[Published in the Windham County Commons, February 1, 2008]<br><br>

Once upon a time, in 1830, after the second great awakening, 80 percent of Vermonters were regular churchgoers. “The most churchgoing people in the protestant world,” according to a state historical society paper written by Randolph Roth. And those who weren’t worshippers found themselves on the outside of society and many joined the westward migration.

Vermont’s beautiful emblematic community churches are a product of this age, before the automobile, before the rise of dairy farming, even before the railroad.

Now, according to the American Religious Survey, just 24 percent of Vermonters are church regulars — the lowest in the nation. Nationally, the rate is 42 percent. But the state's many churches have endured, marking human communities which also endure, despite the challenge of shifting demographic trends. 

I was the pastor of one of these churches.

When I arrived at Vernon Union Church in 2001, I found a lovely classic white church, well kept, but quite empty. Only 15 to 25 regulars graced the sanctuary, built for 100. Some expressed concern that they were a dying church. Could I help?

It’s unexpected, being a Quaker and a pastor. But I’d been to seminary and when Sept. 11 happened, I decided to stop wondering what I was supposed to do and get up and contribute. Those were my skills and I could see that we needed community and healing and the institution ordained for that purpose is the church.

So I called Pam Lucas, the associate minister of the United Church of Christ, and asked how I could be useful. I’d discovered I liked the UCC — liberal, Christian, welcoming, and often at the center of small town Vermont. I liked that, unlike Quakers who have always held themselves a bit apart, the UCC is a mainstream church.

It turned out that days before, the Vernon church had called her in a panic, seeking a pastor. She figured this timing wasn’t a coincidence and suggested I call them. “Well,” said Steve Moore after my first sermon, “you didn’t embarrass yourself — do you want to come back?” 

And so I began my sojourn.

CHURCH CHALLENGES

Nationally, church attendance rose in the 1950s, declined in the 70s and has been stable since. About half the churches in Windham County today are thriving, with full, active and healthy congregations. Others are in various stages of stability and healing, with only a couple truly in trouble. 

Churches don’t die very often, but there can be long and disheartening declines. As the empty pews outnumber attenders, the congregation starts to have to make financial choices. Contributions to the denomination and missions are reduced. The pastor doesn’t get a raise. The next pastor hired is only part-time, and perhaps without full qualifications. Building maintenance slips. For Catholics, the priest shortage drives closures (such as Saxtons River a few years ago), which are decisions of the diocese.

According to national surveys, the top reasons to stop going to church are because the service is boring and because of being offended by the church’s moral stands. People start coming to church most often for their children and as a response to a life crisis such as a death of a loved one.

By the time I arrived, Vernon Union Church had existed without a regular pastor for some time and, as is the pattern for similar small congregations unable to afford a full-time minister, had learned to care for itself on its own, taking care of its own business, looking out for each other and hiring guest preachers each Sunday. 

Even when funds are available, every church negotiates this balance between pastoral and congregational leadership and churches have been known to split when the minister and their supporters in the congregation differ from the wishes of other congregational lay leaders.

“If you don’t like the priest, there’s a breakdown in the celebration as a whole,” said Jen Redit, a practicing Catholic.

Sometimes a church pastor will attract new members not in synch with old-timers who may have loyalties to tradition or have a longer-term perspective on the church body.

“There is human nature that gets people into the status quo — but Christianity isn’t a status quo religion,” explains fellow United Church of Christ Interim Pastor Roger Brown.

Some denominations report that the suffering of conflict can offer tremendous opportunity for spiritual growth — but it can also drive people away and sometimes split the church. However, when conflict overtakes a community, this can change.

One of UCC congregations Susie Webster-Toleno led had a conflict in its past. “I’m still working out what that was about,” she says. “It depends on who you asks what happened.” 

Power and authority were at issue — and who was the decision maker. 

“There is still woundedness, some bitterness.  More than that, there is still feelings of hurt under the surface.”

The inclusion of gays into the community and into marriage is a currently divisive issue, but often the conflict is deeper, and disagreements over issues (or theology) mask a misunderstanding that is based on personnel history, insecurities and differences of generation, culture, levels of investment in the church, willingness to include outsiders and give up control.

 The clumsiness of human community is not restricted to certain denominations (or only to religious communities, for that matter), nor is disillusionment and the difficulty of forgiveness. 

AND THEN THERE’s HOPE

And after I arrived at Vernon Union Church, several sweet older women — wise elders — took me under their wing and helped me understand the church and what was expected. This was important because, coming from a Quaker background, there were certain gaps in my knowledge. Someone had to tell me I should stand at the door and greet people as they left. Someone drew me a “seating chart” to help me learn people’s names. (Yes, people are remarkably consistent of habit!)

Before long I started to really love that church. We were engaged in the business of trying to live in the spirit, understand Jesus’ call with a remarkable lack of pretension.

When we’re focused on what we lack or what we fear, we dwell in a weak defensive posture. But Jesus asked for trust and said “Follow Me.”  So, responding to the congregation’s worry over its own lack of numbers, I preached on trust and I noticed that the message was settling in. It was the message I needed in my own life too.

I saw my job as connecting with the lives of the congregants (mostly by visiting) and asking God every week what needed to be said. It’s a very privileged position, being paid to engage with spirituality and a good discipline to have a weekly deadline. I learned that my best sermons were those I really struggled with until I gave up. Those that flopped were the one’s I was most proud of beforehand.

I knew my job was to help the congregation discover their strengths and what they could offer to the world. We could grow spiritually, even if we didn’t grow in numbers. What was our mission?  The reality of our small numbers didn’t mean we didn’t also have a part in God’s tapestry.

Somehow we realized that one thing we did really well — and offered out to the world — is that we were a praying church. That was true, and once identified it changed my own approach. The service always had prayer, but I started lingering there more and began to see it as the center to the worship service; the act that defined us in relationship to God. It changed the congregation’s perception of itself as well, to know it had a strength.

After this point I started noticing a small increase in worship attendance. Just a few, and not from any big outreach plan, but it was satisfying to see the momentum shift.

In 2003 the church called Steve Dunklee as a long-term pastor. He seems a good fit for the community, many new members are attending and the church appears healthy.