Believing the Future In
Believing the Future In
by John Morgan
Some years ago a Maine friend asked me to take a ride with him down the road. He said he had
a surprise awaiting me. About twenty minutes later, I spotted the white church steeple in the
distance as we got closer to the building situated near the intersection of three highways.
As we got out of the car, he pointed to a marker which read: “Universalist Church.”
Some of the paint was peeling, bringing to mind the story of another old New England church in
the same plight, in which cost conscious members had put water in the white paint to make it go
further. Of course, the paint wore off quickly, until a voice burst out of the heavens one day:
“Repaint and thin no more!”
The door to this old building was locked. There were cobwebs across a window. But I noticed
the grass had been cut recently, which gave me some hope that someone knew something.
Stopping in a country store, we learned that the person who maintained the building was a dairy
farmer who lived “down the road a piece.” Sure enough, five miles later, we found the farm and
the farmer. She was thrilled that someone was interested in the building since she had been a
member for years.
When I asked her about its history, she told a story that probably could be repeated many times
over. After the merger or consolidation of Universalism and Unitarianism some decades ago,
church membership had dwindled. She said she just couldn’t sell the building so she kept it
going, noting that the only time it was used was for a few weddings and an annual meeting.
“But if you’re the last Universalist in town, why hold an annual meeting?” With a twinkle in her
eye and a steady Maine accent, she didn’t miss a beat in responding:
“Well, I try to keep our status as a church and it requires an annual meeting. I’m the only one
there.” I joked that it must be easy making decisions. “Not always,” she said;
“sometimes I don’t agree with myself.”
Now I’ve heard all the stories about leading Unitarian Universalists is a little like “herding cats,”
or, better yet, “wrestling alligators,” but I think this may have been the best story I’ve
encountered about why making collective decisions is so difficult among such rugged
individualists. In any case, she gave us the key to front door so we could look for ourselves.
I still remember brushing cobwebs from my face as we entered the space. Old hymnals, some of
them still open on the pews, were arranged neatly as if expecting churchgoers any moment.
There was an old pump organ up front, with the hymn numbers still listed for the last Sunday
service, probably decades ago. As I went up to the pulpit, I found the Bible opened to what
might have been the last sermon text from the Book of Jeremiah: “Truly they have loved to
wander; they have not restrained their feet; therefore the Lord does not accept them” (14:10).
In a strange way, this small and now closed building symbolized far too many others I have seen
over my journeys as a new congregation organizer or minister—some closed due to lack of faith,
others not started for the same reason.
It is true that people come and go as communities change over time. I once estimated the
demographic center of the Unitarian Universalist movement was heading south and west a few
map inches every year until one day Nashville, not Boston, might become the statistical center.
But I don’t think it’s entirely demographics that shape a movement; it also is vision, or the lack
thereof, the unwilling to share the faith for which early Universalists paid such high prices.
I also recalled Jeremiah’s story. Before the fall and exile of his people, Jeremiah bought a plot of
ground to symbolize his hope for the future. Robert Frost once wrote of the American founders
that they did not believe in the future; they believed the future in. It’s the same principle at work
in vital, growing religious movements.
If I had the opportunity to preach one last time in that Maine church, I think I would have used
another text from the Book of Jeremiah: “Set up road markers for yourself; make yourself
guideposts; consider well the highway, the road by which you came.”
And I would have added, “consider also the road ahead.”
A polite generic religion is not enough to sustain or build a deeply spiritual community. It takes
vision, courage, and a willingness to share a heartfelt faith.
John Morgan is a contributing editor for the Herald. Before retiring from parish ministry,he was a
new congregation or extension minister. He now teaches philosophy and ethics at a community
college.
by John Morgan
Some years ago a Maine friend asked me to take a ride with him down the road. He said he had
a surprise awaiting me. About twenty minutes later, I spotted the white church steeple in the
distance as we got closer to the building situated near the intersection of three highways.
As we got out of the car, he pointed to a marker which read: “Universalist Church.”
Some of the paint was peeling, bringing to mind the story of another old New England church in
the same plight, in which cost conscious members had put water in the white paint to make it go
further. Of course, the paint wore off quickly, until a voice burst out of the heavens one day:
“Repaint and thin no more!”
The door to this old building was locked. There were cobwebs across a window. But I noticed
the grass had been cut recently, which gave me some hope that someone knew something.
Stopping in a country store, we learned that the person who maintained the building was a dairy
farmer who lived “down the road a piece.” Sure enough, five miles later, we found the farm and
the farmer. She was thrilled that someone was interested in the building since she had been a
member for years.
When I asked her about its history, she told a story that probably could be repeated many times
over. After the merger or consolidation of Universalism and Unitarianism some decades ago,
church membership had dwindled. She said she just couldn’t sell the building so she kept it
going, noting that the only time it was used was for a few weddings and an annual meeting.
“But if you’re the last Universalist in town, why hold an annual meeting?” With a twinkle in her
eye and a steady Maine accent, she didn’t miss a beat in responding:
“Well, I try to keep our status as a church and it requires an annual meeting. I’m the only one
there.” I joked that it must be easy making decisions. “Not always,” she said;
“sometimes I don’t agree with myself.”
Now I’ve heard all the stories about leading Unitarian Universalists is a little like “herding cats,”
or, better yet, “wrestling alligators,” but I think this may have been the best story I’ve
encountered about why making collective decisions is so difficult among such rugged
individualists. In any case, she gave us the key to front door so we could look for ourselves.
I still remember brushing cobwebs from my face as we entered the space. Old hymnals, some of
them still open on the pews, were arranged neatly as if expecting churchgoers any moment.
There was an old pump organ up front, with the hymn numbers still listed for the last Sunday
service, probably decades ago. As I went up to the pulpit, I found the Bible opened to what
might have been the last sermon text from the Book of Jeremiah: “Truly they have loved to
wander; they have not restrained their feet; therefore the Lord does not accept them” (14:10).
In a strange way, this small and now closed building symbolized far too many others I have seen
over my journeys as a new congregation organizer or minister—some closed due to lack of faith,
others not started for the same reason.
It is true that people come and go as communities change over time. I once estimated the
demographic center of the Unitarian Universalist movement was heading south and west a few
map inches every year until one day Nashville, not Boston, might become the statistical center.
But I don’t think it’s entirely demographics that shape a movement; it also is vision, or the lack
thereof, the unwilling to share the faith for which early Universalists paid such high prices.
I also recalled Jeremiah’s story. Before the fall and exile of his people, Jeremiah bought a plot of
ground to symbolize his hope for the future. Robert Frost once wrote of the American founders
that they did not believe in the future; they believed the future in. It’s the same principle at work
in vital, growing religious movements.
If I had the opportunity to preach one last time in that Maine church, I think I would have used
another text from the Book of Jeremiah: “Set up road markers for yourself; make yourself
guideposts; consider well the highway, the road by which you came.”
And I would have added, “consider also the road ahead.”
A polite generic religion is not enough to sustain or build a deeply spiritual community. It takes
vision, courage, and a willingness to share a heartfelt faith.
John Morgan is a contributing editor for the Herald. Before retiring from parish ministry,he was a
new congregation or extension minister. He now teaches philosophy and ethics at a community
college.
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