Faithful to the end

The Anglican Church of Canada – my home denomination – released a report in 2020 suggesting “there will be no members, attenders or givers” by 2040. In 1961 our peak membership was made up of 1.35 million souls. A mere 40 years later, these numbers were halved. By 2017, membership dropped to 282,412.

By all accounts, the pandemic has accelerated this steady decline, leading the diocese in B.C. where I serve to declare its structures palliative. The way in which we have organized ourselves no longer serves the mission of the church. The brave acknowledgment of this situation has been met with denial and pushback despite an all too apparent reality. What we’ve seen in the mirror has shocked, even scared us. While not all of us are ready for this conversation, it is a vital part of passing on faith and values from one generation to the next.

What we leave behind

One afternoon, my parents and I were catching up on the phone when the subject of their will came up. The conversation that followed got off to an awkward start, but we eased into it. It was a conversation about death, to be sure. But it was also a conversation rooted in resurrection hope.

Talking about death with my parents was not something I was prepared for. And yet, as I walk ever further into the second half of life, death is becoming more a reality than it was in my 20s and 30s. In some ways, the church has given me a language and a way to walk through this reality. In other ways, I’ve noticed that Christians can be just as hopeless as the consumeristic death-denying culture around us.

The church ought to be a place where conversations about death and dying are honoured and facilitated. Yet somehow in spite of our professed belief in resurrection, we often do our very best to avoid looking headlong at one of life’s few certainties: its finitude. This is true when it comes to the death of a loved one. More recently, I’ve noticed its application to congregations and ministries in decline.

It’s time to start talking.

Be honest

First, we need to hold up an honest mirror and acknowledge the reality of our situation.

When we examine our sense of mission, our collective energy, the demographics of our congregation, the infrastructure we steward, and the state of our finances, what story is being told? Do we have a sense of identity and purpose? Do we have a sense of how God is calling us to embody divine love in our communities? Based on where we are right now, we need to discern with God and one another our next most faithful steps. While growing congregations may easily consider moving to a new building that better suits their needs, congregations in decline struggle to consider how downsizing might actually help their mission in this stage of life. What my parents need at this moment is not a larger house. In time, they will need something smaller. As we move from stage to stage, we plan, purge, and make preparations. Like the places we live, church buildings are storied places made holy by God’s presence and the compassionate work of God’s people. Looking at ourselves with honesty and grace, we have the chance to evaluate what we need to be faithful for now – neither 50 years in the future nor 50 years in the past.

Loosen our grip

Second, we need to let go of our death grip on control.

When entering a period of decline, churches can cling ever more doggedly to those memories that represent their greatest success. Perhaps it’s an image of the building filled to the rafters, with people of every generation. Perhaps it’s a particular outreach or program we felt meaningful. Perhaps we associate the furniture or a particular leader with our congregation’s vibrancy. And yet, daily forcing our current selves into our old wedding clothes can stand in the way of paying attention to where God is present and leading in this moment.

The loosening of this death grip on control begins in prayerful acknowledgment that we do not have all the answers. It begins in a yearning to be aligned more deeply with God’s dream for the world. Given where we are now; given that God is faithful; given that God wants the best for us and all of Creation, how might we loosen our grip that we might – with open hands – be transformed by our encounters with God and the world God loves?

Trust new leaders

Third, we need to trust the leadership and insight of those who entered the church in a time of change.

The church and many of its seasoned leaders were deeply formed in a world where the church still meant something – even played a central role – in social and civic life. Church wasn’t just one social circle; it was the circle. This world no longer exists. While we continue to need leaders who can do so in our inherited models of church, we also need leaders formed in the aftermath of Christendom’s demise. Such leaders can teach us how to proclaim and embody good news in a world with virtually no cultural memory of Jesus, Christianity or the Church. While not undervaluing the leadership of life-long Christians, those who entered the church through conversion can offer profound insight into ways of speaking the languages of church and culture, translating the gospel into the vernacular, and accompanying people on a journey far different from our own.

God is in endings, too

Fourth, we need to be open to the natural life cycle of organisations and Christian communities.

Over the years, my kids and I have read a book called Lifetimes: The Beautiful Way to Explain Death to Children. “There is a beginning and an ending for everything that is alive,” the book reads. “In between is living. All around us, everywhere, beginnings and endings are going on all the time. With living in between.” The book’s illustrations are evocative, and its text lyrical. It has proven a good conversation partner as people we know have died. I sometimes think it might be a helpful offering for the church. Thinking about our congregations through this lens allows us to acknowledge that the ending of a particular congregation is not necessarily a failure nor is it the end of God’s faithfulness to God’s people. As Bryan Mellonie, the book’s author, goes on to say, “We all have a beginning. We all have an ending. In between is living.” God is present in it all, and there is nothing that can separate us from the love of God. As some congregations prepare to enter their final days, they have the opportunity to consider their legacy: what will we pass on, and to whom? How, even in death, might we offer a blessing for generations to come?

Considering Legacy

The conversation with my parents got off to an awkward start, and yet I wouldn’t trade it for the world. It has helped us to grow more deeply in relationship, to come to know one another better. It’s helped me to understand their goals and dreams, it’s connected me to them in ways I scarce could have imagined. It’s allowed us to explore our joys and sorrows, hopes and dreams. It’s allowed us to address the wounds we have inflicted on one another, providing an opportunity to seek reconciliation and healing.

This kind of conversation gives me hope for the church. This moment – a moment in which I still believe God is present – is calling the church to weigh its priorities. Each congregation, each generation, will have to make its call. In the midst of this time of change, what we need are more brave conversations, to honour what has come before, what is now, and to make way for all that God has dreamed for our uncertain yet exciting future.