Always Weres and Always Will Bes

These past two weeks, we have been talking about Not Anymores, people who were raised in or around the church, who were likely baptized, confirmed, who may have a lot of positive memories of church, but who just… don’t go anymore. 

The very existence of this group of people, nonetheless the prevalence of them (the Public Religion Research Institute estimates 86% of people who aren’t religiously affiliated were raised Chrsitian) challenges us to reconsider notions of why people aren’t in church. Our problems aren’t marketing related, our problems aren’t externally imposed. The people who aren’t in church are, by and large, people who gave church a good shot and decided it wasn’t for them. 

Here’s the good news: if our problem isn’t marketing or some external force, if the thing that has kept people out of church is largely self-created, then it can be largely self-resolved. While working on a project together, Dr. Sam Rogers dug deep into an observational study of the places where some of those Not Anymores gathered, and in particular, evesdropped into conversations about what they missed about the communities they were once in. 

The three most common things this community missed were communal singing, reliable weekly rhythms, and sensory ritual. Even those people who lived rich social lives or had recaptured elements of those things they missed (joined a book club or volleyball league for the connection and rhythm, for example) missed the existential purpose that they had once at church. They named the way the sound of church bells still tugged on their hearts, the way that they missed stained glass, “smells and bells” of more liturgical traditions, and singing in harmony with strangers, not just at concerts, but every week. 

Those griefs and pains are real and valid. The thousands of little disappointments that left people putting space between themselves and the church matter. And also, if, in this age of content oversaturation and highly digital social landscapes, what people are longing for is hymns and candles and rhythms of gathering, that is something the church can offer. 

In the project that inspired this series, this learning led us to a surprising and exciting idea. What if we could create an on-ramp back into potential church life by, in my colleague Dr. Sam Rogers’ words, “decoupling these ancient, life-giving rituals from the institutional gatekeeping that caused the exile in the first place.” What would it look like to take those things we are best at, which people most long for – rhythms, communal singing and art, sensory ritual – and instead of keeping them tucked into a service, offer them to the community? 

Tomorrow is the launch of a dive bar based choir in my neighborhood, and let me tell you, this thing is going to be packed. I’ve been to “beer and carols” events that were shoulder to shoulder, with people crammed into to sing Silent Night, a capella, in 4-part (at least) harmony.¹ We can offer that experience for people. Community choirs, gathered in parks, liturgies over breaking ground at a community garden, inviting people to send prayers (or even just good vibes) over the land that will grow there, simple ritual blessings for the rhythms of everyday life, offering people an opportunity to see their life as just a little more sacred. I am on the board of a local non-profit, a mom’s group, and every time we gather, we read our mission statement out loud, and it feels like liturgy. We, as the church, have the unique permission among civil institutions to create and claim meaning. We can brazenly, boldly offer ancient rituals that ground and center our communities in a way no other institution can.

We can create spaces, not just in our churches, but in our neighborhoods, where ritual, communal art, and rhythms of gathering create pockets of sacred life. And if we do, maybe some of those Not Anymores will come back. Maybe they won’t. But even if they don’t, they will be reminded of God’s presence in their lives still. The question that they wrestled with all these years since, the question that drove them to seek out a pastor as they left the dance floor, “Was this real? And does it mean anything for my life now if it is?” will begin to be answered, and the answer, they know, will be yes. 

There are people all throughout your neighborhood who know how good church can be. They don’t need marketing, they don’t need a Gospel presentation, what they need to know is that what they fell in love with is still there, and that they are still wanted and welcome, no matter how long its been, or why they left in the first place. There are people who miss church. People who miss the bells and the songs and the candles, and probably more people than we realize. 

Let’s do everything we can to invite them to give it a second chance. Let’s remind them what they loved by bringing those rituals, that music, and that community, to them. Let’s celebrate the rich and full lives they have built, not as prodigals, but as people on a journey we know nothing about. And let’s make it absolutely clear that although they may be Not Anymores in church attendance, when it comes to God’s love, they are unequivocally the Always Weres and the Always Will Bes. 

1. I do live in Nashville, so the population of people who can harmonize by ear is likely not representative of the rest of the country. ↩︎