Its Your Church

There were some tired, elderly folks with hearts as large as the Grand Canyon who labored to keep the church of my youth in good shape--polishing the pews, mowing the lawn, setting up for the annual Chicken Dinner.

My family would plead with the priest to get more help--make an announcement during mass or even pay someone to do it! Hire some kids or a landscaper! His response: It's your church. [Translation: I'm not paying anybody to take care of your church.]

I loved our priest growing up. He was a good guy, and you could feel grace in him. But he also knew how to kill the spirit of a parish--people with good ideas were consistently knocked down and others gave of their energies until they were spent. The priest wasn't about to spend a penny nor did he have any idea how to take leadership, and--even worse--he would subvert the efforts of others who were trying to lead. It was a toxic environment.

In some ways, this was a reflection of the infamous old school Catholicism: You took for granted people would show up to Church. You took for granted that things would get done. There were no councils to organize people nor campaigns to encourage anybody--you just did it. But it would be also wrong to overstate that--people were being socialized to do the work, but maybe that socialization was happening at home and it didn't need to happen at church.

The problem is that it just wasn't working, anymore. Surly men paraded in for mass then left with big smiles on their faces, not a care in the world. It is quite possible it never occurred to them that they should be doing anything different. The folks who were pulling the weight were getting older and having to quit due to health reasons. Their numbers were dwindling and the few left were having trouble keeping up. The priest was preaching (literally) to the choir, but the choir was getting tired.

The common pattern was that some good people would start up something like religious education or grounds keeping and keep it going for a few years. They would eventually get burned out or drift to another, more vibrant parish. Suddenly no one was doing their job anymore, until some other well intentioned person decided to step up. We saw this play out time and again. It is hard to watch good folks get destroyed or see enthusiastic people pull up stakes and go to another church. People who criticized us were usually people who didn't stick around long enough see this.

The parish started a council on their own initiative and tried to address some of these issues (many churches didn't have parish councils back then!) After some heartbreaking incidents, the council scattered and folks left the parish, wounded.

But I will say this--the priest was so right about one thing: It is our church. It is hard for me to reconcile with this, because this whole event left scars within my family that remain to this day. Yet there was wisdom in the priest's words and he knew that, wisdom that went back to an earlier day.

If the church isn't getting together to take care of the . . . well, church, then something isn't right. This isn't an entertainment venue, where you pay your dues and go there for a show then leave. Church is not a spectator sport--it's full contact. Nobody has to tell you to clean your own house or wash your own dishes. In the same way, no one should have to tell you to clean your church, either.

I can't imagine going to a church that has outsourced its landscaping. You could say that the times they are a'changing. You could say this is merely a cultural shift as people are still dedicated, but they will attend seminars and social events rather than spend their time dusting the altar and peeling potatoes. Many people don't even mow their own lawns, how can we expect them to mow at the church? It's a sign of the times and folks are happy to hire a cleaning crew to get it done. Perhaps the same church is there, and it just looks different. Perhaps it's actually better if folks are attending Bible studies instead of peeling potatoes. But you can't tell me that we didn't lose something big.

To me, church is little old ladies gathered in the parking lot, unloading buckets and rags from their cars to shine up the pews. Church is men driving their tractors down the street to mow the lawn--proudly showcasing a brush hog, front loader or some special apparatus. Church is old folks chopping vegetables together in the garage in preparation for the annual dinner. Church is some of the best memories I've ever had and where I saw holiness. Like a beacon, I've seen what goodness looks like and I can see that beacon no matter what storms I go through. I have recently come to realize that what I saw back then has shaped everything in me. I have a stunning bullshit detector. And it's easy: I've seen what the real deal is.

St. Francis of Assisi urged people to preach the gospel at all times, using words when necessary. I went to church almost every week growing up, but heard few sermons. Our priest had a very gravely voice, and while he would give lengthy homilies, I literally couldn't understand a single thing he said, even when I tried. But in light of St. Francis' words, you could definitely say I heard the gospel preached all that time in this little country church.