As I’ve moved into parishes and become acquainted with people, especially as I’ve begun to plan for that congregation’s future, I’ve found it especially important to know and appreciate the congregation’s past,
—Doug Scott
The history of a congregation is no more real to most church members than a list of names were to the little girl in the old joke. She saw the names of military personnel on a bronze memorial plaque and asked her mother, “Who are all those people?”
“Why, they are members of our church who died in the service,” the mother replied.
“Which one,” asked the daughter, “8:00 or 10:30?”
We may briefly study the history of our faith and perhaps the life of a denomination, but for many members, a church’s history amounts to who ran last year’s church fair. For others, it’s the last congregational crisis, which they would just as soon forget. For some, history is the row of dusty board minutes squashed in stationery-store binders on a neglected shelf, or a list of faceless clergy, or the old crank who complains, “We never used to do it this way!” For others still, history is nostalgia for the old Book of Common Prayer or the King James Version.
That’s too bad, because a congregation’s history is rich with meaning. As I’ve moved into parishes and become acquainted with the people, especially as I’ve begun to plan for that congregation’s future, I’ve found it especially important to know and appreciate the congregation’s past.
History Shows God at Work Here
A few months ago, our congregation was pressed by a few extraordinary expenses. Since we faced a summer of low attendance and even lower offerings, many were inclined to doubt that God was active here and now. So I announced that next week I would preach the most important sermon since my arrival: “Where Is God Today?”
The following week, I stood in the pulpit and reviewed recent church history: “In the last two years, people from this congregation have served an evening meal twice a week to homeless men and women at St. Barnabas Shelter. Members of this church have made forty-five hospital calls on the sick and sixty calls on shut-ins. Six people, taught by members of this church, are learning how to read. You have provided the equivalent of nine hundred meals for our area food cupboard. Five of you drive for Meals on Wheels; eight of you volunteer in our hospital and area nursing homes; one volunteers in the state prison.
“Since I have served here, more than $40,000 has gone out of this parish to help build a school in Uganda, provide livestock for hungry farmers around the world, buy blankets for refugees, and provide disaster relief. Another $65,000 has supported our home missions. That’s where God is today.”
The pastor who helps the people explore their own activity in the recent past allows them to see the movement of God in their common life.
History Creates Community
During one Lenten group discussion, a woman blurted out to her neighbor, “We were wrong!” Naturally, everyone turned toward her. Realizing she had drawn the attention of the room, she said, “I was just talking about something that happened more than twenty years ago. At the time, we had a young assistant who was strongly opposed to the Vietnam War. It seemed that every sermon was about Vietnam and every news broadcast carried film of him being arrested in a protest. We fought him tooth and nail until he left in despair. But we were wrong.”
Several people started talking, but she spoke over them. “I don’t mean his political position was right or wrong. I mean the way we acted toward him was wrong. We rejected him because he held an unpopular position, and we never stopped to ask whether God was trying to say something to us through his ministry.”
One of our newest members broke in and talked about a similar experience in the church he attended at the time. Another, born at the end of the Vietnam era, asked questions, trying to recapture the urgency of the times.
By the end of the evening, the group was talking together about our history and their histories. The living memory of the congregation became real and powerful. By the time the session ended, we each felt we had a share in the church. Now, in each gathering of newcomers, we incorporate a time when we talk about our experience in the congregation. We invite our new members to share something of their history and that of their churches. We find such sharing binds us together.
I imagine the early church must have talked in this way. Christians who met each other on the road no doubt excitedly shared the story of what the Spirit had been doing in their communities, naming those who had been healed or lifted up, remembering things all the way back to the time when they first heard Christ’s story.
History Shapes a Church’s Future
For good or ill, a church’s history influences its future attitudes or action. This can go far beyond the usually well-broadcast theological or liturgical stance of many congregations—liberal or conservative, high or low, evangelical or charismatic.
I had served a congregation for more than a year and a half, and after a shorter-than-usual honeymoon, I kept running into resistance. There weren’t any grave doctrinal or ideological differences between us, just a relentless opposing force, its edges softened by a steady stream of smiles and politeness. I couldn’t get anything done.
Finally, I asked a few board members to sit down with me for an informal conversation. “Do you get a sense that there’s an objection to almost everything I propose?” They looked at each other with some confusion. “There seems to be some polite verbal resistance to any idea I suggest. I’ve even encountered it when I’ve suggested that we continue with the status quo!”
They agreed with my perception but didn’t consider it particularly unusual. “Do you mean this kind of resistance is standard operating procedure around here?” I asked. They assured me, in a matter-of-fact way, that was the way the board operated. I was astonished.
“But what about my predecessors? Did they each face this kind of pleasant negativity?” Yes, they supposed that was probably the case.
I then asked them to fill me in on the histories of the men who had preceded me in that church. When they were finished, I was both amazed and frightened. They had shared a tragic litany of short tenures, divorce, and addictive and self-destructive behavior.
After more research, I discovered that many of the clergy who had served that congregation absorbed their anxiety about the parish, to the detriment of their own physical or spiritual well-being. No simple conclusions can be drawn from the complex history of forty years of ministry. But I did see that my own behavior eventually could have placed me on the church’s honor role of martyred clergy. That prospect disturbed me.
While I knew the essential dates and events in the church’s life, I knew very little about the real history of the parish—the one written in the emotions and attitudes of its people.
Learning the Real History
Since I believe such knowledge is vital for a successful ministry, my wife and I sat down with a parish list and a two-year calendar. We divided the church into groups small enough to host at our home, and we have planned dinner parties for them according to these simple principles:
1. We invite no more than six other people to these dinners, which are held once a month. That makes it easier on our budget.
2. We mix relative newcomers with longstanding members.
3. We gather on Sunday nights. If people know they are going to face me at my dinner table, they tend to be in worship that morning.
4. Only one disgruntled couple is invited per night. And when we have invited an unhappy twosome, we also have invited some of our most enthusiastic supporters to sit with them.
5. No matter what food we serve, the story is always the main dish. Our guests may digress into football and television (and I happily sojourn with them for a while). But I want us to talk primarily about issues and events of past congregational life. If I have heard the stories before, I want our guests’ reaction to them. I never pass judgment, instruct, or persuade. I ask questions and listen.
I begin by asking questions about the one subject most people are eager to discuss—their children.
Did your children enjoy their Sunday school experience?
What did they find most memorable?
Did their Sunday school/early worship experience prepare them adequately for Christian living?
Is there anything that should have received greater emphasis?
Were they baptized/married here? What was the service like?
If my guests have moved from another congregation or denomination within the last ten years, I also ask them:
What factors drew you to this church?
Was it difficult to adjust from your former congregation? Why?
What made the transition easy? Would any thing have made it easier?
I tell my guests I am fascinated by stories about the church and I wish I knew more. Usually, people are glad to dig around for something interesting to tell, especially if I prompt them:
What do you think has been the most important event in the life of the church since you have been a member? In many respects, their perception of important events is far more important than the historical value of the events themselves.
Tell me about my predecessor’s strong points. What do you miss most about his ministry here?
I always honor my predecessor, even if he left in absolute disgrace. Most people hold some measure of affection for their former pastor and appreciate an opportunity to share their feelings, especially if they see I am not threatened by their care for him. In an open atmosphere, they likely will speak as well about the shortcomings of previous ministries, even though I have been wise enough not to ask.
Have you ever been tempted to leave this church ? What prompted the feeling? Why did you decide to stay? Everyone thinks about leaving at some point. If discretion permits, I try to share with them the times I have thought about leaving and the reasons. One of the strongest things I have in common with members is the fact that we both have decided to stay.
What has been the single biggest change in twenty years? In some denominations, like my own, you can predict the answer: change in form of worship, authority, or doctrinal stance. However, people’s reactions to that change may not be so predictable. While some of our members feel that reasonable change is the moral responsibility of the church, others find it a betrayal of a long-held trust. Again, my concern is not the issue itself but their response to it. I wanted to focus on the key issue: Have you been able to sense God at work in the life of this congregation?
In the last year alone, my wife and I have fed over 110 members of our church at our table. We, in turn, have been served a banquet of invaluable richness of our church’s past. Our guests have seen God at work where they didn’t see him before, have drawn closer to one another, and have been given new hope for the church’s future.
Thwarting the History that Steals Hope
If history can provide hope, it also can steal hope. Scripture is filled with examples of people who held on to the past to keep people from moving forward. The children of Israel, unable to share Moses’ vision, began to see their slavery in Egypt as the good old days. The circumcision party in Jerusalem was unable to grasp the radical new inclusiveness of the Way. The story has been the same throughout the history of Christianity. Just look at the minutes of any church board.
We should honor honest caution and sober reflection. But fear frequently compels a conscientious steward to let past failure dictate future policy. Pastors can transform the obsession with past failures into hope, especially if they draw the people back to their history and common ministry.
Whenever any group has been held up by the thievery of history, I ask them to go through a simple process. Stating that I deeply value the lessons of our common past, I ask them to consider three questions. We take plenty of time for the exercise. That demonstrates how much we respect the concern that surrounds the issue. The three questions, taken in turn, are:
1. Are there historical corollaries in the life of this congregation that relate to our current situation? How about in the life of our denomination? In our families?
2. Are we looking at the right history to illuminate this situation? What other historical events might also parallel this situation?
3. What new things in this situation change our perceptions of history or render history irrelevant?
My congregation recently used this procedure when looking at the all-too-common problem of rapidly rising expenses versus moderately rising income. For over a year, our vestry struggled with possible cuts in personnel and program to bring expenses in line with income. Finally, we admitted we were of two minds—the You-can’t-squeeze-blood-from-a-stone Party and the Just-send-each-household-a-bill Party.
We set aside an entire evening to explore the three questions listed above. In order to secure the integrity of the exercise, I announced that we wouldn’t even consider possible approaches to the problem at this stage.
Discussion following the first question revealed that the congregation, in fact, had faced substantial deficits in the past. These deficits were due to a variety of factors, including inflation, extraordinary capital expenses, and parish disputes. In addition, we identified times when some members created a budget crisis by withholding pledges in order to influence vestry policy.
The identification of other times when the church faced—and survived—a budget shortfall immediately gave the group confidence. They also recognized that money and crisis are constant companions in the church, and that they need not blame themselves for the exigencies of parish finance.
One vestry member said later, “I realized for the first time that my charge to do the best I can with parish resources did not mean I was expected to provide another loaves-and-fishes miracle.”
The second question forced us to examine our situation critically. This was not a case of withheld tithes by angry members or irresponsible vestry spending. We were faced with the overwhelming costs of periodic maintenance for our ten-acre campus and its two-hundred-year-old buildings. Paint peels, and slate roofs eventually crumble.
We also saw that time and again, when the congregation felt their church property was threatened or endangered, they had responded quickly and generously. Had we looked at the wrong piece of history—one not similar to our current crisis—our response would have been misguided and ill-informed.
The third question allowed us to identify a new factor in our situation. In recent years, our outreach and mission ministries had grown dramatically. Our congregation had practiced outreach with vigor; new people were being drawn in because of our efforts on behalf of others. But so far, we had worked only for other churches’ programs; there was no indigenous mission springing from our church. We realized that we had the interest and talent to take on a mission project, and that we might have the goodwill to finance it, as well.
In the end, this process allowed us to see that, instead of being at the point of collapse, we were at a moment of tremendous opportunity to restore the property and begin a great work. Our deliberations resulted in a major capital campaign that drew to a successful close. A group of church members then met to research opportunities for mission, and the restoration of our buildings got underway. And enough money was raised to begin an endowment that will insure future money for ministry.
In short, we used history to take back what history started to steal.
History: The Tie that Binds
On the best days when I worship with my people, I grasp in a fresh way that I am not alone. Certainly, I am in a room filled with people. But beyond that, I am exquisitely aware of the presence of others unseen, worshiping with us. The author of the Epistle to the Hebrews wrote about us being “surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses.” That’s how I feel at those moments. When we stand at the Lord’s Table, I get a glimpse of the many faithful people who have stood there, breaking bread and sharing the cup in their own generations.
At such times I also realize anew that the greatest things do not only bring our history forward and make it present to us, but they also point us toward the future.
Our Communion with Christ is not just the reenactment of something finished, but also an act that has brought us together in the present and directs us toward a common goal.
When we read Scripture, we read not only the Word of God for the prophets and evangelists, but also the Word of God for us, confident that it will be the Word of God for our children and their children after them.
The hymns we sing, whether written in the ninth or nineteenth century, bring the praise of faithful men and women to our own lips, and their words and melodies carry us through the week, giving voice to our praise and planting hope in our despair.
Worship, then, shows us that if we ignore history, we not only build our ministries on sand, we also ignore the Lord who created, lived in, and continues to use history to strengthen us. No, history is not something dead and gone. It is something that helps us make sense of the present and hope for the future, especially as we enter a new congregation. In short, knowing the congregation’s history can give today’s ministry a foundation that will stand the test of time.
Copyright © 1991 by Christianity Today
