S O U T H E R N
A U T H O R
"A Play for Power"
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"I love God, not church greed"
... That was the title of a guest editorial in yesterday's Atlanta newspaper. It was written by a savvy 24-year old college student at the University of Georgia. He was a talented writer - articulate and concise. He was also a clear thinker - idealistic and outspoken. He reminded me of me forty-odd years ago.
The young writer was responding to a March 18 article by syndicated columnist Leonard Pitts. In his article, Pitts cited a 2008 survey that suggested for the last two decades, Americans have been moving away from organized religion in droves. Pitts blamed perverse church scandals, predatory preachers, violence in the name of religion and intolerant messages as the demons driving this departure from the divine.
Pitts concluded that Americans were losing their religion. The young writer claimed not so ... he said our religion was losing us.
He said, "While harmful, the problems I and many of my fellow college students see are much more basic. It is not because priests are playing doctor with the altar boys that my generation is leaving the church. It's because clergymen are playing politician with our country.
"It is not because a slew of shepherds have built expensive palaces on the backs of their flock. It is because churches have built palaces for themselves. How many multimillion-dollar megachurches did Christ - or Muhammad - need to attract people or do the works of their God, the God of Abraham?
He continues, "I was blessed with a steadfast and loving Methodist upbringing ... I left the church, driven away by forces less extreme than the actions of Eric Rudolph or the tragic events of 9/11, both of which Pitts cited.
"No, my disenchantment with organized religion began on a sunny Sunday morning, in the same pew that my family always sat in at our Methodist church.
"My church, like many others, had become too large for our space. And in the grand tradition of Methodism, a committee was formed and a fund-raising drive was kicked off to build a bigger and better, multimillion-dollar house of God.
"Suddenly, some Sundays were devoted to numbers and figures, charts and graphs, costs and benefits and losses and gains - not piety and devotion, charity and compassion, humility and service or love for thy neighbor.
"Eventually my church - the church of my confirmation - split in two.
"I realized then that churches could be bought and sold just like anything else. Our church had become a company and its congregation the shareholders. I wondered how many shares God still held.
"I don't attend church regularly anymore, but I do speak with God every day. On occasion when I feel particularly lost or troubled, I sneak into the Methodist church in Athens. I have to get in through the office entrance, because the doors to the sanctuary usually are locked.
"I see this and other multimillion dollar churches all over our state, equipped with gymnasiums, baseball fields, projector screens and state-of-the-art sound systems. Then I think of what they cost - in pennies and people. The pennies could have bought clothes for the naked or food for the hungry. The people could have given help to the helpless or given care to the sick.
"It did not take a big scandal to drive me away from the church - just a pledge drive."
For me, the young fellow's words were déjà vu all over again.
In my youngers days, while I made regular donations to our church, for years I used the same arguments to side-step signing a pledge card.
I recall at about the same age as the writer, resigning and storming out of a deacons meeting at my Presbyterian Church because of a nasty split in the congregation over suspending the founding pastor's pulpit call in favor of someone considered more dynamic.
I reflected on how a couple of decades later, I was critical of the expansion plan the church I was attending had for their new facility ... a plan that included a food court, a gymnasium, baseball fields, fountains, ponds etc., etc., etc. I remember asking my wife how many poor people could be helped if some of that money were directed toward them.
Not long afterwards, again like the young college student, I quit going to church. I claimed that I was closer to God flying my airplane at 5,000-feet over the lakes and mountains of North Georgia than I'd ever been warming a pew. I had a successful business, a two-story brick house, two new cars, plenty of friends and two dozen employees that laughed at my jokes and slapped me on the back.
Then somewhere along the way, things changed.
Suddenly I was no longer the brash, bullet-proof kid I was at 24. Or the successful businessman I was at 42. When I looked in the mirror, I didn't recognize the old man that looked back at me. Life's problems and cares had taken their toll. My business was out-of- business ... my two-dozen employees were working elsewhere and laughing at someone else's jokes. Family and old friends had passed on. New friends were hard to find and harder still to hold onto.
Whenever I indulged my penchant for wise-ass sarcasm and cracked a joke, I was often the only one laughing. Things I used to say and do that my friends and cohorts considered cute now offended many of those around me.
There was never a break in the action; never a chance to call "time out." Even though the play had ended, no one ever blew the whistle so the opposition just kept pilling on. I felt as though I was running a marathon against a stop watch. Angry and frustrated, the process my wife said was "just life" had become overwhelming. I'd lost my peace; I'd lost my joy. Like the proverbial duck on a pond, I guess I looked peaceful enough on the surface, but deep inside I was paddling like crazy.
I saw the stark contrast between my life and the lives of a few of my friends. While my world was unraveling, they seemed to have everything together. We lived on the same crazy planet and shared many of the same concerns, but their lives seemed so much better. So much brighter and so much happier.
I searched my soul and soon realized what was missing. It was the inner peace that comes from laying your burdens upon the Lord and the joy that comes from the communal praise and worship of a God who forgives and loves us ... no matter what.
Thankfully, for me, it wasn't too late. My wife and I now regularly attend a large church; yes, one complete with a coffee shop, a gymnasium and a softball field; a symphony orchestra, a number of giant electronic displays and a super sound system. Also one that takes a non partisan, Bible-based stand on pertinent social and political issues.
Does all the non religious "stuff" bother me? Not one bit! In this iPod world filled with sensory overload, I figure the Lord may need the assistance of a little high tech to be heard over the roar and to be seen above the crowd. To help out, I've even picked-up my old tenor sax and joined the orchestra! And the political involvement? As the old saying goes, "if you don't stand for something you'll fall for anything."
Although the cost in dollars is great, the thousands that have been drawn to this church through its programs - the sports, the music, the drama and all the rest the church offers - have enabled the organization to assemble and fund one of the most vibrant and effective faith-based ministries you can ever imagine.
Their outreach program serves the needs of the local community with food (800,000 lbs. last year); warm coats (1,000 given to the needy and homeless in 2008). Then, to save the lives of those yet unborn, rather than blocking the streets and waiving signs of protest, a program implemented this year called "Whispering Hope" provides ongoing medial, psychological and financial support for unwed mothers and their kids. The congregation also been responsible for planting nearly a dozen new churches that stretch half way around the world. Its worship services are broadcast on television and radio streamed live on the Internet.
Is it a business? Perhaps it is. It's the Lord's business and I'm honored to be a shareholder, albeit a tiny one.
I'd like to tell the young man that wrote to the newspaper yesterday that he's right; no church is perfect. On this earth, none of them ever will be. Imperfect humans make it so. However, being in God's house is the closest to heaven many of us will ever get. And if we get a glimpse of God while we're there, then maybe there's still a chance for us.
I laughed at a segment I saw on the TV show "King of the Hill." It began one Sunday morning when Hank and Peggy Hill, son Bobby and niece Luanne, were running late for services. When they arrived at the church, they found another family sitting in what Hank Hill described as "their" seats.
Despite some pleading and prodding, the interlopers refused to move. So Peggy drug a still spewing Hank to a pew in the back of the church where he shouted "I can't hear you" all during the quieter parts of the sermon by the church's new lady minister.
The next day old Hank dropped in on the new minister. He explained what had happened on Sunday morning and requested her help in making sure the seats they'd occupied during worship for twenty-odd years were always available. The minister shrugged and said, "Oh come now, Hank, this is God's house, none of us own the seats."
Thoroughly put out, a determined Hank made up his mind to find another church. He told his friends and co workers of his unhappiness with the situation and the new lady minister and they agreed to help him find a church more to his liking.
At the prodding of a Hispanic friend, he visited a Catholic Church where the Mass was in Spanish. Along with a long-haired buddy from work, he visited a church where they played acoustic guitars and everyone sang Kumbaya. He accompanied a pierced and tattooed dude from his bowling team to a church with a hard rock band that hurt his ears. Finally, at the behest of a neighbor, he and Peggy went to the new megachurch down the road.
They parked their car and took the tram to the coffee shop where they were served complementary donuts and designer coffee. When the announcement was made that services would begin in five minutes, they boarded the tram once more for the trip to the sanctuary.
A greeter met them in the lobby and pointed them toward brightly lit area called the shopping mall where the church sold religious books and souvenirs and gave away maps of the facility.
The inside pf the auditorium literally blew Hank Hill away. Giant electronic displays rung the circular auditorium and there wasn't a bad seat in the house. The most powerful sound system he'd ever seen hung suspended from the ceiling. As he looked all around and sunk into his plush theater-type chair, he leaned toward Peggy and whispered "W-O-W." The guy sitting in an adjoining seat heard him and smiled. "This is nothing ... Pastor Don once played in the NFL. Hang around after services and you can watch this afternoon's big game on the big screen."
Hank loved it. Peggy did too. In no time they were immersed in all the activities. Peggy became an administrative assistant to Pastor Dan. Hank was given one of those fancy flashing beepers like they use at upscale restaurants to let you know when your table is ready to alert him anytime there was an opportunity for service.
In the end, the Kings grew weary of all the hubbub, and one Sunday a sheepish Hank and Peggy returned to their old church and quietly slid into their old pew. Hank looked toward the stained glass window and prayed, "Lord, it's good to be home."
Folks, I know just how he felt.
Perhaps one day the young man that said he loved the Lord, but hated church greed, will too. As imperfect as all churches are, when you can't find your joy, and there is no peace, you can find comfort inside those walls that beats anything this old world has to offer.