Work With Hope

Today marks the second Sunday that churches have not held in-person services. Some are holding online recorded or interactive services, but the fundamental routine of getting up, getting dressed, and joining with others for an hour before going out to breakfast (another tradition that might be even more missed) has been interrupted and is likely to be for quite some time. What will happen to this aspect of our culture when the doors are reopened? I know people will flood back into restaurants (many of us have a “first place I’ll go” list), bars, and coffee shops (movie theaters, I’m not so sure, but that’s another day), but will they come back to churches and what will these churches be?

First let me say that I’m discussing this as a trends analyst, using my understanding to attempt to project what will happen, not as an interested party. I’m not trying to make something happen or not happen, just trying to match facts, circumstance, and my read on human nature. Second, I’m not judging churches or people (well, actually one paragraph later on will be pretty judgy) nor am I going into matters of faith, rather I’m looking at this from a sociological point of view. Finally, I will be focusing on Catholic Churches primarily because I know more about them, and some of my conclusions may not hold true for other denominations. I would be interested in other perspectives.

Let’s start with context, I have been predicting a drastic reduction in numbers of people attending regular religious services for some time. Parish affiliation (except in some particular cases) is weak, and the regular attendance in many parishes has been declining and aging for some time. The traditional belief that it is a sin to miss Sunday mass no longer has much hold in the decisions of even practicing Catholics. Though some places boast continued strength in collections, analysis of giving patterns shows that collections are both shrinking and being increasingly supported by a smaller and smaller older demographic. As this older group passes on (and obviously this will be a factor in a virus that primarily targets older people) parishes will have significantly reduced income. The next generation has not developed the habits of giving (or attendance) that their parents had, therefore churches will be forced to reduce services, which can cause an accelerating spiral. All of these factors were in place prior to this crisis, but COVID-19, and the way we are reacting to it, will most likely act as an accelerant, and compress a ten year trend into an immediate reality.

I will leave it to others to analyze reasons for this decline. Obviously I have my thoughts, including a generation of news about scandal, hierarchical structure, closed minded allegiance to orthodoxy over persons, the disintegration of the Catholic School system, poor quality services and preaching, and cultural changes out of the control of any parish or diocese (one could argue that the decline of formal church might be as much because of club soccer as anything else). Needless to say, if many only go because they “have to” instead of “want to,” a disruption like this is a perfect antidote. Hmm, appears I didn’t completely leave it to others.

So if this has already been in motion, how will the virus, and more importantly the response to the virus, affect the next steps? In order to examine this we need to look at it from two separate but related perspectives, people and money.

People

As with most other things in this time, the length of the lockdown is critical to ultimate effects. I suspect that we will see the lockdown in three phases, the current absolute phase where church services and all gatherings are forbidden, moving to a transitional phase where things will be allowed but people will self-select which to attend, to a resumption of full public life after the greatest threat has passed. If this is true, church attendance will continue to be hit through phases one and two. The number of people who will choose to attend church at a potential risk to health will not be inconsequential, but it certainly won’t be business as usual, and as the elderly (those who have not succumbed to the virus) are the most vulnerable, this key demographic may be the last to return (I have to admit, I’m not sure about this, because older Catholics are much more tied to the obligation of Church, so this may balance out).

Beyond when, the question of will they come back is far from certain. As bored as many of us are in our homes, we are currently developing new ways of being. If church attendance could be seen by many as a “habit,” then several weeks of other activities can break the habit. What will happen when regular church attendance is replaced for a time with sleep in, coffee, croissants, and the New York Times crossword puzzle? So if resuming church attendance is a choice, then churches will have to win back the converted (WARNING: this is where I get judgy). Given the poor quality of services and preaching at most Catholic Churches, compared with the additional support and services provided by other Christian denominations, I believe it is unlikely that anything close to current (already declining) numbers will return. If what is currently offered is not holding them, it certainly will never win them.

NOTE: I am certain that some of my friends are saying, “But the Eucharist!” As I said at the beginning, this is a sociological, not a faith-based exploration. You could be right.

Money

I have always appreciated Don Ohlmeyers quote, “The answer to all your questions is money.” I quoted this regularly when I worked in the schools office and was regularly struck with how accurately it described every situation. Because the Church is fundamentally a business, and frankly it has the worst business model to endure this type of shutdown

Let’s start here with the public perception of the wealth of the Church. Honestly, I don’t know the facts here (I don’t know who does), but even if the assets of the Vatican were liquidated, I don’t know how long they could support the current structure. The reality is that the majority of parishes (with exceptions in wealthier communities) in Orange County, a tremendously wealthy part of a wealthy state, run barely above or in deficit (I get this not from any “inside knowledge” but from reading public financial reports). Falling collections have not been replaced by other revenues, and parishes have adopted a scarcity model of cutting rather than building. Over half the parishes in most dioceses operate much like a family living from paycheck to paycheck. Guess who has just missed two paychecks?

Likewise, most dioceses have few reserves to manage a major financial hit. The cash reserves in the past have been eaten up in settlements over past and current wrongs (just a fact), leaving many dioceses at or near bankruptcy prior to this current crisis. The key asset of the Church is property, but getting rid of property (especially in what will clearly be a depressed market for some time) isn’t easy and is only a one-time boost of cash that can’t bail out a essentially failing financial system. Many wealthy parishes share significantly with parishes in need, but this is not mandated by structure or Canon Law and will probably not be enough to weather the coming storm.

The effects of this unprecedented interruption in revenue, like the interruption in attendance, will be determined by the length of interruption. Most churches are offering “online Masses” with collections, and the revenue from these will be fascinating to follow. However, it is unlikely that attendance (or donations) will be large, and most certainly these will be least successful in the parishes most in financial need, whose congregations are often less likely to give online. Many parishes have for years supported direct deposit giving, which should work unless congregants shut it down, but again these numbers are small, and once again they favor wealthy parishes.

And looming before us in three weeks’ time is Easter. The Easter collection for most parishes is the second largest collection of the year and is used to help cover deficits of other weeks. While no decisions are clear for April yet, it is unlikely that we will be out of phase 2 of lockdown (self-selecting attendance) and we very well may still be in phase 1. The loss of five weeks of revenue including this bonanza will likely push most parishes (and dioceses) into default. Churches may be sold (or lost) and the scope of ministry will be greatly curtailed. People when they return are unlikely to have the ability or the inclination to make up this deficit as the impact of the crisis affects everyone’s income.

What Will Emerge

If we stick with the original premise that this crisis is an accelerant of existing trends and not a root cause, then some direction becomes clear. Though no one can say with certainty how anything will emerge from COVID-19, I see three trends feeding from it and (to quote a speaker I once heard) “I may be wrong, but I think I’m not.”

• The shrinking of the middle-class Church. This is already well documented as a trend that church attendance is a bifurcated curve of wealthy conservatives and poorer (often immigrant) devouts. Given that these two populations are most tied to the church, they are the most likely to return. Richer communities will be able to support churches despite smaller numbers, and smaller poorer communities will demand fewer services and simpler worship. NOTE: I understand that this is WILDLY reductive, and I apologize, but current statistics back this up, and I am talking about group trends, not any individuals.
• The continued movement to the right. Despite the well-publicized statements of Pope Francis, one need only look at decisions made in the church in America in the past year to see that the power structure is fully ensconced in the camp of the right. As the church looks to wealthy conservatives (wealthy liberals have already left, and most of the Church was happy to see them go). for bailout during this crisis, this group will continue to grow in power and voice.
• The flattening of the Church landscape. Though the Catholic Church will maintain much of its cache from its international infrastructure, dramatically shrinking numbers may put it more on par in numbers with other Christian and non-Christian denominations, and all of these will be dwarfed by the NONES, with no religious preference or participation.

This analysis is suggested without judgement. As I said at the beginning, I’m simply looking at things and reading them to what I see are likely conclusions. I don’t see any of this as good or bad, simply the outcomes of directions affected by prevailing conditions.

Today I’m cheating a bit in that I’m going to be using a poem that I used in a post about four years ago, but I’m going in a slightly different direction, so bear with me.

The poem is by Walt Whitman, titled “A Noiseless Patient Spider.” For anyone who doesn’t remember the poem from four years ago, here it is

I have always found this poem remarkably beautiful in its use of extended metaphor to explore human existence. Just as the spider connects to its world through bonds of filament, so we create the meaning and reality of our life through bonds of love, familiarity, need, etc. Our existence and equilibrium are maintained through the security and balance of these ties.

I was thinking about this poem this morning because the current situation has severed so many of the “lifelines” on which we define our existence. For most of us who are in lockdown, our daily physical interaction is limited to those with whom we share a home, which, if one lives alone, is no one. Though many still work from home, many of the ties of job are falling away. Life in society is limited to “essential” businesses and passing walkers on the street. It occurred to me that no one has touched me in at least five days and for many people it’s longer than that. One by one the filaments are removed, and after so many strings are cut, the spider falls.

I suppose the greatest saving grace at this time is the digital connections that have supplemented (and we have often complained supplanted) our physical bonds. I do not know how I could have endured this week without regular contact with friends through emails, texts, and calls, not to mention the (too much) information received. A digital-less quarantine would be much more difficult, and many more would be in trouble.

I think where I’m going with this is the need to look out for the webs of others and recognizing what role we each play in keeping another person connected. Also, as all of us lose some of our connections, we need to establish new stabilizers through hobbies, reading, volunteering, or anything that can serve as a temporary (or long term) stabilizing line.

Finally, just as the spider who falls, simply climbs back up and begins again, so we need to be aware of those who fall and assist them as they try to reconnect. I know that I have fallen a couple of times in this first week, and I am so grateful to the people in my life who have reached out to support me as I try to establish new systems. This is always true, but just as life has become more intensified by crisis, the fundamental truths are closer to the surface, as is the web that holds us together

Be safe, be strong.

I walked to the store today. My local grocery store is about 2 miles away, so it’s an easy walk, though I usually take my car because it is less time consuming. However, this morning, I frankly wanted to consume time as I’m finding that I have quite a lot of it on my hands these days.

In California we are now on lockdown (a term that probably means something different to every official and civilian who uses it). People are encouraged to stay in their homes except for essential business, and only essential businesses are to remain open. The key word, of course, is essential, as your trivial is my essential. I read this morning that GameStop stores are saying that they are essential in these times, and who am I to argue? However, walking is still encouraged for the time being, and it’s nicer to walk outside on a beautiful morning like this than to pace like a caged animal in my house, pushing time along step by step.

Time is a concept that seems so obvious and clear to us until we start to really look at it. I was very intrigued by a speaker I heard once who suggested that the five senses that we learned as a child were not comprehensive and that among other essential senses we have is a sense of time. This suggests that though there might be some external reality to time, it really only exists through the interaction with our sense, our perception of the separation of events. Time may not be a constant, but an amalgamation of perceptions, or as Einstein said, “Time and space are modes by which we think and not conditions in which we live.”

If time is relative, then it is clear that perception of time can be long or short in relation to what is happening. All of which leads to today (boy, did that take a long time to get there) and the lengthening of time. So many of the anchors of our day have been taken away, and suddenly we are awash with time. This is particularly apparent for people who live alone. A day which has been filled with events and obligations and interactions with other people is suddenly pretty empty, as we redesign our day around new realities. For many, the obligations of job continue to have some hold, but I suspect for most that even these will drop off a bit in a week or two as we are finally given the time for which we have always been asking.

So what to do? One friend pointed out on Facebook that this is finally the perfect time to read  À la recherche du temps perdu, or maybe I can finally conquer Infinite Jest (a mountain I have approached on multiple occasions but never summited). Many are exercising using digital guides, trying to fend off “quarantine gut.” I was wishing this morning that I had fabric to make a banner, which I haven’t done in years, though I suspect that the stores selling these supplies would not be considered essential. I write my blog, I make a playlist, I nibble on projects for work, but a lot of the time I sit and think and feel, and time certainly creeps.

Take care of each other.

There are moments when we barely notice the difference. Commonplace occurrences encircle our day, a conversation with a friend, an annoying email, cleaning the house, weeding the garden, riding my bicycle, go on much like before. If one focuses on what is directly in front, the whole thing disappears for a few minutes. However, for every comforting amnesiac, there are moments of stark recognition beyond empty shelves of toilet paper. Speaking of which, I wonder how many paragraphs into the story of 2020 will pass before the mention of this. Corona virus has a terrible PR firm to have it so firmly tied in everyone’s mind to toilet paper!

I saw this yesterday when I stopped for a coffee at Starbucks. The comfort of a cup of coffee, whether instant at home or from a shop has been a constant as others have been taken away. As I drove up, I was worried for a moment that the shop might be closed, but I saw the lights and people and was instantly reassured that some things remain the same. That was until I opened the door.

Most recent health orders in Orange County have required restaurants to stop table and “eat in” service and continue as carry out and delivery only. While I knew this before I entered, I had to catch my breath to see all of the tables and chairs in the large Starbucks pushed to a pile at the side of the room and nothing but empty space filling up the store. The echoing quiet with only the sounds of machines and subdued baristas (Subdued Baristas would be a great band name…if we are every able to have bands again) was eerie in what is usually the most convivial of places.

I gave my order (small dark roast, in case you are interested), and as I waited, I noticed that the coffee condiments table had also been removed and replaced with a sign that sugar and cream would be available by request. Even this tiny momentary gathering spot is stolen by potential contagion. I have been in empty Starbucks before, but nothing ever felt emptier than this.

I had two thoughts during the moments between my order and my quick retreat, one personal and one more collective. Though I have always considered myself to be an introvert (I can talk to a room of a thousand but don’t make me make conversation at a party) I am very aware that I gain energy by being around people (not talking to them, just sitting in their midst). Most evenings if I have no plans, I head for a restaurant or coffee shop where I can sit by myself and feel the life around me. The empty Starbucks communicated in its silence that this is a pleasure that is taken from me for the foreseeable future.

A broader societal question is what this time will do to our culture. Starbucks, whether you love it or hate it, has clearly created a coffee house culture of public gathering places created less for the service of a meal and more for the actual act of gathering. Coffee is the excuse as often as it is the goal of a trip to SBX (or one of the others), rather it is meeting friends, conducting business, or, like me, feeling life around us in an isolated world. What will take the place of this essential part of our culture during its absence, and more importantly, will we resume old habits after someone blows the “all clear” whistle, or will we be so comfortable in our houses that we permanently trade coffee shop for Keurig (or Nespresso).

I’m sure I will continue to go in to Starbucks for coffee as long as I am able, but the coffee is a little colder.

Take care of each other.

As the abundance of daily life gets gradually stripped away, and as we each face an indeterminate sentence of solitary (or near solitary) confinement, we are also given an opportunity to redefine our lives and how we live them. It is not impossible that the current worldwide health crisis, coupled with the even more devastating necessary measures taken to address this crisis, is not a comma separating items in a series, but a period (or at least a semicolon) marking the end of something and the beginning of something related, but not the same.

Of course, it is not the first time that life has reset. Looking back through history, we can find multiple nexus points where nature (or human beings) stepped in to the flow of “normal” life and redefined the terms. From the obvious comparisons of plagues and other epi- (and pan-) demics to world wars and accompanying financial collapses to a pesky meteor hitting the planet and cooling everything down for a while, the line of history has been anything but straight. However, viewing each of these through our vantage point, we can only see the through line, not how it looked from within the pivot.

Even the term normal life is a misnomer. We all have crisis moments that change the current course and send us in different directions. Many of these are shared, though experienced separately, such as deaths of parents, divorce, loss of job, etc. But we seldom experience such a shift so collectively and simultaneously. With each passing day, with each additional measure, and with the devastation of the disease itself, our world is changing in ways that we will grapple with for years and that we may not understand in our lifetime.

Of course, none of this happens outside of context as well. One could argue that our path to this crisis has been paved by decisions made long before Corona marched on to the scene. We have been living in a toxic environment without a toxic virus (my friend William hates the current use of the word toxic, but I hope you will excuse this one). An image I have of this time is Nature putting us all into timeout, telling us to think about what we’ve been doing. Our frustration and anger and hopelessness have worn away at our collective immune systems, making us more susceptible to whatever comes our way, be it virus or despair, and it will take more than a vaccine to get us through.

Very few will be unscathed by this, and the millions of little stories will merge into a collective narrative of pain, loss, struggle, courage, and hope. My way of coping with an insane world has always been to write, so I have decided to take this opportunity to offer a special “non Christmas” version of the blog. In the coming indeterminate number of days of captivity, I will write a daily post about some aspect of the world changing around us, both my own experiences and my limited analysis of broader trends. Though I don’t suspect that I can be profound (or even original), I want to face what is coming with thoughtfulness and care. We have very little control or choice over what comes next; however, we are not defined by our times but by our reaction to them.

Take care of each other.

Sometimes I’ve really struggled to come up with a Christmas wish, but this year I’m happy to say that my wish for 2019 was given directly to me. It’s absolutely the best, and completely organic with the flow of the posts this year.

On the 20th I wrote about how I gave in and put up decorations despite my intentions to abstain this year. I put up my Christmas banners, 2 wreaths, and a lighted garland. Last I hung my stocking in front of the fireplace because it looked wrong to have a fireplace without a stocking. My joking comment in the post was “It will be a true miracle if it gets filled.”

Well, it is Christmas Eve, and the stocking is full. No, I didn’t turn it into a self-indulgent sock and fill it with gifts for myself! Rather I turned around one day and saw that it was filled…you do know I saw it as soon as you did it and I deliberately didn’t mention it, right?

I haven’t looked to see what is in it, because I already know. My gift is the same that I wish for all of you, the gift of friendship.

Yesterday I talked about my struggles through the year, but the thing that helped me through it and the best thing about the year were the old and new friends who shared it with me. Some of my friendships are old and comfortable (though always surprising me); some are new and exciting; and some are complicated and tinged with disappointment. However, all of them made my year better and as I look back, I can’t believe how lucky I have been.

It’s not just the number of good friends who have brightened my year. It’s the various textures and intricacies of each that has brought light to my world and joy this Christmas. I don’t know what I have done to be so blessed, God knows, it’s often not easy to be around me, and I am very aware of my failures. But like the stocking, it just happens, and all we can do is be grateful.

So I wish you the comfort and love of your friends and the awareness of the gift they are to you. I look forward to joining you here again next December to report on another year. Have a merry Christmas and a blessed 2020!

Day 23 is the traditional day to look back and assess this yearly performance art project. So here goes…

As I look at the entries for 2019, I feel that they match the year itself. There are very few I feel are of the quality of previous years, and I think the emptiness I feel this year has come though loud and clear in my writing.

2019 has not been a great year for me, but I think it’s broader than me alone. I’ve not had anyone say that this is a good year, and I hear many more stories of loss and sadness than in hope and success. The social and political milieu in which we cower probably has a lot to do with this, and I think psychologists years from now will be able to detect a collective trauma in the human psyche traced back to this time when we decided as a people to just go off the tracks.

It is easy to point at a single figure (and he does continue to distinguish himself in the cartoon villains hall of fame) as the source of all this angst. However, the lack of real response, and the quality of response when it happens probably saddens me and deadens me most of all. We have never been more hypersensitive to insult while tolerant of one who crosses every line we (and human decency) have ever drawn. It refutes my belief that we don’t deserve this with a loud voice that this is exactly what we deserve. It is us…and how do you write in a world like this?

I didn’t start this post to be political, and let me say again that the quality and tactics of “my side” depress me more than the right, but it is the low grade fever that we all live with every day. In a trauma ward it’s hard to focus on anything but trauma.

That being said, I am going to commit today that I will do the 24 days of blogging next year. There is an insane hope in me that somehow 2020 will be an important year and the beginning of a different decade. I know there will be more significant changes for me, I hope there will be good ones, and I hope and pray that these will act as a catalyst to new ideas and new energy.

Many, many thanks to anyone who slogged through these posts this year. I hope there have been a few moments of enjoyment while you sat vigil with me. Tomorrow I will give my yearly Christmas wish, but today I hope that you and our broken world will have a better 2020.

At the beginning of these twenty-four posts, I said that I wanted to focus on things for which I am grateful. Paging back, I see that I haven’t followed through as well as I would have liked, which is a shame, because I have plenty to be thankful for. And so for today I’d like to focus on what I am most grateful for in my life and in the past year.

A little more than twenty-seven years ago, a wonderful girl came into my life, and she has been amazing me ever since. My darling daughter Taylor wrenched me from everything life had been and let me know (in no uncertain terms) that she would be a focus of the rest of my days.

I was far from a great father during her growing years. My drive to define my life by making a living and advancing in my career took far too much attention too much of the time. Broader than that was my basic uncertainty with how I should be with a little girl. I never knew what to talk about or what to say, a lack that was made more clear by the complete ease with which she and her mother bonded. Too often I let the closeness of that relationship be an excuse for my own distance.

But distant or not, I watched and admired her navigating through two schools where her parents worked (enough to put any child into therapy) while taking dance classes six days a week. I watched as she grew through performances, and even today I find it a little disorienting that I can’t go to the Nutcracker to see how she has grown as a dancer since the previous ballet. I was amazed that she went away to college and completed her degree, and I was overwhelmed (both positively and negatively) when she chose to move away to live in New York. She has been there for over two years, and while not all of her dreams have come true yet, she is making it every day. I don’t know (or rather I do know) that I could have done this at her age…or any age.

Best of all, ironically as she has moved farther away, we have grown closer together. We talk via text or phone nearly every day, and I have had sone wonderful times visiting her and listening to the challenges and joys of her life. I still can’t say that I am as close with her as her mother is, but she is a real part of my life every day.

So as I face our second Christmas apart (she came home the first year), I am abundantly aware how lucky I am to have her and how much I look forward to watching her growth and success in 2020. I hope she will have her best year yet, and I am grateful, whatever the year brings, that I will be part of it.

Today is the first day of winter, and appropriately it was relatively cold today and we are expecting rain beginning tomorrow through Christmas. No hot spell this Christmas time, as we have had so many years in the past. It’s weather that just makes me want to come inside and stay.

Living alone is a banquet of options. Sometimes it’s wonderful to just take off and go somewhere for an evening or a day or multiple days. Though I am by nature an introvert, I love being out around people, particularly if I don’t have to talk with them. I have a whole series of places that I go to people watch, and I was planning to go to one tonight.

I came home from baking cookies at a friend’s. The oven doesn’t work where I’m living, so I have to borrow the oven of my good friend David. I bake cookies in his oven while we watch football in a weird combination of the Food Network and ESPN. I planned on dropping off the cookies and heading back out, but as I got out of my car and felt the cold air outside I decided almost immediately to stay in.

I don’t have any plans for a night at home, and it really isn’t all that cold, I just want to not be out. Sometimes I (and we) have to pull myself from the chaos and cold of the outside world just to feel the warmth of solitude. I will enjoy being inside tonight, whether I read a book or watch the new Christmas Carol on FX, or just sit and enjoy coffee and a newly baked cookies.

It’s winter outside. It’s time to come in.

For those who note dates on blog posts, yes, this is being published on the 21st. I started writing on the 20th and fell asleep.

Put up the brightest string of lights I’ve ever seen.
Slice up the fruitcake;
It’s time we hung some tinsel on that evergreen bough.
For I’ve grown a little leaner,
Grown a little colder,
Grown a little sadder,
Grown a little older,
And I need a little angel
Sitting on my shoulder,
Need a little Christmas now.

As I think I said earlier, I’m living in a temporary place this year. My friend is preparing a house for sale, and I’m staying here while she works on it for the next few months. It has been a true blessing to have a comfortable place to stay while I contemplate my next move, but this isn’t a permanent (or semi-permanent) home.

When I moved in around Thanksgiving, I put my box of Christmas decorations in the back of the pile, because I couldn’t see myself decorating this year on this transient Christmas. I’m not home all that much, and I can’t see myself entertaining here, so any decorations I put up would only be for me. I felt that this was going to be a hard candy Christmas, and, God-willing, next year I’ll be in different place where decorations make a little more sense.

But one morning I took out my Christmas banner and put it on an unused hook on the wall. I thought, I might as well, the hook was just hanging there. After that I noticed several more hooks, and I took my earlier Christmas banners, dating back forty years, that I had found when cleaning out my parents’ house and hung them as well.

A wreath was next. I was shopping at Trader Joe’s, and thought it might be nice to hang a wreath on the door. I have a wreath hanger, for goodness sake. When taking out my wreath hanger, I found my Christmas clock that plays carols every hour. The clock in the kitchen hasn’t been working here, so it just made sense to put up mine. One more wreath in the box? Well, there is a nail right there, so why not? And why not put a lovely Christmas table cloth on the table?

By this point, the illusions of restraint were breaking down, so I took out the lighted garland and hung it up in the living room. I finished (for now) by hanging my stocking by the fireplace (where it will be a true miracle if it gets filled!).

I’ve resisted the temptation to put up a tree, but these little bits of Christmas have brightened my spirit tremendously. The lights particularly have turned the room (and my soul) into a warmer and brighter place.