Saying ‘Uncle’
You have one middlin’-size pot of resources, money and personnel, and you have two sets of voices competing for that pot. First, there are the leaders of new, up-and-coming enterprises, or new takes on traditional ones, that are taking off. They have energy and drive, they have exciting leadership, and they are gathering momentum. They will probably prosper whether they get further assistance or not, but they will certainly benefit from some help right now, and it could make a crucial difference. Second, there are the leaders of declining congregations or projects. Dull and uninspiring, they are down to the dregs, in energy and money. They are attracting no resources of their own. Without a quick infusion from outside, they will go belly up, and soon. You have a big investment in this second lot, over the years, financially and emotionally. You very much hate to see them fail, and feel loss and defeat in their demise. As a group look at you with those hound-dog eyes. “We’re going under, and on your watch,” they seem to say, “and if you let it happen, it will be all your fault.” What can you do?
You can put your resources where they will do some good, that’s what. Apply them to the new, growing, energized situations where something positive is happening. That is where your resources will have some positive effect.
Shocked? That is rarely what the church does. We, institutionally, are schmucks for a lost cause. Guilt is our middle name. The bigger the fiasco, the harder it is to say ‘no.’ And that is why we fail so often. We pour money and energy into sad, failed projects. God is constantly telling us that certain practices, certain activities, certain approaches, are not working. But we are constantly not listening to God, for we are fixated on those congregational puppy-dog eyes.
The pot of resources is not what it was. Maybe that fact will finally help us wake up to some realities, and start feeding success rather than failure. Maybe it will help is realize that, in church life, the “crash cart” is no model for congregational development.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
A Volley from the Canon, #67
THE SAME THING, ONLY DIFFERENT
Many of the undertakings I advocate in these little missives must make traditionalists groan aloud. I am often suggesting that foul, vulgar, proletarian drone-word—change. After one has achieved a state of perfection, one might ask, why would one entertain the notion of changing it? Besides, many Episcopalians do value the experience of being able to worship easily and comfortably as visitors in other congregations, even far-flung ones. In our own home congregations, we can spot at forty paces any first-time visitors who are Episcopalians. They just exude an air of confidence that they know what to do, and when to do it. A certain sameness and predictability has an appeal to it. The barbarians at the walls have not yet breached the gate. That’s a good thing to know early on a Sunday morning.
Fine for us. But, as troubler of Israel, I must ask:
1) Have we really achieved such a state of perfect harmony in our practice of common prayer? If so, where are the masses of eager participants? I don’t notice bus tours pulling up at many of our narthex entrances. Perhaps perfection in this instance is a moving target, never quite attained, always tantalizingly just out of reach? It may be that our hope for worshiping God magnificently, “in the beauty of holiness,” lies more in the effort than in the accomplishment. Doing things the same way weekly, or even annually in the liturgical cycle, is lazy worship! More imagination, more planning, more thought, more effort on our part may produce surprising and rewarding insights and experiences.
2) How can we grow if we are bored? How can we entice a short-attention-span culture, if we offer the same routine day in and day out? “Been there and done that” is not a high recommendation in our era.
It seems to me that the task of planning liturgy involves careful balancing of these opposite needs. We want enough familiarity to give us a level of comfort necessary to experiment, and enough innovation to challenge us to listen and truly participate. That applies to regular worshipers and to first-time visitors as well. Our worship needs to look and feel Episcopal, for our comfort. It also needs to rise somewhat beyond the sectarian, for any who are new to it. For all concerned, we hope our attention to be drawn to the challengingly comforting realm of the divine. That probably happens by chance, but as in so many instances, it takes a lot of planning and work to help a happy accident to occur.
Many of the undertakings I advocate in these little missives must make traditionalists groan aloud. I am often suggesting that foul, vulgar, proletarian drone-word—change. After one has achieved a state of perfection, one might ask, why would one entertain the notion of changing it? Besides, many Episcopalians do value the experience of being able to worship easily and comfortably as visitors in other congregations, even far-flung ones. In our own home congregations, we can spot at forty paces any first-time visitors who are Episcopalians. They just exude an air of confidence that they know what to do, and when to do it. A certain sameness and predictability has an appeal to it. The barbarians at the walls have not yet breached the gate. That’s a good thing to know early on a Sunday morning.
Fine for us. But, as troubler of Israel, I must ask:
1) Have we really achieved such a state of perfect harmony in our practice of common prayer? If so, where are the masses of eager participants? I don’t notice bus tours pulling up at many of our narthex entrances. Perhaps perfection in this instance is a moving target, never quite attained, always tantalizingly just out of reach? It may be that our hope for worshiping God magnificently, “in the beauty of holiness,” lies more in the effort than in the accomplishment. Doing things the same way weekly, or even annually in the liturgical cycle, is lazy worship! More imagination, more planning, more thought, more effort on our part may produce surprising and rewarding insights and experiences.
2) How can we grow if we are bored? How can we entice a short-attention-span culture, if we offer the same routine day in and day out? “Been there and done that” is not a high recommendation in our era.
It seems to me that the task of planning liturgy involves careful balancing of these opposite needs. We want enough familiarity to give us a level of comfort necessary to experiment, and enough innovation to challenge us to listen and truly participate. That applies to regular worshipers and to first-time visitors as well. Our worship needs to look and feel Episcopal, for our comfort. It also needs to rise somewhat beyond the sectarian, for any who are new to it. For all concerned, we hope our attention to be drawn to the challengingly comforting realm of the divine. That probably happens by chance, but as in so many instances, it takes a lot of planning and work to help a happy accident to occur.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
A Volley from the Canon, #66
PRAYER BOOK VS. PHOTOCOPY
It does get discouraging to note visitors to Episcopal worship, unused to participating in the liturgy, struggling with the prayer book and one or more hymnals. Some just blink doe-eyed at any suggestion to “turn to page___.” Page? Book? Read in church? Later, they say, “I’d never learn how to follow this service!” (And they haven’t even begun on the hymnal yet!) So, as a solution, we have the idea of printing the complete text for every Eucharist, including lessons, but containing only those prayers that will be used on the given day. It’s much easier, we think, more user-friendly, and especially more visitor-friendly. I’ve done it myself, and I admit there are those advantages. Even worship leaders experience a bit less confusion. It does “level the field” for new-comers—they have the same leaflet everyone else does, and the same ability to use it. And some of those who would not even pick up a book will actually use a pamphlet.
On the whole, though, I’ve come down on the side of sticking with the actual prayer book and hymnal themselves. Here’s why.
• It is a whole lot of trouble and takes a great deal of time to create a separate pamphlet for every week. That is a significant expenditure of personnel resources.
• It costs a lot of money to print that much material, too. All for—how many visitors per week?
• Word processing notwithstanding, the opportunity for errors increases. We once prayed for “Edmund, our Presiding Bishop” even after her name had become Katherine!
• The waste of paper is a bad message for the church to be sending. We should be modeling conservation, renewability and recycling.
• Experienced worshipers don’t need the booklets, and don’t use them. More waste.
• Even in this electronic world, there is something satisfying about holding an actual book in one’s hands.
• The opportunity to teach people how to use the book is lost, and learning to use the book also brings some understanding of how the liturgy fits together.
• Helping someone fathom the prayer book can be an opportunity for hospitality.
• The accomplishment of finally “getting it” can be a sign of fitting in.
No doubt, we do need to be sensitive to the way our prayer book can seem off-putting and alienating to Protestants among us in worship. We can do that by a smile at the right moment, a few words of encouragement, and an occasional short and impromptu lesson on the spot. Most importantly, we can keep our sense of humor, and let people know that we, too, were once BCP newbies—and they, too, can quickly become proficient in its use. Best of all, we take advantage of the opportunity to be verbally welcoming to a first-time worshiper, and maybe begin a long-term friendship. That way, we turn our handicap into a strength.
It does get discouraging to note visitors to Episcopal worship, unused to participating in the liturgy, struggling with the prayer book and one or more hymnals. Some just blink doe-eyed at any suggestion to “turn to page___.” Page? Book? Read in church? Later, they say, “I’d never learn how to follow this service!” (And they haven’t even begun on the hymnal yet!) So, as a solution, we have the idea of printing the complete text for every Eucharist, including lessons, but containing only those prayers that will be used on the given day. It’s much easier, we think, more user-friendly, and especially more visitor-friendly. I’ve done it myself, and I admit there are those advantages. Even worship leaders experience a bit less confusion. It does “level the field” for new-comers—they have the same leaflet everyone else does, and the same ability to use it. And some of those who would not even pick up a book will actually use a pamphlet.
On the whole, though, I’ve come down on the side of sticking with the actual prayer book and hymnal themselves. Here’s why.
• It is a whole lot of trouble and takes a great deal of time to create a separate pamphlet for every week. That is a significant expenditure of personnel resources.
• It costs a lot of money to print that much material, too. All for—how many visitors per week?
• Word processing notwithstanding, the opportunity for errors increases. We once prayed for “Edmund, our Presiding Bishop” even after her name had become Katherine!
• The waste of paper is a bad message for the church to be sending. We should be modeling conservation, renewability and recycling.
• Experienced worshipers don’t need the booklets, and don’t use them. More waste.
• Even in this electronic world, there is something satisfying about holding an actual book in one’s hands.
• The opportunity to teach people how to use the book is lost, and learning to use the book also brings some understanding of how the liturgy fits together.
• Helping someone fathom the prayer book can be an opportunity for hospitality.
• The accomplishment of finally “getting it” can be a sign of fitting in.
No doubt, we do need to be sensitive to the way our prayer book can seem off-putting and alienating to Protestants among us in worship. We can do that by a smile at the right moment, a few words of encouragement, and an occasional short and impromptu lesson on the spot. Most importantly, we can keep our sense of humor, and let people know that we, too, were once BCP newbies—and they, too, can quickly become proficient in its use. Best of all, we take advantage of the opportunity to be verbally welcoming to a first-time worshiper, and maybe begin a long-term friendship. That way, we turn our handicap into a strength.
Friday, October 2, 2009
A Volley from the Canon, #65
LIVE OR (MEMOREX) DIGITAL
It may be that there are more people who play musical instruments or who are trained vocalists today than at any time in human history. At least those accomplishments are more democratically distributed. Nevertheless, the great majority of people play just a handful of instruments: the Ipod, the CD, the satellite radio….
Think about it. In every previous generation of the church’s life, if the community wanted to have music for their worship, they had to make it themselves. People alive today are the first ones in the history of this planet who do not have that restriction.
There has always been a chasm between musicians and the tonally challenged in churches. The one set could hardly have enough music, complicated enough, to suit them. The other would as soon have none at all (the eight-o’clockers in their lead); or if there is music, they prefer it to be: a) sung by others, or b) exceedingly simple, or c) highly familiar and/or repetitious, or d) all of the above. But now, more than ever, the question persists: why should Christians have to sing together in order to worship, or even to have music for their worship?
As objectionable as “Christian karaoke” may be to many musical purists, I must say I have worshiped in congregations in which the music was so painful to hear, I would have been grateful for a good boom box and a choice compact disc. I’ve also worshiped where hymns or service music were so difficult as to be un-singable by a congregation (and I do read music), and also where the organ was played at such volume that it didn’t really matter whether anyone was singing or not—one could not hear even oneself.
But I have seen instances in which even large groups of people sang willingly, energetically, and well. This has occurred ONLY when the music being offered was simultaneously easy, familiar, and popular. I observe this at Peterkin every summer (note that most songs have to be taught!). I recently downloaded a free concert offering from the popular group Cold Play, which was recorded live. At several points, the audience, quite large, was invited to join the group in singing the chorus of one of their well-known songs, much loved by those present. They did, in thousands, with gusto—and they sounded good!
I see no reason why we should not continue to have expertly played instrumental music in church, as well as choral offerings sung by competent choirs. But why should we suppose that a “real” church has to have a vested choir, processing and performing an offertory anthem? Sometimes, “canned” music, or no music, would be preferable spiritually as well as aesthetically. But whether there is a choir or not, it remains the case that, if the congregation is to be invited to sing, their portion of the musical offering must have those three characteristics: it must be familiar (or immediately taught) for competency’s sake; it must be easy and repetitious, for simplicity’s sake; and it must be widely liked, for everyone’s sake.
It may be that there are more people who play musical instruments or who are trained vocalists today than at any time in human history. At least those accomplishments are more democratically distributed. Nevertheless, the great majority of people play just a handful of instruments: the Ipod, the CD, the satellite radio….
Think about it. In every previous generation of the church’s life, if the community wanted to have music for their worship, they had to make it themselves. People alive today are the first ones in the history of this planet who do not have that restriction.
There has always been a chasm between musicians and the tonally challenged in churches. The one set could hardly have enough music, complicated enough, to suit them. The other would as soon have none at all (the eight-o’clockers in their lead); or if there is music, they prefer it to be: a) sung by others, or b) exceedingly simple, or c) highly familiar and/or repetitious, or d) all of the above. But now, more than ever, the question persists: why should Christians have to sing together in order to worship, or even to have music for their worship?
As objectionable as “Christian karaoke” may be to many musical purists, I must say I have worshiped in congregations in which the music was so painful to hear, I would have been grateful for a good boom box and a choice compact disc. I’ve also worshiped where hymns or service music were so difficult as to be un-singable by a congregation (and I do read music), and also where the organ was played at such volume that it didn’t really matter whether anyone was singing or not—one could not hear even oneself.
But I have seen instances in which even large groups of people sang willingly, energetically, and well. This has occurred ONLY when the music being offered was simultaneously easy, familiar, and popular. I observe this at Peterkin every summer (note that most songs have to be taught!). I recently downloaded a free concert offering from the popular group Cold Play, which was recorded live. At several points, the audience, quite large, was invited to join the group in singing the chorus of one of their well-known songs, much loved by those present. They did, in thousands, with gusto—and they sounded good!
I see no reason why we should not continue to have expertly played instrumental music in church, as well as choral offerings sung by competent choirs. But why should we suppose that a “real” church has to have a vested choir, processing and performing an offertory anthem? Sometimes, “canned” music, or no music, would be preferable spiritually as well as aesthetically. But whether there is a choir or not, it remains the case that, if the congregation is to be invited to sing, their portion of the musical offering must have those three characteristics: it must be familiar (or immediately taught) for competency’s sake; it must be easy and repetitious, for simplicity’s sake; and it must be widely liked, for everyone’s sake.
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