So, as I see it, Christians have three options as we assess the tsunami of “post-Christendom” that is already engulfing us. First, we can deny that it’s happening, and treat it as just a phase that our culture is going through, and that everything will get back to “normal” a few years from now, as a natural cycle plays itself out. I might be surprised, but I doubt there are very many serious observers who would take such a position.
Second, we can resolve to resist it, to stand firm against the barbarians as they proceed with the sacking of Rome. This is the tack taken by most of the religious right, those who use language like “Let’s take back our country for God.” I suppose this might result in minor victories in battles, but we will still lose the war.
Finally, we have the option of embracing the change that is already upon us, and seeing it as the greatest missionary opportunity for the Church of Jesus Christ since the Day of Pentecost.
What would “embracing” the secularization of our society look like? During my decade-long episcopate in the Diocese of Springfield (2011-21), I endeavored to provoke a thorough shift in attitude away from an “attractional” stance toward mission and in the direction of an “apostolic” stance. In other words, instead of focusing our attention and energy on trying to get “them out there” to drive to our parking lots on Sunday mornings and walk through our beautiful red doors and join “us in here” for worship, we camp out in their neighborhoods, build relationships around mutual interests, and earn the privilege of talking to them about their ultimate concerns, whatever it is that keeps them up at night, which is the context in which we can credibly introduce them to Jesus. That is a long way from business as usual for Episcopalians.
I’m going to use a story to illustrate what I’m talking about. I believe it’s a true story, though I can’t be certain because it takes place in the future. So, we’ll see.
Anyway, Lisa and Jeff live outside of Sharpstown in Jones County, Illinois—check me out, there are no such place names in Illinois; the names have been changed to protect the unsuspecting—about 14 miles from the county seat city of Pinehurst. Jeff works in his father’s retail farm-implement business, and will one day own it; Lisa works in a local beauty parlor.
They have two kids in high school, which can be a little expensive, so a couple of years ago they found themselves in nearly $50,000 of revolving credit card debt. It seemed that they just weren’t very good at managing their finances. Through one of Lisa’s hairdressing clients, they heard about a series of seminars being held down at the VFW Hall. They were feeling just vulnerable enough that they were willing to accept help from nearly any direction, so they attended the meetings.
Doing so not only turned their financial life around, but they made some new friends who were also part of the group. What Lisa and Jeff learned about halfway through the financial management series was that it was sponsored by St. Gabriel’s Episcopal Church in Pinehurst. Lisa’s client, in fact, the one who told her about the seminar, is a member of St. Gabriel’s.
Now, Lisa’s parents were Methodists when they were kids, and Jeff’s were Roman Catholics. But neither Lisa nor Jeff ever had any experience with any church, except for the occasional wedding or funeral, and the religious talk never made any sense to them. But a couple of their new friends from the financial seminar invited them to a come to a group meeting in their home, right there in Sharpstown. There was some good food, good fellowship, some conversation about the big issues of life, and always a short prayer at the end, led by the host couple, Julie and Mark. Jeff and Lisa were a little skeptical at first, but they really liked the people, and found that they enjoyed exploring the spiritual dimension of their lives, which they had never really done before.
After about three months of coming to these weeknight home group meetings, there was a special visitor. Julie introduced him as Fr. Cliff, the priest from St Gabriel’s. Over dinner, Lisa and Jeff learned that Fr. Cliff had a day job as an administrator at Pinehurst High School, and took care of St. Gabriel’s in his spare time.
At the discussion time, Fr. Cliff informed the group that he had rented the VFW Hall on every other Sunday night beginning the next month, and wanted to know whether anyone in the group would be interested in joining him for a simple service of worship and instruction—a little music, some prayers, a time of teaching about the basics of Christian faith, and, of course, some food. For those who continued to be interested, this could lead to baptism. On their way home that night, Jeff and Lisa agree that they would begin to attend those services.
So they do. And they find that they enjoy the experience. Much to their surprise, they begin to pray, on their own, at home. Not too much, but some. They also find that their relationship with their kids begins to be a little less stormy, and is sometimes even a little sweet. Nobody knows quite why, but both parents and kids are happy about it. The kids begin to join their parents at the VFW Hall on Sunday nights.
This goes on for a couple of years. The VFW Hall meetings are now held every week. Their oldest child is now away at one of the state universities. It’s fall, and Fr. Cliff begins to gently raise the question: Who feels ready for baptism? By this time, there are over 20 adults in the group, none of whom had any previous ties to a church. To Fr. Cliff’s delight, the response is, “We thought you’d never ask!”
The instruction becomes a little more intense. They begin to read more Scripture in their worship. By this time, both Jeff and Lisa have each bought a Bible for their personal use, so they notice that the passages of Scripture that are read are not chosen randomly, but follow a pattern. Some people from St. Gabriel’s quietly begin to show up and assist Fr. Cliff with the teaching by leading small-group discussions. New songs are introduced in their worship—songs with unfamiliar language and vocabulary that the catechists need to explain—and the group is taught to give responses to various things the leader might say.
At the beginning of December (or, as the group is told, Advent), the candidates for baptism are paired with a sponsor from St. Gabriel’s, someone who listens to them and prays for them and emails them and talks by phone at least weekly. About ten weeks later, at the beginning of Lent (which Jeff remembers his Catholic grandmother talking about, though he never knew what it was), the 20 candidates solemnly sign their names in a special book that has been prepared for that purpose, as their sponsors vouch that they have been faithful in attending worship and instruction, and have lived in a manner worthy of a follower of Jesus.
Fr. Cliff and the other catechists begin to mention something called the Eucharist, though whatever they say about it is kind of vague, and they never teach about it directly. But Jeff and Lisa and their other friends have the distinct impression that it’s pretty important, and that, after they are baptized, it will be a regular part of their experience.
Then, on the night before Easter, a bus appears in the VFW Hall parking lot, which takes everyone to Pinehurst, and St. Gabriel’s Church. They’re ushered into the back of the church and given a hand candle. It’s very dark. A lot of Scripture is read, and the passages are very long. But the catechumens have heard them all before. It is in these stories that the gospel has been explained to them: the Creation, the Flood, Abraham’s Sacrifice of Isaac, the Exodus, the Valley of the Dry Bones.
Then their sponsors present them to Fr. Cliff, who is dressed up in a way they’ve never seen him before! He asks them if they renounce the ways of this world, and if they promise to follow Jesus as Lord. Then the whole congregation says the Apostles’ Creed with them and answers some more questions. Then, Fr. Cliff baptizes them, one by one, and pours oil over them—generously—and tells them that they have been sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever. Then, for the first time, they give and receive the Sign of Peace, and finally, are actively present as heaven and earth are joined and death and life become indistinguishable from one another, and they dine on the Body and Blood of him whose true members they have now become.
The next Sunday, they gather for the Eucharist once again, only this time back in the familiar VFW Hall in Sharpstown. The bishop is there, somebody they’ve only heard rumors about until this point! He leads them in a discussion about becoming a Eucharistic Community, and, together, they decide on a name: the Church of the Advent, Sharpstown. And so it goes.
I haven’t described anything that I expect will ever take place precisely as I have told it, but I hope my direction is clear. Let me now be a little more prosaic, in the form of five concluding points:
First, the Church we are becoming will no longer be supported by the social structures we were once accustomed to and dependent on. These include a presumptive respect for churches and for clergy, an expected seat at the public policy table, non-taxable property, and clergy income that is tax-privileged.
Second, the Church we are becoming will no longer be able to assume that the surrounding society has a basic knowledge of the Christian narrative simply by being part of the culture. For what it’s worth, I consider this a supremely good thing, and pray for the day to be hastened. The day we have some real blank slates to work with, rather than people who think they know what Christianity is, but really don’t, and have therefore rejected a cheap knockoff of the real thing, our evangelistic task will grow significantly easier.
Third, the Church we are becoming will be made up of committed, well-formed disciples who are ready to engage apostolic mission. You have to be a disciple before you can be an apostle, so we’d best be about the work of making disciples, pointing every aspect of church life in that direction.
Fourth, in the Church we are becoming, the Eucharist will no longer be our front door, the entrance to the railway station, but rather several stops down a line that includes connection, evangelization, formation, and initiation—that is, baptism. Incidentally, this will render the perennial conversation about offering Holy Communion to the unbaptized completely moot, because people won’t even see the Eucharist until they are baptized.
Finally, the Church we are becoming will not concern itself with conforming to society and culture, or following society and culture, or gaining the approval of society and culture—and still less with being on the “right side of history.” Rather, we will be focused on being an alternative society and culture, modeling in our life together the values of the coming kingdom of God, and saying to the world, “If you want to know what’s coming down the pike, look at us!”
It’s an ambitious vision. It involves leapfrogging over the last 1,700 years of Christendom and learning some best practices from our forebears who knew how to be a church in a non-churchy world. We can’t replicate everything they did, of course—their context was pre-Christian and ours is post-Christian—but there’s an awful lot we can learn from their experience. In the meantime, we can start building the infrastructure that will relieve the Sunday Eucharist of a duty it was never designed to perform—being our front door, our show window, to the world. Instead, in the spirit of Eugene Peterson’s translation of John 1:14, let’s “move into the neighborhood” and bring Jesus with us.
The Rt. Rev. Daniel Martins is retired Bishop of the Diocese of Springfield in the Episcopal Church.