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Posted: January 30th, 2008 at 12:26am By: Rev. Rebecca Schlatter
Last Sunday I began teaching a new member class at my church, for people who might want to belong "officially." To begin, we shared stories of where we had belonged in the past: families, schools, friends, workplaces, other churches.
My own timeline listed multiple communities to which I no longer belong. Some I left because of geographic moves. In others, the move was "spiritual." Occasionally, I simply lost interest or became preoccupied with other things. Sometimes I "outgrew" a community.
It was sobering to see the movements laid out on paper. I've often heard "mobility" identified as one cause of diminished community spirit in this country, and I've agreed with that assessment. There it was in black and white: my own mobility and, it appeared, my own small contribution to the breakdown of community.
Before I had decided just how guilty to feel about that, three other memories of those communities came to mind.
First, I remembered a year in "intentional community" many years ago. Not long after seven of us moved in together, one of our members considered leaving. The idea threw me off balance. Trust was fragile in this community based on a commitment to the future, not on a shared history or any previous relationships. The possibility that one could actually leave seemed to suggest that "intention" wasn't as strong a glue as I had hoped.
In the end, she stayed. But her discernment process helped me see that if she left, we had no choice but to let her go gracefully — without punishing, ostracizing or resenting. A community that couldn't let people out couldn't truly let people in, either, in a way that welcomed their whole selves. Having permeable boundaries would have to allow flow both ways.
Secondly, I remembered moving back home for a while as a young adult, while I was taking time off from seminary. I simply couldn't imagine attending the church where I had belonged as a child. When I confessed my feelings of disloyalty to the new pastor, she suggested I try the Lutheran church across town, instead of "coming home." She gave me permission to leave that community, and find a new one where I could belong as a grown-up; after all, the body of Christ was much bigger than one community.
Thirdly, I recalled the college class I taught on Christian community. We wrestled with so-called "Christian cults," trying to pin down the precise difference between a cult and a community. So many qualities seemed to exist on a spectrum (i.e., more or less freedom) rather than in black and white (i.e., free or controlled). It seemed important to make a clear distinction, but how? One aspect rose to the top of the list: Unlike a cult, a community will let people go.
Could it be that leaving community simply comes with the territory, in a time and place and culture where people are responsible for making their own choices? There are many good reasons to leave a community, too many to mention here. Still, the choice to distance oneself from community is difficult — whether it's a faith community, your family of origin, a group of friends, a marriage, colleagues. In fact, it should be difficult, if we care about strong social and spiritual networks for ourselves and others. Too often, we who are blessed and cursed with mobility leave too quickly. Too often, we miss the rewards that come only from sticking it out.
Yet, paradoxically, the presence of choice can strengthen community sometimes. When my housemate chose to stay in our intentional community, trust increased. After I chose to leave my home church for another, I was better able to stay connected as an adult, bringing new gifts to offer.
Perhaps knowing we can leave makes it more possible to stay. Certainly, it makes it possible to stay like we mean it — intentionally. Without the ability to say "no," a "yes" doesn't mean much.
When I think of new members potentially saying "yes" to our church, I think of flight attendants I've heard. Upon welcoming passengers to their destination, they say something like, "We know you have many choices of airlines. We're glad you chose this one."
Can you imagine something like this as part of welcoming new members to a church? "We know you have many choices of companions on your spiritual journey. We're glad you chose us." Perhaps people's many choices of communities make it more meaningful when they do choose one, and stick around for a while.
— — —
Rev. Rebecca Schlatter is an ordained minister in the Lutheran Church (ELCA) in Reno, Nevada. You can contact her at {email newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com}newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com{/email}. © Copyright 2008 by Rebecca Schlatter.
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Last Sunday I began teaching a new member class at my church, for people who might want to belong "officially." To begin, we shared stories of where we had belonged in the past: families, schools, friends, workplaces, other churches.
My own timeline listed multiple communities to which I no longer belong. Some I left because of geographic moves. In others, the move was "spiritual." Occasionally, I simply lost interest or became preoccupied with other things. Sometimes I "outgrew" a community.
It was sobering to see the movements laid out on paper. I've often heard "mobility" identified as one cause of diminished community spirit in this country, and I've agreed with that assessment. There it was in black and white: my own mobility and, it appeared, my own small contribution to the breakdown of community.
Before I had decided just how guilty to feel about that, three other memories of those communities came to mind.
First, I remembered a year in "intentional community" many years ago. Not long after seven of us moved in together, one of our members considered leaving. The idea threw me off balance. Trust was fragile in this community based on a commitment to the future, not on a shared history or any previous relationships. The possibility that one could actually leave seemed to suggest that "intention" wasn't as strong a glue as I had hoped.
In the end, she stayed. But her discernment process helped me see that if she left, we had no choice but to let her go gracefully — without punishing, ostracizing or resenting. A community that couldn't let people out couldn't truly let people in, either, in a way that welcomed their whole selves. Having permeable boundaries would have to allow flow both ways.
Secondly, I remembered moving back home for a while as a young adult, while I was taking time off from seminary. I simply couldn't imagine attending the church where I had belonged as a child. When I confessed my feelings of disloyalty to the new pastor, she suggested I try the Lutheran church across town, instead of "coming home." She gave me permission to leave that community, and find a new one where I could belong as a grown-up; after all, the body of Christ was much bigger than one community.
Thirdly, I recalled the college class I taught on Christian community. We wrestled with so-called "Christian cults," trying to pin down the precise difference between a cult and a community. So many qualities seemed to exist on a spectrum (i.e., more or less freedom) rather than in black and white (i.e., free or controlled). It seemed important to make a clear distinction, but how? One aspect rose to the top of the list: Unlike a cult, a community will let people go.
Could it be that leaving community simply comes with the territory, in a time and place and culture where people are responsible for making their own choices? There are many good reasons to leave a community, too many to mention here. Still, the choice to distance oneself from community is difficult — whether it's a faith community, your family of origin, a group of friends, a marriage, colleagues. In fact, it should be difficult, if we care about strong social and spiritual networks for ourselves and others. Too often, we who are blessed and cursed with mobility leave too quickly. Too often, we miss the rewards that come only from sticking it out.
Yet, paradoxically, the presence of choice can strengthen community sometimes. When my housemate chose to stay in our intentional community, trust increased. After I chose to leave my home church for another, I was better able to stay connected as an adult, bringing new gifts to offer.
Perhaps knowing we can leave makes it more possible to stay. Certainly, it makes it possible to stay like we mean it — intentionally. Without the ability to say "no," a "yes" doesn't mean much.
When I think of new members potentially saying "yes" to our church, I think of flight attendants I've heard. Upon welcoming passengers to their destination, they say something like, "We know you have many choices of airlines. We're glad you chose this one."
Can you imagine something like this as part of welcoming new members to a church? "We know you have many choices of companions on your spiritual journey. We're glad you chose us." Perhaps people's many choices of communities make it more meaningful when they do choose one, and stick around for a while.
— — —
Rev. Rebecca Schlatter is an ordained minister in the Lutheran Church (ELCA) in Reno, Nevada. You can contact her at {email newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com}newhousesfromoldbricks@hotmail.com{/email}. © Copyright 2008 by Rebecca Schlatter.
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