The church I serve is in the middle of a year-long observance of its 50th anniversary. Such celebrations always involve considering how life has altered over time, and looking at my church, I'm struck by the wrenching changes it has undergone -- along with most other mainline Protestant congregations.

Once it was a booming, traditional, middle-of-the-road church that served as a meeting ground for a large, diverse community of believers who may not have agreed on politics or shared the same cultural outlook, but who identified themselves with a particular religious tradition and proudly wore the label "Presbyterian," with all that it implied. But over the years it has lost members left and right to more specialized, politically focused churches and communities.

In this regard, the story of Fairfax Presbyterian echoes a broader, troubling change in denominations across the nation. It is a change that could lead to the disappearance of churches that strive for balance in religious practice and belief, that seek moderation and a way to combine respect for tradition with an understanding of the need for innovation. This shrinkage of the moderate religious middle reflects the polarization of contemporary politics, where the most powerful voices now speak from the far right and left. It seems to me that what we've lost in the process is our belief in the importance of meeting grounds -- communities where people of diverse opinions and perspectives may gather, talk, debate and argue. To me as a churchman, given that we live in a world being so profoundly affected by religious extremists of all faiths, this is a loss we cannot afford.

My church grew quickly through the 1950s as it rode the wave of the baby boom and responded to postwar interest in religious life. Its early expansion was helped by the fact that it was the only Presbyterian congregation in Fairfax City, making it a logical choice for Fairfax residents with this particular denominational background. By the end of the decade, the church had about 600 members and was becoming known for its progressive educational ministry, offering a racially integrated preschool program and a set of adult classes that certainly sounded ahead of their time: ethics, politics, the Middle East, death and dying.

Members had different political and theological beliefs, and I've been told that at least one person left Fairfax Presbyterian when the pastor became active in the civil rights movement. But for the most part, members came together around a shared denominational identity.

Back then, whether you were Presbyterian or Lutheran or Baptist, you tended to choose a denomination that either you or your spouse had known since childhood. But today, we are witnessing a deterioration of denominational loyalty, and Protestant Christians now think of themselves, as so much of society seems to, in more political terms -- as conservatives or liberals, instead of members of a particular religious tradition. Sociologists say that people look for residential communities where they can be surrounded by those who share their political views and cultural proclivities. Now, it seems they are also gravitating toward specialized communities of faith that are at opposite ends of the theological spectrum: on the right, conservative churches that preach traditional theology and morality, and on the left, liberal, inclusive congregations that offer a range of theological perspectives and sexual orientations. In 1988, sociologist Robert Wuthnow was one of the first to observe that denominationalism is eroding and that new coalitions are forming across denominations -- coalitions focused on abortion, biblical inerrancy, sexual issues and other shared concerns. The result is that congregations are becoming groups of like-minded individuals, instead of cross sections of the religious community.

A former member of my congregation, Ellen Will, grew up as the daughter of a Presbyterian minister in a Rhode Island town that was more than 90 percent Roman Catholic. As a member of a minority denomination, it was important for her to gather each Sunday with fellow Presbyterians. But when she and her family began to attend Fairfax Presbyterian in the 1990s, she says that what she encountered was "fuzzy" teaching about Christianity and evolution -- she was shocked that a church school teacher described the creation story in Genesis as "strictly an allegory."

She and her family were also troubled by a skit featuring a man dressed as a woman, playing a God-like character named "Godmother Grace." The point of the play was that God is really spirit, neither male nor female, but her sons simply found it "weird." In both cases, Ellen and her family witnessed attempts by the Presbyterian church to combine new concepts with ancient traditions -- but it didn't work for them.

The Wills ended up worshiping at the more conservative, nondenominational Immanuel Bible Church in Springfield, which felt like a good fit in terms of biblical teaching. Ellen tells me she has a number of friends who have also departed the denominations they were raised in, feeling that their churches had become too liberal. Two of them left Methodist churches, one couple because the new minister brought his live-in girlfriend to join him in the parsonage, and the other because of the issue of homosexual ordination. This latter issue is not just a congregational concern, of course. Last week, Anglican world leaders gathered in England to try to avert a split in their church after the election of a gay bishop in New Hampshire.

Ellen believes that it's more common for conservative, evangelical believers to leave mainline denominations and go to conservative "Bible" churches, but on a smaller scale, an exodus is occurring on the left as well. When a couple from my previous church, Calvary Presbyterian, left Alexandria upon retirement, they also left the Presbyterian Church. After 40 years as Presbyterians, they joined the more liberal United Church of Christ because they were tired of the homosexual issue being "continually swept under the rug, or referred back to a committee for more study."

The highly inclusive Unitarian Universalist denomination is growing at a rate of 1 percent a year, mainly through transfers, with almost 90 percent of new UU members coming from other religions. Linda Olson Peebles, minister of religious education at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Arlington, tells me that her denomination sees a wide range of theological orientations, mostly "on the left of center," and that UU congregations are a blend of liberal Christians, religious humanists, atheists and people who would describe themselves simply as "spiritual." They tend to rally around freedom of belief and trust in human reason.

But what's wrong with the combination of tradition and innovation for which my own church strives? My frustration is that people are abandoning denominations -- like my own -- that are trying to maintain a creative tension between time-honored truths and new theological insights, between conservative and liberal, if you like, and are trying to stake out a middle ground of moderation and reasonableness that seems so sorely lacking in many parts of society today.

In the Presbyterian Church, we certainly base our beliefs on the Bible, but we also affirm that God is leading us to new understandings about what it means to be good and faithful people in the world today -- an approach that requires a certain willingness to change. Although we once understood the Bible to support slavery and the second-class status of women, for example, we now read it and hear God calling for freedom and equality. We are a church that is supposed to be in the process of reforming itself, and this has certainly been my emphasis since becoming pastor of Fairfax in 2001. While I preach biblical sermons, I also stress that we worship a God who is always surprising us -- sometimes even through the appearance of "Godmother Grace."

Such an approach challenges people to perform a balancing act, always weighing conservative certainty against liberal openness. And this, unfortunately, is a game that fewer and fewer people are willing to play. Loren Mead, an Episcopal priest and founding president of the Alban Institute in Bethesda, an interfaith organization that works to support congregations, observes that Protestants today seem less able to tolerate differences -- they feel pressure to resolve contentious issues such as those involving sex or gender, no matter the cost in relationships. Churches are living in a constant state of conflict, he says, with people on different sides of an issue drifting apart, shutting down dialogue and often using derogatory terms to belittle their opponents.

What is killed in these struggles is the notion that church can be a meeting ground for diverse points of view, a place for conversation, discovery and growth. When congregations fracture, says Mead, "we lose the chance to learn to deal with differences, to solve conflicts within a community of caring."

Although congregations should be models of reconciliation in an increasingly shattered society, the opposite is often true. My colleague Roy Howard, pastor of Saint Mark Presbyterian Church in Rockville, tells me that some church professionals are actually encouraging polarization, instead of resisting it. "Church growth manuals that have proliferated in the past several years advise that 'like attracts like,' and leaders should be positioning their ministry to attract people who are just like them," he says.

While these churches do seem to be succeeding in attracting members, Howard laments this style of growth, noting that "this kind of church bears no resemblance to the church described in the New Testament of rich and poor, strong and weak." Although dividing into congregations of like-minded persons who agree on issues may be easier to live with, it cannot be truly healthy. We grow into deeper understanding by conversation and relationships with people who are different from us.

So, what is the future of church life? Personalized faith and comfort-fit congregational options? Or the abandonment of community life altogether, in what sociologist Alan Wolfe tells me is the danger that "we will lose congregational life of any kind as Americans turn away from institutions in favor of home churching, the Internet, or other such innovations"? (Of course, this trend will not go that far, he assures me, since "we remain a church-going people.")

My own fear is that we will continue to lose congregations that strive for balance in an increasingly polarized world, congregations like my own. While it's true that we moderates are often seen as lukewarm, and are accused by some of not being "true believers," I'm convinced that our congregations are important. I am committed to what we are doing in Fairfax, and our approach is clearly attractive to some -- our church is growing a little again, reversing a decline that began in 1990 and saw total membership drop from 1,200 to 800. But the future is far from clear and I am aware that one congregation does not create a denominational trend.

Still, I can only hope that when Fairfax Presbyterian Church celebrates its 100th anniversary in 2053, my children will look back and remember not just the comfort of church, but also the challenge of stimulating classes and conversations in a community of diverse points of view.

© 2003 The Washington Post Company

Henry Brinton is pastor of Fairfax Presbyterian Church.

Author's e-mail: hgbrinton@aol.com

Link to Henry Brinton's Washington Post Articles Index Page

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