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Genesis 46:2 And God spake unto Israel in the visions of the night.
Job 4:13-16 In thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth on men, Fear came upon me, and trembling, which made all my bones to shake.
Daniel 7:15 I Daniel was grieved in my spirit in the midst of my body, and the visions of my head troubled me.
Acts 10:17 Peter doubted in himself what this vision which he had seen should mean
Numbers 24:16 He hath said, which heard the words of God, and knew the knowledge of the most High, which saw the vision of the Almighty, falling into a trance, but having his eyes open:
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In the Bible, people are forever having “visions.” A biblical vision can be anything from a message from God to a psychotic episode. I have been to the cave on the island of Patmos where St. John is said to have written Revelation—one long, gigantic, fantastical, nutty vision—and I can easily understand why living in a cave, especially a tiny, claustrophobic cave like that one, could cause anyone to go a little bonkers and have James Cameron-like visions.
Ezekiel saw the wheel, goes the old gospel song, and he saw a lot of other things, too. Everything we read about Ezekiel confirms our suspicion that, if he lived today, he would be committed. Zechariah—in addition to the flying roll (scroll)—saw candlesticks and brass mountains and speckled red horses. Amos saw grasshoppers and corpses. Daniel saw lions with wings and a unicorn. This is not just an Old Testament phenomenon; St. Peter once saw a large sheet floating down from heaven.
Given this illustrious history, we in the pulpit need to be careful when talking about having visions, lest our listeners remain unsure about just how clear-headed we are. Very few of us in the clergy can claim our visions come from God; quite a number of us are certifiably nuts. Maybe we should talk about “projections” or “hopes and fears” to be clear that we are simply musing on what the future could be like.
In any case, we are probably on safer territory when we ground those musings in reality. Perhaps it is more helpful when we say, “This is what I think could happen…” than “Here is my vision of the far future.” Perhaps it is more useful to say, “If this happens, then this could result.” Regardless of the phrasing, however, it is important to look ahead—if not with the wild and crazed eye of the prophet, at least with the calm eye of experience and practicality.
Recently, the rector of St. Stephen’s of her vision of the parish a hundred years from now. It is a bit presumptuous and unrealistic to project where a place in Coconut Grove might be in a century; at the rate of global warming, it will probably be under water. So let us look instead at where St. Stephen’s might be in just ten years.
Because I, too, have a vision, or a projection—actually, two of them. Each of these scenarios depends on the choices and actions our members and elected representatives in church leadership will make. Both are very realistic.
In one projection, St. Stephen’s, after years of declining revenues and questionable expenditures, has become a diocesan mission, rather than a parish. Unable to sustain its own most basic expenses and no longer able to use its most precious endowment—its land—to generate income, the parish must depend on diocesan support and risks eventual closing. One part-time priest visits on Sunday morning to say Mass. The church’s mostly straight, white congregation is aging and thinning rapidly; it has long since been forced to abandon the demographic delusion that the Grove is a locus of young, church-seeking families. Gay men and women, disillusioned by the lack of meaningful outreach and unhappy with the deterioration of the liturgy, no longer join or attend the church. The once-vibrant AIDS ministry, stripped of many of the people who formed and fostered it and with its income at risk of being siphoned to help support the church, has moved to Plymouth Congregational Church. The bloated and grasping day school has absorbed every vestige of open space, turning the church’s property into a 4 ½-acre industrial park where natural beauty and multiple-use opportunities are but memories. At a time when exorbitantly expensive private church schools are an anachronistic display of educational inequity, the day school continues to be the tail that wags the dog, an “outreach” almost solely to the extremely wealthy. It continues to reap the financial benefits of using prime real estate for free. The church must, as always, petition the school for the use of any of its buildings. The church building itself has been partitioned so it can also be used for classes during the week—so much space is, after all, wasted on such a tiny congregation.
But there is another realistic projection:
In this future, the rector of St. Stephen’s lives nearby, pastorally close at hand, in the 4-bedroom rectory on the grounds. Offices are situated in one of the many other buildings on the campus. The townhouse we unwisely purchased has been sold, relieving the parish of the crushing debt of a mortgage.
Christ Church and St. Stephen’s have joined their assets and their congregations to create a truly color-blind and inclusive liturgically-centered church, maximizing their resources and modeling wise stewardship and forward thinking; the difficult negotiations have been undertaken with sincerity and mutual concern. Parishioners from both communities have put aside false cultural differences and focused instead on shared traditions—and Anglo-Catholic liturgical heritage and a deep concern for a unified Coconut Grove.
Children, an important component of parish life, are taught to raise funds through car washes and bake sales, not for their own self-serving ends, but to help the homeless or the jobless or children in other countries who cannot afford any schooling at all. They participate happily in the life of the church because they have been taught values that align with the community’s values and with the teachings of Jesus.
The liturgy, under the guidance of persons trained in liturgics, has regained clarity, propriety, and beauty while still speaking to the needs of people in a diverse and changing world. The famous music program of the church leads people to travel there over considerable distances.
Groups of lay people effect extensive visitation programs for the hospitalized, infirm and incarcerated. No member is left out of Sunday communion, even if he or she cannot attend. A close watch is kept out for pastoral needs, and they are addressed proactively by the clergy, not ex post facto.
The school leases the precious land on which it is situated. The vestry and parishioners are considering whether an exclusive private school is the best use of its resources and its public witness; conversations are ongoing about leasing the land, instead, to a charter school open to public school children that would manage itself and serve underprivileged students without draining the resources of the church.
Parish governance, under a collegial and empowering clergy, is openly shared among all the church’s constituencies, with semi-annual or even quarterly meetings where ideas can be exchanged, concerns voiced, and mid-course corrections undertaken. All parishioners assume responsibility for the life and health of the community. An elected vestry, whose meetings are always open and well attended, truly represents the members of the parish in the routine governance of the parish, both expressing their views and keeping them well informed.
The church has restored and enhanced its reputation as a center of Christian love in action, with programs for people in need, space available for meetings of self-help groups, and a ringing, consistent message from the pulpit of commitment to others, rather than to self. The church puts its money where its mouth is, sacrificing luxuries to the better work of making a real difference in the immediate and wider communities. Church maintenance is performed whenever possible by parishioners; only rarely is a specialized task outsourced. The church’s partnerships with parishes in poor neighborhoods, domestically and abroad, are models of how Christian communities can work together to improve conditions for many. The clergy do not preach tithing, unless the church itself, at an absolute minimum, tithes its annual gross income to the underserved.
Every parishioner is expected—and wants—to be involved in some aspect of the church’s outreach; membership materials, the church’s website, and sermons make it clear that to be part of the church is to be part of something larger. Membership increases because of the church’s reputation for good works, solid theological thought, attention to the aesthetics of the liturgy, and true inclusivity. The enthusiasm and involvement of every parishioner is infectious. The community still parties together, but partying takes a back seat to doing the serious work of Christian community—it is the effect, not the cause, of the community’s unity.
That second projection can become a reality. What the people of St. Stephen’s do, now and in the coming year, will determine whether we can change direction and move toward the happy future of the second vision.
Proverbs 29:18 Where there is no vision, the people perish |