The Future of the Church

The statistics tell an alarming story. Mainline churches have shrunk dramatically. The number of Catholics who attend mass on a regular basis has declined by half. Southern Baptist membership has hit a 47-year low. The “Nones”–a group comprising atheists, agnostics, and those who describe their religion as “nothing in particular”–is now the largest cohort in the U.S. (28%). Unaffiliated adults outnumber Catholics (23%) or evangelical Protestants (24%).

Observers propose possible reasons for the decline, which didn’t fully reverse after the disruptive pandemic. Have prominent scandals damaged the church’s reputation beyond repair? Or are we simply following the secularization slide that started years ago in Western Europe?

While pondering these questions, I came across an incisive book, Next Sunday: An Honest Dialogue About the Future of the Church, by a mother-daughter team. For more than 20 years Nancy Beach directed programming at Willow Creek Community Church in suburban Chicago. She incorporated drama and other creative arts into worship services, in a model copied throughout the world—until the church’s leadership problems burst into public view. Nancy recruited her daughter, Samantha Beach Kiley, as a coauthor in order to include the view of a millennial. Both have experienced the best and the worst of the church, have absorbed some blows along the way, and yet continue to serve in local churches at the intersection of art and faith.

Nancy describes several different approaches to church. As I read her account, it struck me that in my years of churchgoing I have sampled each of them, with their various strengths and weaknesses.

Attractional

This approach tries to make church as appealing as possible. Willow Creek began with a door-to-door survey in which the founders asked non-churchgoers what kept them away. Uncomfortable seats, requests for money, boring sermons, strange music, unfamiliar rituals—Bill Hybels and his crew devised a format to address all these complaints. Well-produced “seeker services” presented the basics of Christianity in clear, inviting ways, often using drama to reinforce the message. Regular attenders were then encouraged to get involved in activities—such as small groups, summer camps, mission trips, or interest groups—that reinforce what it means to become a Jesus follower.

Quality programs take resources, and in recent years megachurches—defined as having a weekly attendance of 2000 or more—have mushroomed, often built around a star speaker who can draw a crowd. Whereas mainline churches compress the sermon into 15 to 20 minutes, many megachurches allot 45 minutes or more for the sermon. Visiting some, I’ve come away wondering which seminary taught these macho pastors (almost all men) how to be so funny and engaging, and to trade in robes and suits for muscle shirts and tattoos.

Around 40 percent of the largest churches in the U.S. are nondenominational, having no accountability structure beyond the local church board. This may lead to implosions, as happened at Willow Creek and at Mars Hill Church in Seattle.

The church I attend started with a talented young pastor who grew the congregation from 250 to more than 1,000. After a standoff with the board, the pastor left, taking several hundred members with him. That church still exists, although now about 30 of us, mostly senior citizens, meet together in a rented school room on Sundays. The church has no children’s program because we have no children. Most weeks we sing to downloaded music, following words projected on a video screen.

I remind myself that our congregation of several dozen is far more typical than the glitzy megachurches down the highway. The average congregation in the U.S. has 65 members, after all, so we’re halfway there.

Community

Some people look for a church to satisfy their longing for community. Where else can a person find a substitute family that includes a diverse mixture of children, adults, and senior citizens?

When my wife and I first moved to Colorado from downtown Chicago, we frequented an informal church that had decided against a paid pastor and a church building. Instead, various members took turns with the teaching duties and the church rented a local meeting hall. The teaching was uneven, to put it kindly, but we used the money saved on staff and building upkeep to support worthy causes.

For us newcomers, however, the sense of community was paramount. The service allotted time for people to mention joys and concerns: for example, we learned about Troy’s quest to make the Winter Olympics ski team and heard regular updates on the congregation’s ailing members—and even on Jan’s sick horse. The church finally disbanded, but we still count members of that group among our dearest friends.

In the U.K. only 6 percent of the population goes to church, and yet during the pandemic 25 percent of Brits tuned in to online church services. Alpha groups, which guide small clusters of people through an 11-week course on the basics of Christianity, flourished online as well. In a time of crisis, non-church people sought companionship and comfort even in a virtual community.

During the lockdown months, I regularly tuned in to the London church that had birthed the Alpha course. They created a regular Sunday program featuring great music and video interviews with recent converts, interesting church members, and teams who brought food and medicines to shut-ins. Sermons—more like meditations—were lively and inspiring, and none lasted more than 15 minutes. The uplifting, fast-paced style kept my attention, a bright spot during those dreary days. I felt part of a community who were actively living out their faith thousands of miles away.

To my disappointment, after the lockdown expired the church returned to a straight televised church service. The medium no longer seemed to fit the message.

Outreach

Samantha Beach Kiley recalls, “I never had much luck getting any of my friends in the Chicago theater scene to visit my church on a Sunday—not even at Easter or Christmas. But one weekend our church canceled services to go out and serve the city. I signed up to help sort clothes in a homeless shelter. When my group leader texted us that we could use a few more volunteers, I sent out a text early Sunday morning to eight friends—folks who had never been to or participated [in my church] before. Within an hour all eight showed up at the homeless shelter. It was the easiest invitation I ever made.”

While living in Chicago in my thirties, I belonged to a downtown church that launched urban ministries such as school tutoring, a counseling center, and a legal aid clinic for the poor. My wife directed a senior citizens’ program. Before long that mostly-yuppie congregation found itself hosting several pews full of African-American senior citizens from a nearby housing project, along with younger clients of the counselors and benevolent lawyers. They wanted to belong to the group that had helped them through tough times.

Earlier this month I visited Resurrection Church in Kansas City, the largest United Methodist church in the U.S. With 24,000 members, it’s a bona fide megachurch. And yet if you ask the people of Kansas City what they know about Resurrection, they’re likely to mention its work with Habitat for Humanity, or refugee settlement, or the schools they’ve adopted to provide free breakfasts and lunches, or the food pantry, or the trucks that deliver free beds to any child who lacks one.

Samantha, the millennial author, sees practical help for the needy as key to the church’s future. She says, “Most people in our world want to do something to make a difference, and they jump at the chance to help in practical ways. Their experience often leads to community, to the beginning of relationships. And eventually, for some, this will lead to a step of faith and a commitment to Christ.”

St. Francis of Assisi is often quoted as saying, “Preach the gospel at all times and if necessary, use words.” Jesus did both. His first sermon, after all, spoke of good news for the poor, freedom for prisoners, and recovery of sight for the blind (Luke 4). In what might be considered his last public sermon (Matthew 25), Jesus extolled those who fed the hungry, clothed the naked, and visited the prisoners. “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me,” he said.

Sociologists such as Rodney Stark point to the early church as a model. There were few missionaries or evangelists in the Roman Empire, and no such thing as a “seeker church.” Instead, Christians simply showed their neighbors a different way to live: adopting rather than abandoning unwanted babies, nursing plague victims rather than fleeing from them, inviting all social classes to worship together, sharing resources with the poor. Ultimately Romans decided, “I like how they live more than how I live. I want what they’ve got.” Not a bad formula for church growth.

No church does everything right.  As you read about these different styles, which elements most resonated with you?