Chapters 3 and 4

Chapter 3

Entertaining Angels Unawares

            So much has been written about church growth, but so little of it with the charm, grace and warmth of Entertaining Angels Unaware. I can’t remember the last time I read something that made me cry, and it may simply be that I am turning to mush in my old age. But Lillian Daniels’ description of her experiences trying to grow her congregation in New Haven did just that. The real beauty of it all is the tears were not tears of frustration or sadness, but tears of joy, joy at the way the folks at Church of the Redeemer were able to employ the tools of friendliness, hospitality and a simple sense of welcome. For many of our congregations, this story has to be an optimistic one, for these are qualities that we possess in spades.

            At the same time, however, we need to hear the rest of the story. Many of us are straddling the third rail as the demographic express comes roaring through the subway station. As folks stare at empty pews and wonder where Ward and June Cleaver have gone, they need to face the sobering reality that Ward and June aren’t coming back. All the friendliness in the world isn’t going to help a congregation whose idea of growth is to put more butts in the pews that look just like ours. As Rev. Daniels’s tale powerfully illustrates, if we are to grow, the folks who will be joining us are going to look a lot more like Tim and Jack than Ward and June. And I, for one, think that is a good thing.

Chapter 4

Learning to Pray

            A couple of days ago, I attended a meeting that was chaired by a good friend and colleague of mine who opened the meeting with a prayer. What a prayer it was! It was warm and human. It was lyrical. It just made you feel good about yourself and your relationship to God. In fact, I am sure that if you were to look up “prayer” in the dictionary, there would be a picture of this prayer right next to the definition.

            Later, I was called on to close the meeting with a prayer and as I stumbled my awkward way through something formulaic and graceless, I thought of an old cartoon. It featured a Native American sitting on a hilltop sending smoke signals. As a few pitiful puffs of smoke rise from his blanket, you can see, off in the distance, the immense mushroom clout of a nuclear explosion. I have long sense forgotten the exact words of the caption, but my sense of it was something like “Gee, I wish I’d have said that.” Well, that’s how I felt as I compared our prayers. Thus it was with sympathy and a sense of identification that I read of Martin Copenhaver’s first halting experiences with prayer as an intentional discipline.

            I’m not sure what the overriding lesson of the essay is, or even if it has anything like an overriding lesson. But here is what I took from it: Prayer is at its best when it comes from the heart.

Tony Stoik

Associate Conference Minister – Western Iowa