The time to act is now.
The thing to do is be bold and courageous.
That's my best shot. Tom's words are fair more articulate. Take a look:
+George
ORANGE, TX -- I had the Hampton Inn's breakfast room to myself on Saturday morning. Where is everybody? I wondered. How can they maintain such a nice hotel without any customers?
Try again Monday, a local businessman told me. Every room will be taken by weekday workers at area chemical plants. In the boom-bust cycle of Texas oil and chemicals, not everyone relocates when a job materializes.
Orange has been up, and Orange has been down. During World War Two, this port city on the Louisiana border exploded from 7,000 to 25,000 as a shipbuilder for the US Navy.
Then came peace, as well as contraction in the oilfields, and Orange shrank to 18,000. Even though chemical plants are booming, they are increasingly mechanized and need fewer workers.
First Presbyterian Church has ebbed and flowed, too. It grew from 200 members to 850 during the war years and then settled back down to 200. Sunday worship feels empty to those who remember the boom.
With a fresh determination that I am seeing in many mainline churches across the country, First Presbyterian leaders are saying No to further decline and Yes to changing whatever needs to be changed to get growing.
They have added a contemporary service on Sunday to connect with young families. It meets in a gym and draws twice as many as the traditional service held later in the church's historic sanctuary.
Now they are ready to look beyond Sunday worship for the "more" a changing city requires. They are looking outward at a needy world and imagining how they can serve. They are learning from success stories in other faith communities.
In perhaps the liveliest discussion I've experienced in many months, they questioned, savored, and reacted eagerly to every turnaround strategy I presented. They won't adopt them all, of course, but I heard a refreshing willingness to engage new ideas.
No more fear, they said in bold declarations. They have too much to offer, the Orange community has too many needs, and God is determined to transform lives.
This wasn't the macho swagger that characterizes Texas politics. This wasn't smug suburban bullies wearing boots and channeling Davy Crockett. It was the calm assurance of people who have dealt with hurricanes on the Gulf of Mexico, floods along the Sabine River, booms and busts, who don't flinch when told the future will be different from what they know.
My sampling of the Christian enterprise is narrow, of course. But what I am seeing now gives me great hope. After fifty years of relentless decline, marked by bitter blaming, doctrinal posturing and refusal to engage a changing world, more and more congregations are charting fresh courses.
First, they are standing up to the negative and self-serving voices in their midst.
Second, they are looking outward at a world in disarray and asking how they can help -- not how they can survive intact, but how they can adapt and serve.
Third, they are opening everything to scrutiny, from polities that discourage boldness to worship that no longer engages to facilities that are unsustainable as once-a-week havens.
Fourth, they are driving their demographic younger: bringing young adults into leadership, embracing new technology, adapting to young families whose lives aren't a repeat of the 1950s.
I began to sense these shifts a few years ago. Now I see them blooming. It's an exciting time in mainline Christianity.
October 12, 2013
Boom, bust, boom
By Tom Ehrich
ORANGE, TX -- I had the Hampton Inn's breakfast room to myself on Saturday morning. Where is everybody? I wondered. How can they maintain such a nice hotel without any customers?
Try again Monday, a local businessman told me. Every room will be taken by weekday workers at area chemical plants. In the boom-bust cycle of Texas oil and chemicals, not everyone relocates when a job materializes.
Orange has been up, and Orange has been down. During World War Two, this port city on the Louisiana border exploded from 7,000 to 25,000 as a shipbuilder for the US Navy.
Then came peace, as well as contraction in the oilfields, and Orange shrank to 18,000. Even though chemical plants are booming, they are increasingly mechanized and need fewer workers.
First Presbyterian Church has ebbed and flowed, too. It grew from 200 members to 850 during the war years and then settled back down to 200. Sunday worship feels empty to those who remember the boom.
With a fresh determination that I am seeing in many mainline churches across the country, First Presbyterian leaders are saying No to further decline and Yes to changing whatever needs to be changed to get growing.
They have added a contemporary service on Sunday to connect with young families. It meets in a gym and draws twice as many as the traditional service held later in the church's historic sanctuary.
Now they are ready to look beyond Sunday worship for the "more" a changing city requires. They are looking outward at a needy world and imagining how they can serve. They are learning from success stories in other faith communities.
In perhaps the liveliest discussion I've experienced in many months, they questioned, savored, and reacted eagerly to every turnaround strategy I presented. They won't adopt them all, of course, but I heard a refreshing willingness to engage new ideas.
No more fear, they said in bold declarations. They have too much to offer, the Orange community has too many needs, and God is determined to transform lives.
This wasn't the macho swagger that characterizes Texas politics. This wasn't smug suburban bullies wearing boots and channeling Davy Crockett. It was the calm assurance of people who have dealt with hurricanes on the Gulf of Mexico, floods along the Sabine River, booms and busts, who don't flinch when told the future will be different from what they know.
My sampling of the Christian enterprise is narrow, of course. But what I am seeing now gives me great hope. After fifty years of relentless decline, marked by bitter blaming, doctrinal posturing and refusal to engage a changing world, more and more congregations are charting fresh courses.
First, they are standing up to the negative and self-serving voices in their midst.
Second, they are looking outward at a world in disarray and asking how they can help -- not how they can survive intact, but how they can adapt and serve.
Third, they are opening everything to scrutiny, from polities that discourage boldness to worship that no longer engages to facilities that are unsustainable as once-a-week havens.
Fourth, they are driving their demographic younger: bringing young adults into leadership, embracing new technology, adapting to young families whose lives aren't a repeat of the 1950s.
I began to sense these shifts a few years ago. Now I see them blooming. It's an exciting time in mainline Christianity.
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