Who's Filling America's
Church Pews?
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On a snowy 20-degree day in December, the visitors shiver as they move among
vestiges of a long-closed Pizza Hut on this city's struggling main street. A
salad bar teeters off kilter. Dust collects on the dismantled facade of a soda
dispenser. A few bolted-down tables and chairs remain – usable, but only after a
good cleaning.
Yet none of this bothers the three leaders from the Auburn
Church, who seem warmed by holy fire to carry out their task: Help transform the
pizza joint into something with a bit more piety. Their church has reached
capacity, having doubled attendance in the past year. So they've crossed the
Androscoggin River to plant a second church, the Ark, in the heart of one of the
nation's least religious states.
This won't be worship as usual. Starting
early in the new year, a smorgasbord of community services will be served where
deep-dish pepperoni used to be the lure. Vegetarian cooking classes and health
seminars, hydrotherapy treatments and massage instruction, marriage classes and
smoking-cessation clinics – all will be free of charge and led by volunteers. A
vegan restaurant will open to bring in revenue. Worship services will begin next
spring.
"It's almost like you have to use a place like a Pizza Hut," says
Tracy Vis, a new member of the Auburn church. "Some people are not going to be
comfortable with traditional church buildings or traditions. But they'll come
here and listen to these different messages."
The Ark is symbolic of a
transforming religious landscape in New England. Long defined by dominant Roman
Catholic and mainline Protestant institutions, the terrain is undergoing a
fundamental shift as traditional denominations cope with steep declines in
membership and shutter churches and seminaries.
At the same time,
evangelical and Pentecostal groups are doing just the opposite. They're
expanding their footprint in what statistics show are America's four least
religious states: Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, and Massachusetts. And because
more and more Americans today identify with no particular religion, what happens
in this land of spiritual free agency could offer insights into the future of
religion across the country. The recent changes in New England have been
significant:
•Between 2000 and 2010, the Catholic church has lost 28
percent of its members in New Hampshire and 33 percent in Maine. It has closed
at least 69 parishes (25 percent) in greater Boston.
•Over the same
period, the Southern Baptist Convention (SBC) established 118 new churches in
northern New England, according to the 2010 Religion Census. About 50 of them
inhabit buildings once owned by mainline churches.
In Puritan New
England, Protestant and Catholic churches are declining while evangelical and
Pentecostal groups are rising.
Other denominations are growing, too,
including Pentecostals: Assemblies of God (11 new churches in Massachusetts) and
International Church of the Foursquare Gospel (13 new churches in Massachusetts
and Maine). Muslims and Mormons are experiencing membership gains as
well.
More change looms on the horizon. In 2013, northern New England
will lose its only mainline Protestant seminary and accredited graduate school
of religion when the Bangor Theological Seminary closes in May. Three months
later, Southern Baptists will open Northeastern Baptist College – the first
SBC-affiliated pastor-training college in northern New England – in Bennington,
Vt.
"The old establishment is crumbling in the sense that fewer people
are going to church and buildings are being sold off," says Todd Johnson,
director of the Center for the Study of Global Christianity at Gordon-Conwell
Theological Seminary in South Hamilton, Mass. "The old expectations aren't there
anymore, and that creates an openness to new brands."
New England's
changing religious character comes as religious ties decline around the country.
Nearly 1 in 5 Americans (19.6 percent) now says he or she has no religious
affiliation, up from 15 percent just five years ago, according to Pew Research
Center surveys.
Faith remains strong: More than 90 percent of Americans
still believe in God or a universal spirit, according to Gallup research, even
as fewer claim a particular religious "brand" or identity. More people are
opting not to align themselves with one religious denomination or tradition, but
their interest in faith remains keen and creates opportunities for
innovators.
"The way people are religious is changing," says Frank
Newport, Gallup's editor in chief. "And maybe what's happening up in [New
England] is a good indication of what is happening or could happen
elsewhere."
Now emerging in the land of Cotton Mather and Robert Frost
are religious cultures marked by immigrant experiences and creative worship,
with emphasis on good works and personal holiness. It's not entirely what stolid
New Englanders are used to, but maybe that's its appeal.
On a December
morning, the polished sounds of bongos and electric keyboards emanate from
Congregación León de Judá, a 1,500 member church in an ethnically diverse Boston
neighborhood. It's a mainline American Baptist Churches congregation, though
maybe not one prior generations would recognize.
The 36,000-square-foot
complex looks more suited for offices than offerings, but on this day, 500 pack
the sanctuary for an upbeat, bilingual service. A high-stepping man leads a
praise chorus. Laypeople take turns praying: one in Spanish, then another in
English. Dozens approach the stage for prayer. Hands rise and eyelids fall.
After an hour, some 75 English speakers representing 15 countries head
downstairs to continue worship in their language.
Another 15 go to a
window-filled room where a new Anglican Church in North America congregation,
started by León de Judá, is gathering for the first time. Ministries here are
growing so fast – 500 new members in the past five years – that a
40,000-square-foot building is rising next door to help house it all.
For
new members like Ted Best, who emigrated from Barbados 30 years ago, and William
Leslie from Dominica (both English-speaking countries), the church's Hispanic
roots were no barrier. They like being part of a dynamic congregation that
provides outlets for compassion and immigrants' hopes.
"We want to be
part of a church that is growing," says Mr. Leslie, who does outreach work for
León de Judá, from visiting hospitals to sharing information in subways. "We
want to touch the community for Jesus, and this church has advanced that
cause."
Much of the church growth in secular New England stems from
immigrants and the cultures they create in pursuit of spiritual grounding.
Researchers at the Emmanuel Gospel Center (EGC), a Boston-based Christian
organization that studies urban ministries, call it a "quiet revival." It is
often overlooked because the Religion Census tracks only denominations, yet
nondenominational churches account for some of the fastest-filling pews, or
folding chairs, as the case may more often be.
EGC data show that Boston
has spawned more than 100 Hispanic evangelical churches in the past 40 years, up
from just a handful in the 1970s. EGC's census also found 65 Haitian churches in
greater Boston, including at least one with more than 500 members.
"A
storefront church might not look that big, but they have 100 to 200 people
coming each week," says Rudy Mitchell, a senior researcher at EGC. "A big old
church might only have 50 people attending even though they have a big
building."
Where growth is happening inside traditional denominations,
such as at León de Judá, immigrant connections often play a central role. Half
of the Southern Baptists' 325 churches in New England are non-English speaking.
They worship instead in Spanish, Portuguese, or Haitian Creole.
What's
more, internationally minded denominations are benefitting from having built
churches, schools, and hospitals abroad for decades. Seventh-day Adventists
operate more than 7,800 schools around the world. Thus, Brazilians who immigrate
to Massachusetts often plug into a local Seventh-day Adventist church led by an
immigrant pastor who knows their homeland and speaks their native language,
according to Edwin Hernandez of the Center for the Study of Latino Religion at
Notre Dame University in South Bend, Ind.
Immigrant vitality is driving
growth in other more secular regions as well. Steve Lewis, academic dean at
Bangor Theological Seminary, spent most of his career in Oregon, the sixth least
religious state.
"The growth in churches in areas that are generally in
decline are coming from ethnic congregations," says Mr. Lewis. "In Portland,
Ore., there are churches with Romanians, Ukrainians, Eastern Europeans, and
thousands of people go to them. You have churches in decline in that region, but
these [ethnic] churches are buying warehouses and remodeling them."
Many
of the religious groups with international ties investing in steeples and
schools in New England are reaping quick returns. Since relocating from Rhode
Island to a long-vacant campus in Haverhill, Mass., in 2008, the Assemblies of
God's Zion Bible College has doubled enrollment, from 200 to 400.
"People
don't like the aura of past religions in many cases, where the church looks like
it's a club," says Charles Crabtree, president of Zion, which will be renamed
Northpoint Bible College on Jan. 1. "But when we go out, build churches, and are
in the neighborhoods expressing the love of Christ, it's amazing how many people
respond."
In New England, Churches that echo the prevailing culture's
moral relativism and liberal sensibilities sometimes struggle to differentiate
themselves. Yet when a doctrine-minded pastor like Joey Marshall unpacks the
Bible, verse by verse, many people yearn for his unflinching message. To
accommodate growing numbers, Mr. Marshall's Living Stone Community Church in
Standish, Maine, moved from a traditional 50-seat structure to a former
paintball facility.
"A lot of people were looking for a church that still
preached the Gospel and were having trouble finding a good, solid,
Bible-believing church," says Marshall, a Southern Baptist from Tennessee.
Former Catholics make up about 40 percent of his flock, he says.
In terms
of tactics, Southern Baptists have tapped missionary-minded activists
("catalysts") in the South to galvanize more resources and volunteers especially
for "unchurched" New England. They've also hired a full-time staffer to evaluate
acquisition opportunities when churches want to sell or donate their
buildings.
Two years ago, the SBC's North American Mission Board (NAMB)
put 20 percent of its resources into establishing new churches. Now it spends 45
percent on church planting. It's part of a larger effort to focus on urban
areas.
"In the 1950s, we pulled out of the cities," says Aaron Coe,
NAMB's vice president for mobilization. "But we've since realized the world is a
very urban place, and if we're going to make a difference in the generations to
come, then we're going to have to seriously engage the cities."
Church
activists, of course, ultimately want to impact more than gas prices. In secular
areas such as the Northeast, they also strive to "influence the influencers,"
since the region shapes attitudes nationwide through such channels as education,
policy, and media. The Southern Baptists' "Send North America" campaign says
church planters "recognize the potential of harnessing the influence of the
area" to help spread the Gospel.
While some might even hope the religious
incursions in New England would foster a more GOP-friendly atmosphere, church
leaders make no such promises. Many see Christians as increasingly willing to
accept minority status in America.
"Most of those who believed in the
'70s – the whole Moral Majority thing – that there was a chance that America
really could become a Christian nation have given that up now," Mr. Wideman
says. "They have said, 'We need to begin to think like Christians in the 1st
century thought, when they were definitely a minority.' "
Other churches
are trying to keep politics as far away from the pulpit as possible – and are
thriving. Stephen Um is the Korean-born pastor of the Citylife Church in Boston,
a 10-year-old Presbyterian Church in America (PCA) congregation that meets in a
hotel and attracts 800 weekly attendees. He ministers to Boston's youthful and
professional elite: 35 percent of his half-white, half-Asian congregation has at
least one postgraduate degree.
But his ministry focuses on empowering
individuals to bear witness, challenge atheist assumptions, and do good works –
not change public policy for Christ.
"This is not a political movement,"
Mr. Um says. "We want to be the best citizens that we can be.... I tell them
that the best way for you to have a witness as a Christian in the workplace is
to pursue the common good, to work with integrity ... to love your
neighbor."
Churches that have equated faith with political activism, in
fact, are watching their ranks thin. Lewis, the Bangor Seminary dean, sees
emphasis on politics as one reason some mainline denominations have seen their
membership decline accelerate in the past 10 years.
"In the mainline
denominations, liberalism is dead, but they just don't know it yet," says Lewis,
an ordained Methodist elder. "Liberalism has moved so far toward the social
consciousness agenda that it's lost its spiritual roots. What they need in the
mainlines is a passionate spirituality."
For their part, Roman Catholics
haven't complained about religious opportunists encroaching on what's been
largely their turf since the late 19th century. One reason is that the Catholic
Church will remain the region's largest religious player for many years to come,
Mr. Johnson notes. Catholic commitment might even be growing significantly in
pockets, he adds, but the signs are hard to notice since they're overshadowed by
declining regional numbers.
What's emerging, it seems, is a religious
shift whose wider meaning is best measured not so much in terms of political or
cultural transformation, but in how faith is practiced. Adherents are flocking
to churches where the difference faith makes is concrete and visible.
Connections fostered in faith communities are enabling them to live in keeping
with their aspirations and nurture freedoms they've come to discover.
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