Convention, Community, and Conversation: Commonality of the C’s

This week, I am visiting Cleveland, Ohio, for the United Church of Christ "From the Ground Up Re-Imagining Theological Formation" summit. I decided to spend some alone time this evening, 8-hours of people really is too many people. I went out to eat and spent some time just enjoying everything around me and "soaking in" what was going on near the waterfront of Cleveland.

When I made it back to the hotel, I realized I am ready to socialize again. I've been to many conferences and meetings where networking is a second language. Idle hands are the devil's plaything for me. I want to get the most out of my travels, and I need to mingle and make friends when I can and wherever I can. I go downstairs and into the bar when I realize that I do not have my tablet. A tab is already open, and I know I can either run upstairs to get my tablet or go "sans technology" for at least a half-hour for the time it will take me to finish a beer. I have my book "iGod: How Technology Shapes Our Spiritual and Social Lives" by Craig Detweiler, and I've dog-eared so many pages I need to start "post-it noting".

I find a couch in the lounge area, and a couple is sitting across from me. Since group dynamics and Family Systems theory speaks to me, I start watching what I assume is husband and wife. The husband keeps leaving, and I wonder what is going on. The wife, looking bored and sitting quietly in the lounge, looks familiar to me, but I am not sure if I have had the pleasure of talking to her yet. There are 130-136 people at the conference, and although I am starting to recognize faces from other conventions and conferences I attend, I also don't always recognize faces and names.

I finally get the courage to go over. I introduce myself, say who I am, and ask if I can sit down. She's friendly, and when she asks me what I am doing in Cleveland, I realize that I have suddenly gone up to a stranger. The introvert in me, the confident person who assumed the conversation would solely be on the mutual commonality of ministry, has disappeared in a puff of smoke. The incense smell of fear is floating around me. I respond that I am in town for a conference and assume the same for her. There is a hint of accent when she starts to speak, and she lets me know that there is a truck part convention in town. More at a loss, I admit that I don't drive to her and have never had a license, and although I have driven in mom's old neon, that was ages ago. I intentionally leave out of my introduction that "God is not my "co-pilot" in moving vehicles."

Interested, she asks: "Why are you here?"

I hear the question over the growing noise in the lounge. I feel the familiar anxiety built up over time from living in Vermont as I look back, acknowledging the question. "Funny you should ask," I say awkwardly, "I'm here for a national church meeting." Kay's face brightens, showing a mystic glance and excitement. She pulls her chair up closer to me. I'm considering how much beer I have left to drink, estimating the choices of chugging the porter or a potentially painful conversation. "Well, Hallelujah! Which church do you go to?" I visually flinch again. Her accent is definitely from the south, and my personal experiences of positive affirmation are limited in that region. "Ma'am," I say politely, "I am a minister in training from the United Church of Christ."

The lounge is loud, but the silence between our two chairs is noticeable.

"What is the United Church of Christ, and how does that differ from the Church of Christ?"

"Well, Ma'am, the United Church of Christ is a liberal protestant mainline church. We accept anyone, whoever they are, wherever they are, on life's journey. The Church of Christ is on the other end of the spectrum than us. They only support male ministers, and my church supports female ministers and LGBTQ+ clergy."

Why did I mention the LGBTQ clergy? It's not as much about making the other person feel; uncomfortable as it's like sticking a thermometer in the water to decide if my yeast will rise. Will the conversation reach a point where our discussion will grow in size and welcome space? Yeast was evil and dangerous in the Old Testament. Exodus even warns about yeast, considered solely as mold and not a legit part of the bread. I'd be happy either way to break the unleavened bread, acknowledge our differences, break habits, and cherish our grace in accepting differences. Such my church, though, that uses leavened bread in communion, perhaps we can pave an alternative path and enjoy this unusual communion.

"Oh. I'm not sure if we have any of those churches around Fort Worth." I nod, "Well, we are Congregationalists. That said, some people in the church don't understand that they are part of the UCC. It doesn't surprise me if you don't know if you have a local church." I sip my beer, lingering on my thoughts, "Texas doesn't sound exactly the most liberal place on earth in general, and the UCC is pretty progressive." Kay stops, not angry, but I know something is on her mind. "Texas is a big state, Danielle," Kay as she leans forward a bit more, "The culture in Dallas is different in Fort Worth; El Paso is different from Fort Worth." I am a transplant of Vermont, a native of New Hampshire. My experience is that Vermont and New Hampshire are day and night. That political identity and cultural identity are strong in both states.

I reflect on the intentional community around me. It's the same conversations I would hear in smaller towns in Vermont. Admittedly, I would take the same bias I would take to the smaller towns in Vermont. Yet, these aren't men with torn jeans, ratty t-shirts, and oil stains. Kay describes them as respectful men who are mostly good and know each other better. They are in discussions about the "biz" but also catching up. It mirrors the reception I attended the day before with my colleagues. I moved two feet at a time there, and this evening I watch others move at the snail's pace I am so familiar with. "That's an interesting career field for you are in," I comment, and as reluctant as I am to show my ignorance, "are they pick-up trucks?" Kay looks at me non-judgmentally, "No, 18-wheelers." She continues," I'm usually the only woman in the room."

It's rare to find a woman in the business of truck parts. I ask her how many women are at the convention, actively involved, and not just traveling with their partners. She let me know that there are four of five women in the room who is in the business out of the convention. This includes her. She looks at the crowd of men standing at the bar tables, her husband now included in the mix, and no other women in sight.

I relax back in my seat, my beer dwindling, and my eyes meet the bottom of my bottle. Like a mind reader, Kay goes, "Can I buy you another?" I have no other plans this evening, the night is young, and my response before I can catch myself is "Sure."

A Truck is a Truck. A Model needs to suit the Needs…

.

"So you said you with the United Church of Christ?" Kay says, returning with the cold beer and keeping my receipt from my open tab. "Yes, Ma'am," I say, "I'm with the UCC." "I'm with Baptist Church," Kay says with a relaxed body expression, "I keep getting asked by my Momma where are the young people and why aren't they at church." One denomination or another denomination is not the sole target. Despite much-institutionalized discrimination religion and church bring on society, society does not discriminate against the "Millennial Issue." That said, it's not just a millennial issue, and even in my own bias, I have had to work through the "us vs. them" mentality. I struggle to understand how any generation REALLY could understand me except for the Millennial conversation.

I bite, though, because I want to know. An expectation exists, and I am not embarrassed to admit it.

"What are you looking for in a church, Kay? What excites you to go?"

"I'm not excited to go to church now. I have a hard time attending."

Not what I was expecting.

"What would make you excited to go?" I ask, wondering now. Yes, I have a biased opinion. Sure, a professor tried to sell me on the idea that the 75-year-old couple is looking for the same thing I am looking for. "Relevancy" sums it up in one word. How much relevance can I share with that couple? I've sold myself on the idea that it is night and day. What is relevant is just as different as class level and ability to pledge and invest in the church. As my thoughts wander into this internal conversation, I hear something familiar. Something that my mother, my grandmother, and a close friend have said in their own way. "I've told Momma if they stop singing 14-verses per song, and not good songs at that, they may get some folks back into their church. Momma can do it; she's the only female Deacon in the church, and no one messes with her."

"Music?" I repeat.

"Music. I want to feel moved. Right now, I am sleeping in the pew."

I think to myself, looking back on this, don't we all want to feel moved? Music tells a story. In the Episcopal tradition, the liturgy is a song. The Catholics repeat prayers in verse and tune. Some of my favorite bible scriptures are lyrics in pop music. Music speaks to people and is relevant at specific times, providing the message in another effective way.

The message. The message is a point. Who is listening to the message?

"Amen. We just had a speaker at my convention that let us know that let us know 'The millennials and the younger ones are our growing edge, and we bore them to tears" (Bishop Flunder, From the Ground Up Re-imagining Theological Formation Summit Keynote). Kay nods, agreeing, "Amen to that."

I look at my beer. I am not even halfway, and I am not trying to rush this conversation by no means. Like trends that change, I'm at the point of trying to instill hope in Kay. I don't know her, she doesn't know me, but we have the potential seed of community. "Kay, I don't know what will happen in the next 5-10 years with the future church, but you aren't alone in your need. I am hoping to have an impact because something has to change if we want to survive."

Kay looks up as we sit in comfortable silence and spots her husband along the way. He's a bit of a burly man, but his actions show signs of sensitivity. He leans over to Kay, whispers something, and Kay looks at me "we have to get going now… but hug me before I go. You aren't alone here, and I hope you know that." I stand up and exchange hugs, watching Kay pocket my receipt. I have no time to argue, the husband seems ready to go, and for the past hour, I have been wondering if I have overstayed my welcome.

I'm rarely the only female minister standing in the National UCC, but I am often the only religious millennial in the room in Vermont …

The bar slowly empties of the trucker convention. The remains are, in fact, folks from my convention. I recognize their faces, and the genders' equilibrium suddenly comes into focus. As I make my way to the bar, suddenly exhausted from what I can only express as getting off of a mini-sabbath and finding renewal, I ask the bartender for my tab receipt. He goes off to check my card, as I hope he doesn't need the now lost receipt. "Your tab just got closed out, Miss." I hear. I look quizzically at him. "The couple you were sitting with, they settled your tab."

As I ponder this, I see a face of a colleague from earlier that day's small group concerning Theological Formation and social media. A comment echos in my head from a previous deacon meeting "Aren't there more women than men ministers in the UCC?" This fact, although not untrue, is something of a misconception. That may be real locally, but I cherish the time when I can connect to clergy who are women…

More women are inside the UCC than there were in 2005 but even then, the statistics from 2016 speak for themselves. Sure, there are more female pastors in the UCC than eleven years ago. We've experienced a 1/3rd growth in that number. However, female ministers are more likely to be co-pastor than male ministers. There are still more female association/assistant pastors than males, and in 2016 there were even fewer men in the position than comparatively in 2005. According to Vital signs, "the percentage of active, non-retired female Ordained Ministers (50.5%) exceeded the percentage of active, non-retired male Ordained Ministers (49.4%) in 2016."

Information provided by UCC Vital Signs

It is a blessing in the Vermont Conference of the United Church of Christ that are strong, knowledgeable female ministers. I consider some of them mentors, and I am overjoyed when they impart knowledge and advice to me. However, being a 31-year-old female who is both religious and spiritual in Vermont is daunting. According to Pew Research, Vermont is considered the second least godless state in the union, often competing with our friendly neighbors next door in New Hampshire and Massachusetts. Only 21% of Vermonters attend church services regularly, which is the least attention in any state, including our state neighbors.

My state ranks at 46 of 51 for a population of Millennials, with only 25.9% according to Governing: The States and Localities. Pew Research states that only 28% of millennials attend religious services once a week, and 38% attend services as infrequently as twice a year and as much as once a month. As a female, a millennial, who is active in the religion and a resident in Vermont, I have a 7% chance of being in a room with someone who is a reflection of myself.