I have just been party to one of the oddest exchanges on FB I have encountered in recent months. Its participants were debating the merits of publishing information respecting the decline of church attendance in the Episcopal Church. The debate was not substantive, but affective. Should we want to know such information? Should we publish it? Should we share it?
Is this a case of crying “fire” in a theater that is not on fire?
I will return this Saturday from a brief visit to New York during which I happened to catch a play in review by Tracy Letts, “Minutes.” Its themes bear on the FB exchange.
The action takes place in a City Hall in a small, post-industrial, fictional city, Big Cherry, in the present. A newcomer to the City Council returns from his mother’s funeral to find that another City Council member has been removed in the two weeks of his absence. No one on the Council wishes to discuss the matter. The minutes of the meeting during which the other member was removed have not been published.
SPOILER ALERT. It turns out the city’s founding was predicated on a horrendous crime against the native American community that once occupied the valley. Around this horrendous crime a counter-myth was told, filled with heroic acts, decorated soldiers, and the rescue of a small child. Grade school children reenacted the play, High School students wrote reports on it. But when the missing Council member investigated the story, he discovered that it was a total fabrication. When he moved that the myth be stricken from the public record and that the true story be told and memorialized, the other Council members removed him.
The play’s exchange that bears on the FB discussion has the Mayor asking the Council newcomer which story he wants his little girl to grow up with: the story of Native American mothers, girls, and elderly being murdered in cold blood, or a story of heroism, rescue, and security.
In a couple of weeks, a study I wrote, “End of Seminary,” will appear in a collection on theological education edited by Joshua Davis and Deirdre Good. It makes several observations that I will not review here. Three points bear mentioning. The first is that the fate of the Episcopal seminary follows a trajectory that is nearly identical to self-funded non-religious institutions of higher learning; which means that the fault lies not in our hearts, but in the stars. As macro-economic indicators go, so goes the Episcopal seminary. The second point is that not all seminaries follow this same trajectory. Indeed, some denominational seminaries thrive and expand during times of economic turbulence. Others, including the majority of Episcopal seminaries, follow the secular trajectory. The third point is that during this period of decline (in enrollment, program size, faculty size, etc.) the investment portfolios of Episcopalians have performed exceedingly well; better, in fact, than when our seminaries enjoyed their greatest growth (1938-1980). So, if our parishioners are doing so spectacularly well, why aren’t our seminaries?
There is no simple answer to this question. Superficially, everywhere, investors (including Episcopalians) shifted the assets they chose to place their wealth. But Episcopal seminaries were never a central part of anyone’s portfolio. At a deeper level, when Congress appropriated the $4.2T to defeat the Japanese and Germans (beginning in 1938), most of this money ended up in the bank accounts of working families, many of whom sent their sons and daughters to college, some of whom went on to seminary. When the public monies dried up, private investors, it is true, could have stepped in. But they didn’t.
By contrast, other denominations view the work of seminaries differently. As need grows, as it did among those at the bottom of the income hierarchy, these denominations are thrown into high gear. Deacons and ministers sprout like wildflowers. Ministries expand. Seminaries expand to meet the growing need. They admit more students, hire more faculty, expand programs. At such times, local churches come alive. And those who have little, give more, not less.
Should we tell this story? Or is it too negative?