Peter stands in for all of us in this instance. We want to proclaim Jesus Lord and God. But we don’t want to follow him to the cross. That sounds and feels terrifying. Nothing in our lives outside the church prepares us for it. The world expects life, health, success, and growth. This is what is praised, acclaimed, and celebrated. But when Christ went to the cross, he was not praised, acclaimed, nor celebrated. He was crucified.
Peter didn’t want Jesus talking about such disturbing things, because he didn’t want them to be true. But Jesus—the way, the truth, and the life—was committed to seeing and speaking truth, come what may. As disciples of Jesus, we have to be willing to speak and hear hard truths. We are to be more like Jesus than we are like Peter. There are three hard truths we need to acknowledge:
1. The church is dying.
2. The globe is warming.
3. We are called to renew the church and safeguard the integrity of Creation.12 And we don’t know how.
Let’s take these truths one by one.
The church is dying. The general data trend is clear: the Episcopal Church is smaller each year. (This is also generally true for the historic mainline Protestant traditions.) In many places the church is also becoming older. Many congregations will close in the next ten years if we continue on our current course. Dioceses, questioning their financial viability, will shrink and merge. Already, church members are quietly wondering whether their community of faith will last another five or ten years—but are often afraid to ask those questions out loud. Our clergy, bishops, and General Convention deputies know that demographic data indicate a tsunami of church closings is at hand, but the capacity of church leaders to openly discuss this situation varies significantly from place to place and person to person. Silence and denial about our situation does not make it any less perilous. In some regions of the country, church closings are no big deal; there are enough churches, close together, to ensure ample provision for common worship and sacramental ministry. Where I live, however, a single church closing can mean an entire county is without an Episcopal presence. In many places, the situation is critical.
The globe is warming. The general data trend is clear: the climate is warmer each year. In many places it is also less stable. If we continue on our current course, the seas will rise and coastal communities will be driven inland. Climate-related migration has already begun. Already, individuals are quietly wondering how their grandchildren will cope someday as adults in a changed climate—but are often afraid to ask these questions out loud. Our elected leaders, scientists, and the global community know that temperature data indicate extraordinary shifts in ecosystems are likely, but the public capacity to discuss this situation varies significantly from place to place, political party to political party, and person to person. Silence and denial about our situation does not make it any less perilous. There is nowhere on the globe that will not be affected by climate change, but communities which are already vulnerable—poorer communities, island nations—are losing their capacity to survive in their current location. In many places, the situation is critical.
We are called to renew the church and safeguard the integrity of Creation. And we don’t know how. The parallels in the two above descriptions are intentional. The crisis in church and Creation mirror each other. Both the church and the planet are the work of God. Each are called into existence by God; the Holy Spirit breathes through each. The church, the body of Christ in the world, is meant to thrive; all Creation, which was made through Christ, is meant to thrive. God desires life and health for the church and all Creation. But that’s not where we are. And we don’t quite seem to know how to get where we belong.
Risk for the Sake of the Gospel
If we knew how to stop the decline of the church and the warming of the globe, we would have done it already. But despite many efforts to halt both trends, they continue. Many people work tirelessly for the stewardship and renewal of the church; many people work tirelessly for political and scientific solutions to climate change. But the data continue to accumulate year after year: smaller church, warmer planet. One day—we know not when, and perhaps not even during our lifetimes—these trends will halt and reverse. But we can’t predict that day. Even less can we predict what chaos and sadness will arrive before it does.
If we are Easter people, we can face hard truths in a way that Peter—before the resurrection—could not. We know that we already have a risen Savior; we know that God does not intend the death of the church or the planet. And we know that denying the difficult does not make it go away. On the contrary: only as we face into the truths before us can we find our way through them. If they are too hard for us to face on our own, that’s fine, because we aren’t on our own. We are in Christ.
I had to die to my notion of what a normal ministry career would include in order to begin Plainsong Farm. I had to die to my expectation for a normal salary. I had to die to my desire to understand and manage my own life. These are not small things to let go. But Jesus tells his disciples, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it” (Luke 9:23–24).
And that is true. As Matt Overton, a youth ministry innovator, writes, “I knew that if the American church was ever going to be born again in the twenty-first century, it would need people willing to risk everything for kingdom ideas that were worth their very blood, sweat and tears. The church needed to start swinging for the fences.… The gospel is, at its core, a risky proposition by God in behalf of human beings. It promises no security, despite our best attempts to deify security and regularity in our worshipping communities.”13
If the resurrection is the core of our faith, then ordinary maintenance mode just won’t do. We serve an amazing God and God provides a means for us to be amazing witnesses. “Glory to God in the highest and peace to his people on earth” are not just a few words we recite at the beginning of the Sunday liturgy; they are a way of life. To glorify God we must be willing to let go of the familiar and trust that God will lead us. Taking resurrection seriously means acknowledging the real, hard truths that are before us, proclaiming that Christ is risen, and asking God to do a new thing through us. We are called to trust in the invisible to achieve the impossible—against all odds.
If there is any group on earth that has the wisdom needed for a warming planet, it is the people of God who steward the ancient words and rituals that show the way when there is no way. The Holy Spirit is calling the church to reimagine itself. We begin at the beginning: in the face of death and despair, we proclaim resurrection.
In the months leading up to the General Convention of 2015, an open letter (or “memorial”) to the church was written and shared widely online. It was initially authored by a small group of seven people who invited others to sign on as they felt moved. Thirty-three bishops, a hundred thirty deputies, alternates, and official youth representatives, and almost four hundred Episcopalians added their names as signatories to this document.
It still speaks to us today.
A Memorial to the Church 1
To the Deputies and Bishops of The Episcopal Church assembled at the 78th General Convention:
Now those who were scattered went from place to place,