Episcopal Church Foundation Vestry Papers - for leading congregations

Who would think that cleaning up graffiti and cracking down on jaywalkers could lower crime rates?

This is the main premise of the broken-windows theory, which posits that a cleaner, more orderly neighborhood is less likely to attract criminals. On the flip side, a neighborhood with broken windows, litter, and graffiti creates an atmosphere of lawlessness and invites crime.

In the 1990s, New York’s police chief Bill Bratton put this theory into practice with a zero-tolerance policy, strongly enforcing the law on petty crimes. During his tenure, the crime rate in New York City dropped significantly. I interviewed Chief Bratton in the late 1990s when I was a young cub reporter. I know some critics have dismissed the broken-windows theory and attributed the decline in crime rates to other factors, but I’ve always thought there was merit to the idea. And I’ll always remember his passion for finding long-term solutions instead of reactive band aids. 

Regardless of its worth in crime fighting, I think there are some applicable lessons for churches, particularly when it comes to the upkeep of our facilities. 

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Two nights ago I arrived home to find no power on the property. So much for plugging in the laptop and writing a blog post! But I got the flashlight, managed to warm up some dinner on the gas stove, then went to bed early.

The power outage is a recapitulation of last week when we lost power due to Tropical Storm Irene. Today as I write, driving rain is pouring down for the third straight day, the backyard has become a pond, flash flood warnings are in effect, and we fear the ground is so saturated that more trees will uproot themselves onto surrounding power lines. Hopefully not on the house.

Yet my worries are minor compared to fear and damage in other parts of the country and the world. If you’ve been following the news, you can’t miss the fires, storms, droughts, and human inflicted violence in almost every region. Alongside current news, it’s a time of remembering past disasters of Katrina and 9/11, still trying to find ways through their emotional and physical impacts years later.

In these conditions, I just can’t stop thinking about emergency preparedness. The irony is most of us never want to think about it. We may feel “it won’t happen to us.” Or that we have “more important things to do” today. We may be stuck in fear, preferring to focus on tangible projects in front of us instead of the scary “what ifs.” At least this much is true: planning for a future that may never happen carries little urgency. With so many pressing concerns or joyful activities of congregational life, emergency preparedness almost never makes it to the top of the to-do list.

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One thing we’ve learned about disasters – in addition to the fear, suffering and disruption on lives and communities – is the ability of people to pull together in powerful ways.

I learned this on September 12, 2001 when church leaders, neighbors, emergency responders, local businesses, and lots of friends came together at St. Paul’s Chapel in lower Manhattan to respond to the horrific events the day before. Not only did they provide immediate response to physical needs of safety and food, but they sustained a longer term effort providing rest, prayer, care, and renewal. We see this kind of response again and again after disasters. I’m particularly aware of it this week on the 6th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, the earthquake in Virginia, and Hurricane Irene.

But it shouldn’t take disasters for us to pull together and offer safety, connection, and renewal in our communities.

Recently I’ve been inspired by pictures from Portland, Oregon. An organization called City Repair set out to transform one small spot in a city: a street intersection.

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This time of year, I feel like my old elementary school principal. It was his job to get old Boardman School whipped into shape for the school year. It was an old, old building but when the kids arrived on the first day of school it smelled new. New paint, fresh coat of wax on the floors, windows washed and door knobs shined. It made a big impact on the mood of the children and the parents and set an important tone for the year to come.

As the principal of St. Andrew’s, I feel I have the same responsibility. So I am walking around our building and seeing what our buildings and grounds volunteers can do to get us ready for Sept. 11, our Kick-off Sunday.

Here is the checklist:

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I hate to trim.

While the kids are away for a week at the grandparents, my husband and I are toiling through a long-delayed to-do list.

That includes painting several rooms. Since my husband is at least seven inches taller, he works on the ceiling while I kneel on the ground, painting the baseboards a crisp white.

After what seems like 15 hours of trim-painting purgatory, the first room has sparkling baseboards but little else to show for my back-breaking labor. It’s the wall paint the makes the splash - -that transforms the room from dingy to dynamite.

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The air conditioner repair guys were lazy.

They took the shortest distance to install the exhaust pipes – straight from the basement to the outside wall, right beside the entrance. 

Don’t be alarmed: this is being fixed. Today. The National Historic Register and the people of the parish wouldn’t have it any other way.

But still, I think there’s some interesting commentary about how we clean up our messes in the church. Do we take the easy way out – avoiding conflict or perhaps more often, letting off steam in the sidewalk or parking lot conversations? Or are we willing to do the much more difficult work of rooting out the problem, talking with each other, and finding some solutions that may require sacrifice? 

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Two Fridays ago, I found myself walking through the doors of an Episcopal Church to attend a Shabbat service with friends. 

Let me clarify... 

Two friends recently invited me to attend a Shabbat service at their synagogue Congregation Beit Simchat Torah (CBST). CBST worships in at least two different locations in New York City, but their main Shabbat service takes place inside the same Episcopal Church where they first began gathering in 1973, in the Church of the Holy Apostles.

In short, the service was stunningly beautiful. Coming off a particularly hectic workweek, I found myself deeply moved by Rabbi Kleinbaum’s prayer that we fully welcome the joys of the Sabbath into our lives. While there, I also observed two things which I hope will be of interest of ECF Vital Practices readers. The first has to do with Holy Apostles' use of space while the second touches on CBST's slow & steady work of finding a permanent place to worship.

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The air conditioner died, not with a bang but a whimper.

Because of problems getting the parts, it would be a month before the company could install a new unit. With early June temperatures in the 90s – and the priest already prone to sweating through his vestments, worship was moved into the fellowship hall.

The altar guild had double-duty, transforming the folding tables into a makeshift altar and bringing out the fine linens and silver. The secretary had twice the work of creating bulletins for both the liturgy and the worship music. The organist made due with a practice piano, and the coffee hour guild took pains to quietly prepare the after-service treats.

When the priest announced that the air conditioner should be installed by the end of this week, you would think that the congregation would have erupted into applause. Instead several people asked if we could continue worship in the fellowship hall throughout the summer.

It’s not that the nave is unsuitable space. The worship space at this church is among the most beautiful I’ve seen. The arches stretch across the Gothic-style ceiling like knights mounted on their horses, flags raised to welcome the king. The sun casts prisms of light through the stained glass windows, and the baptismal font, cut from stone, is a work of art. This is amazing space in which to worship our Lord.

But in the confines of the fellowship hall, we are forced to sit next to one another. No one has a designated pew. The choir is among us, and we can actually hear the people around us joining in the hymns.

The space creates community.

As we return to the newly air conditioned nave this week, the question arises: how can we transform the vast expanse of the church into space that encourages rubbing elbows?

Should we rope off the side aisles, forcing folks into the center pews and into closer contact? Should we institute a reverse pew rental system, with the front rows as the cheap seats? How can we couple the beauty of this worship space with intimacy and community?

Look at the spaces in your church. Do they encourage relationship or isolation? For those who have tackled this problem, what advice can you offer?

The nursery renovation began with a 5-year-old.

Our church is nearly 200 years old, and some of the toys in the nursery surely witnessed the first service. We even considered carbon-dating.

But to be honest, our attention was on the adult stuff – updating the bathrooms, re-painting the choir room.

So it was a surprise to learn that our 5-year-old daughter had organized a bake sale to raise money to buy new toys for the nursery. She had made the rounds in coffee hour and had a sign-up list of treats. She made signs -- Bake sale 4 kids – and hung them around the church. She recruited other kids to help, called the adults the week before the sale to remind them, and made cookies with her grandma as her offering.

On the morning of the bake sale, she directed the placement of the tables and arranged the treats for optimal sales potential. If anyone failed to stop by the table, she made a polite inquiry, asking if they’d like to help buy new toys for the kids. I don’t think anyone turned her down.

At the end of the morning, the Sunday crowd of about 80 had donated nearly $500.
We organized a nursery committee, including the 5-year-old, to talk about renovating the nursery. Another couple who had lost a child earmarked the memorial money for the project. As a group, we talked about priorities: Safety, cleanliness and fun.

We pitched most of the toys and old furniture. We decided to use part of the money to hire an artist who painted a magnificent and inviting mural. And we purchased a pager system so parents could be contacted immediately.

And of course, we shopped for toys. Actually, I served as chauffeur and chief bag carrier, while the 5-year-old headed the shopping brigade.

Led by the determination of children to have their place in church, we celebrated the new nursery with cookies and milk.

I’d love to see an episode of Undercover Rector.

Taking a cue from reality TV, the rectors would cast off the alb, dye their hair and magically  transform into someone unrecognizable. They would visit the church a few times during the week, definitely on Sunday but also perhaps one afternoon, posing as someone seeking counseling or financial assistance.

The Undercover Rector could see the church as a newcomer. Are the doors open when they arrive? Does someone welcome them heartily but without overkill? Are rooms thoughtfully labeled or do they use insider code?

Our signs say The Episcopal Church welcomes you but sometimes our actions don’t live that out. Too often we’re hospitable in convenient ways – Join us for coffee hour – and oblivious to the more challenging ones – May I sit down and learn more about you while my friends are talking at another table?

Consider these three components of infrastructure hospitality:

1. Parking: Are there good, close spots marked clearly for visitors? Do you have plenty of handicapped spots? Have you thought about designating parking for families with small children? (Grocery stores set aside spots for them; why not the church?)

2. Entering the building: Are the doors open or do visitors have to walk a 5K around the building to find one that’s unlocked? Does your external signage require an Anglican studies certificate? (Note: Very few people will know what you mean by the word “nave.”) Are the entryways clean and inviting?

3. Childcare: Is the nursery located close to the sanctuary or do newcomers have to travel over the river, through the woods, up the stairs and down the hall to drop off their precious children? Does the nursery look appealing, with age-appropriate toys amid a colorful setting? Is there a sign-in procedure so visitors feel more comfortable leaving their kids in the care of strangers?

An entire overhaul of existing systems can be overwhelming, so start improving your hospitality with these three elements. Upcoming episodes of Undercover Rector will feature hospitality in worship, fellowship and community relations. 

And let’s build this hospitality checklist together. Send in other suggestions to add to the list.

Hearing the rumble outside my office window, my first thought was that the recycling truck had arrived. When the noise continued longer than expected, I looked up: it was the oil truck.

Living in the northeast, I have a love/hate relationship with home heating oil. Love that my provider is so dependable that I’ve never run out of oil. Hate that the price goes up and up and up. Today’s price: $3.99 per gallon; $3.79 for me as I pay at the time of delivery. It wasn’t so long ago that I paid 1.99 a gallon.

My workday interrupted, I’m thinking about oil: how much I use to heat my house and operate my car. Thinking about the impact not only on my budget, but also on the environment. And, how much more it costs to heat the church, the parish hall, and the other buildings owned by the church. Given the tight budgets that most congregations are working with, where are opportunities for relief when it comes to energy use? And, can we reduce costs and our carbon footprint at the same time? Where would we begin?

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The question at our church is not who has a key to the building – but rather, who doesn’t?

We’ve joked that we can’t change the locks; we’d have to order enough keys for the entire town.

Our church facility is in constant use in its small, Midwestern county seat. Addiction recovery groups use it more than a dozen times each week, the Red Cross collects blood in the fellowship hall, gardening groups gather in the parlor, and Habitat for Humanity plans its next build in the music room.

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The front page photo shows a car buried in snow. TV news reports tell stories of collapsed roofs, frozen pipes, and hazardous travel conditions.

In my neighborhood the snow piles are getting smaller. Walking home from an appointment, I saw dead grass at the edge of my neighbor’s sidewalk. For the first time in over a month, I could see the bottom of my dining room windows. Despite the cold temperature, the snow is slowly melting in the February sun.

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If your church is like mine, it gets a lot of foot traffic over the course of a season. If there isn’t a discipline in place of putting things back in their place, a church can take on a pretty rag tag feel and look.

One key concept I have been trying to develop is “the church at rest.” I think it is a fun and challenging exercise for all staff and other ministers to be able to picture our space in its Sabbath state – primed for the ministry that will once again begin as the church building awakens. This involves knowing how each of the rooms would ideally be found, what equipment and materials are regularly stocked and available, and what resources for extravagant hospitality should always be available.

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The Hope Conference (Healing Our Planet Earth (HOPE): Singing a New Song of Hope) was held in Seattle in 2008.  Featuring keynote speakers Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori and Bishop Stephen Charleston this event put the Episcopal Church on record as a “green” denomination. 

At the conference my Bishop, Greg Rickel of Olympia, worked out a deal with the city of Seattle to launch a pilot environmental program to retrofit several churches for electrical efficiency to reduce their carbon footprint. My parish, St. Andrew’s, was one of them.

Let there be light.

The holy golf bag rode shotgun in the mini-van for a couple of years. Who knew a golf bag could double as a holder for the processional cross and torches? Two Rubbermaid totes rounded out the portable church supplies, one filled with albs and the other with a chalice, altar book, vestments and fair linens.

Planting a church requires flexibility. And a van.

For about three years, I was part of a church plant. For about the first...