Churches of the Silver Valley: Prayer Station, Wallace

(Part 11 in an ongoing series.)

Today is my daughter's birthday, and we're celebrating with a road trip, which means there was no Silver Valley church visit this weekend. But one of the first stops we made on our church tour, way back in June, was to the old Methodist Church building in Wallace.

The building itself dates to 1900, and it held on as a place of Methodist worship for 120 years before membership had dwindled to one elderly parishioner. In 2020, Methodist services came to an end, and the building was leased out to a nonsectarian Christian group known as the Prayer Station. 

That group, organized and led by Art Fleming, continues to meet there, keeping the old building's spiritual purpose alive. And they live up to their name: By the entrance, there's a box where you can drop your requests for the group to pray on.

When you go inside, you find that the old stained-glass windows are still intact, as is the pipe organ that dates to the very early years of the church. Even the old pews have been retained for seating. 

However, the Prayer Station's church service itself isn't formal or liturgical, as the surroundings may lead you to expect, but rather carried out in a relaxed and informal way that's characteristic of so many of the nondenominational and otherwise evangelical churches I've visited around the Valley. There are no vestments or pulpits, just folks in street clothes, with Mr. Fleming holding a microphone, and lyrics to the praise-and-worship songs that open the service visible to the congregation on a TV screen.

This is the view looking down at the front door. The church is laid out like a split-level house: When you step inside, you have to either go downstairs to the basement, or upstairs to the sanctuary. 

On the Sunday my kiddo and I visited, Mr. Fleming and his wife were celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. Spirits were high, and the small crowd of a dozen or so people listened on intently as he introduced a new series called "Footprints," examining what it means to follow Christ. A friend of Mr. Fleming's, Pastor Gordon Mills, led the discussion, which focused on Jesus' proclamation in John 8:31 that those who abide in his word are his disciples. The core of his talk was that we have to conform ourselves to Christ's words and internalize what they really mean, taking action on them rather than just passively memorizing verses and going through the motions. We have to conform ourselves to God, the pastor said, yet so often we do just the opposite, making God in our image, which prevents us from being passionate about our faith and letting it transform us inwardly. Those who are stuck in such a position, he said, don't know they're starving until they eat -- in other words, they don't know that they're spiritually famished until they dive in to the Word and allow it to work in their lives.

There were scattered amens from the crowd as people wrote in their notebooks and followed along in their dog-eared, bookmarked, highlighted Bibles. It struck me as I looked around the room that these were precisely the kind of folks Pastor Gordon wanted to see carrying out the faith -- deeply involved, engaged, and passionate about their beliefs.

I noticed when we came in for the service that evening that there were three weekly events posted on the entrance: the Sunday event we were at, an intimate Thursday prayer service, and a liturgically styled service on Wednesdays.

I was able to make it to the Thursday service a week or two later. It took place within a circle of chairs and sofas in a curtained-off nook adjacent to the sanctuary. Folks casually chatted with each other, as Mr. Fleming encouraged people to speak freely about any prayer requests they had. Some requests were personal for loved ones and family situations, and others were for the well-being of the local community. Mr. Fleming took notes during the meeting and led the group in prayer at its conclusion.

The Wednesday service was led by another fellow whose wife had just had a baby, so that meeting ended up being postponed for a while as the new parents had their hands full with other responsibilities. When I stopped by one Wednesday in mid-July at the posted meeting time to see if the service had resumed, the church doors were locked. I asked Mr. Fleming by email whether he knew when things would start up again, but I happened to catch him at an inopportune time, just when he'd lost his father. So I respectfully stepped back and gave him time to grieve. 

I have to assume the liturgical nature of the Wednesday service was the reason there were still Methodist hymnals in the pews. But I can't say for sure. 

All I know for certain is that, as of late July, any mention of the Wednesday service had been removed from the list of weekly services on the front door.

Whatever its fate, the fact remains that Mr. Fleming does a lot of good for the community. He runs the local food bank out of the Prayer Station, and I know he's been involved with the local Chamber of Commerce in the past. Other pastors I've chatted with during my Churches of the Silver Valley tour have known him and spoken highly of him.

He said during the Sunday service I attended that he had no interest in competing with any other church in the Valley, which led me to believe that the Prayer Station is purely a project of love for him, a way for him to meet the spiritual needs of the people who live here. 

In the process of doing so, he's keeping a lovely old Wallace place of worship alive. Everybody wins. 

Churches of the Silver Valley: St. Rita's Catholic Church, Kellogg

(Part 10 in an ongoing series.)

I began this series by visiting one of the Silver Valley's three Catholic churches -- St. Alphonsus in Wallace. Today I visited another one, St. Rita's in Kellogg. 

Tomorrow, Aug. 15, is the Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin, which, in my personal theology -- focused as it is on Mary and the Sacred Feminine -- marks one of the highlights of the church year. At least one early pope regarded it on the same level as Christmas and Easter, and as theologically significant as the Incarnation and Resurrection. 

The pious belief that Mary was taken body and soul to heaven dates back to possibly as early as the second century. When the Catholic Church declared the Assumption a dogma in 1950, psychologist Carl Jung considered it "the most important religious event since the Reformation," declaring the church's declaration to be the fulfillment of a "deep longing in the masses for an intercessor and mediatrix who would at last take her place alongside the Holy Trinity and be received as 'Queen of heaven and Bride at the heavenly court.'"

Honestly, either you get it or you don't, and most people don't. Not even a lot of Catholics do.

Anyway, there isn't going to be an Assumption Mass in the Valley, other than a small gathering for the Coeur d'Alene Indians at the old Cataldo Mission. The tribe owns the church, which today is more a historical site than an active place of worship, and I got the impression from asking around that even though the Indians can't bar people from visiting a church that today sits on state park property, they don't really want the public around for their Mass. So I figured a stop at St. Rita's the day before the Assumption would have to be good enough for a pseudo-Assumption celebration this year.

First, a little bit about the building. Having been built in 1972, it's the youngest of the three Catholic church buildings in the Valley. 

A narrow narthex runs the length of the church, filled with bulletins, Catholic literature, and even a few free rosaries. A group of people were, in fact, reciting the rosary in the sanctuary when I got to church about 15 minutes before Mass. And if you were at all confused about what kind of church you'd walked into, there were photos of Pope Francis and Bishop Peter Christensen to greet you before you stepped off to the right and into the sanctuary.

The brick-walled sanctuary itself is laid out like an auditorium, with two middle sections of pews and one more section at an angle on each side, all pointing toward the altar at the bottom of the sloped floor.

I don't know what a typical turnout is for St. Rita's, but there were around 100 people there today. By the time Mass began, there wasn't an empty pew left. 

Although the Valley's Catholic churches won't be observing the Assumption, it was nice to see that St. Rita's at least acknowledged the day through music. Our opening song was "Immaculate Mary," and our closing one was " Hail Holy Queen," which just happen to be two of my most cherished Catholic hymns. 

As is my custom, I sat on the Mary side of the church, which seemed more fitting than usual today. After the Mass began, I glanced at the wall next to me and noticed I was even sitting next to the Fourth Station of the Cross, in which Jesus meets Mary on the way to his crucifixion. 

I always thought of the Fourth Station as an achingly poignant moment between mother and son, a tearful goodbye and the culmination of the sorrows that Mary was foretold she would bear. Her grief is indicative of the pains we all suffer as we traverse this valley of tears called life. And the church gives us Mary as someone we can commiserate with, a person whose shoulder we can cry on, a tender-hearted mother who shares in our suffering, comforts us with divine love, and carries our prayers and petitions heavenward because of her love for us.  

(Now you can see why, even though I'm not a religious literalist and I have my own personal theological views, I'll always be a Marian Catholic at heart.)

Today's Gospel reading came from Luke, when Christ proclaims that he came not to bring peace but division, and that he wishes the world were already ablaze with his word. Now, I take that passage to mean that his word will inflame strong passions that will divide people, but that those who follow him will be illuminated with the love of God. Fr. Jerome Montez today decided to run with a more forceful interpretation. It's funny that I've expected fire and brimstone at a couple of the evangelical churches I've visited so far in the Valley, and then I end up actually getting it from a Catholic priest. 

The fire in the scripture, Fr. Jerome said, is the fire of God's divine justice, a justice that won't sleep in the face of those who don't keep his commandments. "God does not play around," he said, and only a culture that does the will of God will find peace. If we fail to do God's will, our nation will fall, just as so many nations and empires that were turned over to their own immorality eventually rotted from within. It's not enough to join hands, sing "Kumbaya," and be all happy-clappy: We have to confront our loved ones, set an example for our kids, and be a Christ-like witness against our "godless" culture. If we "give in" to the "lifestyle" of the godless, we condone their sins and will be held accountable for doing so on Judgment Day. 

He went on to decry the "crap" and "junk" the culture feeds us, condemning abortion, same-sex marriage, and the "LGBTQRSTUVWXYZ" movement. "Don't give up your faith for this culture," he warned. Doing so will only lead to "eternal damnation."

Well, do with all that what you will. I've written before about my personal distaste for Fr. Jerome's preaching style. Technically, he didn't say anything theologically wrong, but there is something to be said for love of neighbor and tactful delivery. I've never gotten over when he said COVID was a punishment from God, much in the same way that high-level evangelical preachers in the past have said that AIDS and natural disasters were acts of divine retribution. He and I got off on the wrong foot, and today's homily told me that my objection to his style wasn't an isolated incident.

But that doesn't take away from the fact that the man works hard, tending to a total of five Catholic parishes in the area, and that parishioners seem to take a shine to him. Maybe he's a likeable guy when he's away from the altar. I don't know. But either way, this points to a stark difference between Catholic and Protestant culture: If you're a Protestant, you might shop around till you find a pastor whose preaching style you like and base your churchgoing decision on that alone, but in the Catholic church, you go because you're Catholic, not because you like or dislike the priest. He's only there to serve up the sacrifice of the Mass, not to win any popularity contests. (Not that you should just sit there and take anything a particular priest might happen to dish out, though. I left in the middle of a Mass once after a priest publicly embarrassed my daughter; we never went back to that church.)

I decided to receive communion today, after debating whether I wanted to following the bad taste the homily left in my mouth. I figured it's my birthright as a Catholic. 

Afterward, I went over to say hello to Mary, standing next to her rack of votive candles, and with St. Rita of Cascia, the woman after whom this particular church is named, looking over her. 

That was the prettiest view in the whole church, and it filled me with far more peace than the Mass itself did. 

Churches of the Silver Valley: The Worship Center, Smelterville

(Part nine in an ongoing series.)

I'd been to The Worship Center once before, back in early 2020. So I figured I knew what to expect when I headed out today to visit the only church in the little town of Smelterville, known more for its Walmart store these days than for its historical role in smeltering ore that gave the town its name, back in the mining heyday of the Silver Valley.

It's been a rough week for me from a physical standpoint, so I had it in my head that reviewing a place I'd been before would require less effort on my part. In fact, I'd been thinking about putting this series on pause for August, so I could rest and prepare myself for our family's upcoming road trip. But in the end I reasoned, probably correctly, that if I found an excuse to take a break, I'd never get back to it.

I was also tempted to visit a Unity Church out in Coeur d'Alene, outside the Valley, after happening upon a book last week that explored Unity's beliefs -- which seem not all that far removed from mine, at least in terms of how Unity envisions God and Christ as concepts, and our relationship to both. But I watched snippets of a few services online and didn't feel particularly moved by what I saw to make the hourlong trek. And Unity's embrace of the Prosperity Gospel kind of negated in my mind all the good that they might otherwise do.   

So off to Smelterville I went. But I was on my own today, as the kiddo decided to beg off on going to church this week. Yes, I started this series as a kind of religious-ed homeschooling project for her, but if she didn't feel like going to church, I wasn't going to force her. Having church forced on me as a kid, after all, only ended up making me like it less.   

So, about the church itself. This rather generically named place of worship makes its home inside a big tan-and-brown building that, as far as I could see, had no exterior signage whatsoever. There were a few folks talking outside the entrance, in an open pavilion area with folding tables. My best guess was that people had gathered to eat on this warm summer morning before the service. I spotted a coffee dispenser near the entrance, grabbed a cup, and headed inside.

In the hall leading to the sanctuary was an information desk with merchandise for sale. I'd find my way back there afterward. I could see from a countdown clock on one of the projector screens in the sanctuary that I had only three minutes till the service started, so I went in and found a seat at the back.

Now, The Worship Center is one of two churches in the Valley that resemble what I think of as a typical megachurch. Not that The Worship Center is large in physical size; it's more about an approach to doing church that rubs me the wrong way. To me, it happens when the spectacle of the church experience supersedes authentic worship, or when selling and maintaining a brand takes precedence over everything else. In short, sometimes we're confronted in these communities with what feels uncomfortably like Christianity as a capitalist commodity, all flash and little to no substance. 

So you could say that I walked in today feeling a bit cynical about what I was going to experience.

The place was packed. I'd say there were around 125 people, which actually is a massive church turnout for the Valley. Excepting St. Alphonsus Catholic Church, which had an unusually high attendance the week I visited because of Fr. Jerome Montez's ordination anniversary, I'd say today's turnout exceeded the total number of people attending all the other churches I've visited so far. Heck, there were more musicians onstage today than there were total attendees at a couple of churches I've been to.

The worship music, led by the onstage band, was what I expected in terms of lyrical content. Washed in his blood. Perfect submission. Blessed assurance. My God is bigger, greater, stronger than you. Oh, what a savior, wonderful Jesus, repeated like a mantra. You're still on your throne, so whatever I'm feeling, I've still got a reason to praise.

Those are all direct lifts from today's songs, all sung with earnest passion, as outstretched hands swayed in the air.

I have to be honest: This type of me-and-Jesus worship feels completely alien to me. It actually makes me feel anxious. I don't like the emotionalism of it. It feels shallow and self-centered. It seems to promote overly simplistic answers to both life and faith, embracing an easy-believism kind of Christianity that requires nothing of the practitioner because Jesus already took care of everything. 

But again, this church was packed, while so many Valley churches I've visited have been hollowed out. So maybe people dealing with serious struggles in their lives, as many in this area are, need an uncomplicated faith that gives them a simple hope that everything will work out OK. It doesn't get the job done for me, but then that's why I was just visiting and not a member. 

A little bit of background: The church itself is part of the Pentecostal Church of God, a worldwide denomination with more than 600,000 members. I learned during today's service that the church takes part in overseas missionary work and has undertaken tours of the Holy Land, no doubt drawing on the resources available from being part of a larger church organization. That's something most churches around here couldn't do, given their small congregations and limited funds, so it was certainly nice to see that such opportunities exist in the Valley for anyone interested in taking part. It appears that there are also several local study and fellowship groups that take place during the week, and the church offers a weekly food bank for the needy. The Worship Center appears to be a very active and engaged church that maintains a strong focus on helping others and sustaining their members' faith. 

The lead pastor at The Worship Center is Silver Valley native Corey Berti. Pastor Corey spoke only briefly today, as regional bishop Kelly Lineberry was in attendance to present a certificate of credentials to Ed Warren, a Worship Center member. Though the certificate was, in one sense, "just a piece of paper," the bishop said, it more deeply represented a calling from God to minister to the people. I obviously don't know the back story, but it was clear to me that Mr. Warren has been active in ministry work for the church and was being recognized for his actions, presumably with the goal of giving him more of a pastoral role. 

In fact, after the certificate presentation and a brief prayer, Mr. Warren was handed the stage to deliver the day's sermon. And it's at this point that I have to admit that my cynicism about what I expected today was rather misplaced. 

If you recall from last week's visit to Grace Evangelical Free Church, I expressed my pleasant surprise over Pastor Nick Hoffman's Micah 6:8-based Christianity that takes us out of ourselves and has us focusing on service to the needy and those on the margins. Well, today I heard Mr. Warren delivering a similar message that leaned heavily on the epistle of James and the Sermon on the Mount -- two of my favorite parts of the New Testament. They both call us to action out of love.

Hearing this sermon was kind of a shock to me, because I'm so accustomed to hearing Protestants criticize so-called "works-based salvation," the idea that you have to earn your way into heaven. To me, this stance has always seemed like an excuse for Christians to do nothing to better the world they live in or to better themselves, as if it's enough for them to simply coast through life because their ticket is already punched for heaven. But today I heard just the opposite of that message, and it was wonderful to experience. 

Volunteering at youth camps, Mr. Warren said one of the things he hears over and over from the kids is that they just want someone to love them. As traditional religious faith breaks down and society grows more self-absorbed and angry, alienation and unhappiness are taking ever deeper root. People become disconnected from each other as families pull apart and social networks break down, and they're left feeling unmoored in a world where the ground is constantly shifting under their feet. They have nothing to cling onto. No hope. No love.

This is where Christianity has a bold opportunity to step in and fill that void of love that so many people are experiencing. After all, Christ himself said that the world would know his disciples by their love. 

Mr. Warren made an excellent point that Christ came with an incredibly radical message, one that would set his followers apart from the rest of the world. In essence, when the rest of the world tells you to retaliate, to punch back, Christ said to turn the other cheek and not resist your oppressors -- and, in fact, to kill them with kindness. If someone sues you for your shirt, give them your cloak as well. If a soldier presses you into service to carry his gear for a mile, carry it for two. We do so not to humiliate them or show our moral superiority, but to be such an advocate for radical love that they might be inspired to follow our example. As I've said before, we should always assume that we're the only Bible some people will ever read. 

This is the point that the epistle of James presses so urgently. As Mr. Warren pointed out, James reminds us that it's not enough to tell the person in need to be well and keep warm; we ought to actually help to the extent that we can. This is why James says that faith without works is dead. It's all well and good to thank God for saving us, but do we return the favor and help others? Do we become the hands of Christ in a world that needs his love, or do we just recite creeds and beliefs, telling others about our faith but not showing it? 

To Mr. Warren's way of seeing it, Christians have to be different, and that difference is loving others, even when you're tired or annoyed and the last thing you want to do is reach out. You have to make Christ your "because," the reason you do what you do, loving others because he loved us first. 

Imagine a world where Christians looked like that, selflessly giving and serving, rather than condemnding fellow sinners and acting indifferent to a fallen world because "I've already got mine," both materially and theologically speaking. As I've said before, if Christianity looked more like Christ, maybe the churches wouldn't be emptying out and the world would be filled with more hope and love.

Mr. Warren wrapped up by asking the congregation to reflect during the week on 1 Peter 2:11-25, a passage that exhorts Christians to set an example for others by living a righteous life and following in the example of Christ, who never retaliated against his persecutors but gave his life as an act of sacrificial love. 

I don't think Paul was mentioned once at today's gathering. That alone is remarkable, given how Paul-centric so many Christians are. And when he's absent, the flavor of Christianity you get is completely different. It exudes love, charity, and openness instead of restrictive rules and condemnations. Not that I'm implying that either Mr. Warren or The Worship Center are opposed to Paul. It was just nice to get a break from him, and to see how the New Testament message unfolds so differently without him. I've never hidden my distaste for his teachings. 

You'd think I'd have no interest in Christianity if I don't care for Paul and can't bring myself to believe in an anthropomorphic God. But today's message at The Worship Center was a reminder of why I stick around. There are actually several reasons, like the way Mary connects me to the Sacred Feminine and fills a role for me both as a nurturing mother figure and as an avatar of the Holy Spirit. But even more than that, I just continue to love the story of Christianity, and I think the world would be a much better place if we put Christ's ethics to work and demonstrated the kind of emptying love that he showed others. He's not just a creed or a sacrificial proxy, and when that's all he is, we miss the point and do both ourselves and the world a disservice. And that's why I'm always delighted to see folks in the Christian fold emphasizing love, charity, and mercy over creeds and condemnations. It's those folks who represent our best chance to keep Christ, and Christianity, relevant in our world.

On my way out, I stopped by that merch table and decided to take home some beautiful illustrated study guides from The Daily Grace Company. Along with a guide dedicated to Ruth -- one of only two books of the Bible named for a woman -- and a reflection on The Lord's Prayer, the two books that really caught my eye were reflective of Mr. Warren's sermon today: James, and the Sermon on the Mount. 

People more faithful than I talk about how the Spirit nudges you to pay attention by leaving little clues for you. The fact that I expected easy-believism going into today's service and then got both a sermon and study guides on James and the Sermon on the Mount, encouraging us to demonstrate the love of Christ to a world in need, could easily have those same folks saying, "See? Someone's trying to tell you something."

Maybe; maybe not. I'm content to keep an open mind about it.

Churches of the Silver Valley: Grace Evangelical Free Church, Osburn

(Part eight in an ongoing series.)

What does it mean to be a Christian? 

In the church I grew up in, it meant going to Mass every week, regularly confessing your sins to receive absolution, frequently receiving communion, and trusting in the guidance of the priests, the examples of the saints, and the church magisterium.

In many churches I've visited over the years, it doesn't mean much more than having faith in Jesus so you can to heaven when you die. 

In yet others, it means indignation against others who fall short of perfection while glossing over one's own shortcomings.  

All those things popped into my head when I listened to a series of sermons on the Grace Evangelical Free Church's website a week or so ago. The topic of the series was righteous anger, and I was prepared to hear the kind of fire-and-brimstone bellowing from the pulpit that's so typical of what I've encountered over the years from evangelical preachers. 

Instead, I heard Pastor Nick Hoffman thoughtfully explaining to his congregation why he was angry about all the injustice in the world. He was angry that people are mistreated for looking different, that sick people can't afford life-saving medicine, that so many of us are so hard-hearted toward the less fortunate. 

What I heard actually made me feel bad for making assumptions. This is the message people need to hear from the churches, I thought. If, instead of pointing fingers at what we deem to be others' immorality, the church instead called us to be better people in Christ's name -- being his hands and feet in a world that sorely needs it -- maybe the churches wouldn't be emptying out. 

Over and over and over, scripture tells the faithful to help the poor, the widows, the less fortunate, the sojourners, the strangers among us, the "least of these." And yet so much of what I hear, in church after church, is either a narrow focus on abortion and homosexuality -- i.e., focusing on things that other people are doing that we think are wrong, rather than tending to the log in our own eye and treating others mercifully, as we would want ourselves to be treated -- or a tendency toward antinomianism, excusing our own bad behavior because we're so depraved that we can't do any better, and anyway, your faith in Jesus has already saved you, so what does it matter?

Even the Catholic Church expects people to live out the Corporal Works of Mercy to the extent they're able. The Corporal Works are all based on what Christ expected of his followers as spelled out in the Parable of the Sheep and Goats in Matthew 25. And yet not once, in all my decades in the Catholic Church, can I recall a priest actually giving a homily on the Corporal Works of Mercy.

And so we end up with a world of believers who are puffed up with pride, getting angry at people instead of for them, or who are so focused on the next world that they forget about the needs that exist in this one. I'm not even talking about so-called "works-based salvation," which doesn't really exist anyway. I'm talking about living out one's faith with mercy and love, leaving an impression on others so that if you're the only Bible they'll ever read, they go away heartened rather than repulsed. 

So it was with all that in mind that my daughter and I went to visit Grace Evangelical in Osburn today. 

Turns out the church didn't have its usual worship service today. The last Sunday of every month is a prayer service, with congregants seated in a circle to share their praises and offer their prayer requests. The sanctuary was a smallish part of a much bigger building that housed a sizable community hall. On one end of the sanctuary was a stage; on the other, a big stained-glass window that I noticed wasn't visible from outside the church. I felt as if there must be a story behind the window if it's walled in from the exterior, but I didn't ask.

After being greeted by many of the 15 or so other folks in attendance, we wandered back to the kitchen area, where the kiddo got herself a brownie and some water. Pastor Nick shook my hand and invited us into the circle, where he started things off by picking up an acoustic guitar and leading us in song. 

Before he started us singing the old hymn "What a Friend We Have in Jesus," he remarked on how important it is for us to go to God first with our troubles, not as a last resort -- which I thought was an appropriate lead-in to a service that was going to be focused on prayer. It does seem that a lot of people resort to prayer in desperation, only after they've lost all other hope.

I admit I've never been good at praying, as I don't really understand it, except as a way for us to submit ourselves to God's will. When I used to pray for an end to my health problems and nothing happened, the lesson I took away was that prayer wasn't for getting what we wanted, like asking a genie for a magic wish, but for coming to terms with whatever is inevitably in the cards for us. To that end, I learned that there was little point in begging for mercy when you're suffering, or really in asking for anything at all. After all, an all-knowing deity would already know how my life is going to play out, and it's not like I'm going to change his mind. "Not my will but yours be done," as Christ himself said.

Nor could I really relate to the thanks I heard today in prayer -- for example, from a couple who expressed their gratitude to God that they endured a long drive through oppressive heat without breaking down, while they passed other folks whose cars didn't make it. All I could think was, why didn't God help the other people too, instead of letting their cars break down in triple-digit weather?   

But that's my own theological struggle, and it has no bearing on Pastor Nick and the commendable way he presents God and Christ to his congregation. You can tell a lot about a pastor and his mindset by what he says even outside of a preaching context, and when I listened to him lamenting the existence of a tent city out in Spokane, where people have been forced out of housing by the cost of living, while others with mental health struggles were forced onto the streets after the system failed them, all I could think was, this guy really gets it. You can sneer at the bums while being content that you've got yours, or you can imagine yourself in their place, thinking about how you'd want to be treated, and try to help in whatever way you can.

He also commented on how lots of people come into the Valley to turn a profit without thinking of those who live there, which is something that hits home for me, as I see houses just down our street in Wallace being flipped and turned into B&Bs by owners who don't even live here and thus never integrate themselves into the local community. They take the money they earn from investing in a property here but don't put it back into the local economy. Meanwhile, the local cost of living goes up and home values increase. The latter is nice if we ever wanted to sell, but it creates a situation that's not so great for those who are finding everyday life too expensive for them to remain here. The rich get richer, and the poor have to find somewhere with a lower quality of life just so they can survive. 

Why are situations like this not the focus of those who follow Christ? Why do Christians not challenge a system that rewards greed and lays ever heavier burdens on the poor and working class? Shouldn't this be our focus, rather than fixating on others' personal sins and obsessing over a heavenly reward? Why do so many Christians look less like the Good Samaritan who stopped to help an enemy and more like the "holy" men who walked on by and offered nothing?

I'm not saying I'm perfect, or that I couldn't do more than I do. I'm just wondering why this isn't the baseline, the starting point, for living an authentic Christian life.

In any event, it's clear that Pastor Nick backs up his words with actions, as his church is an active participant in the local food banks -- he lamented at today's service that hunger isn't part of the current news cycle yet remains a pressing social problem -- and I saw in the bulletin a mention of Hope Pregnancy Center and Hospitals of Hope, which respectively offer crisis pregnancy services and medical assistance to the needy. 

And you know what? Any church that uses "Micah6:8" as its Wi-Fi password tells me everything I need to know about where that church is coming from theologically. That's long been one of my favorite Old Testament verses outside of the books of Proverbs, Wisdom, and Sirach. This is what it says, if you're unfamiliar:

What does the Lord require of you? To do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God. 

Pastor Nick wrapped up today's service by sharing the passage from Matthew 6 (ah, smack-dab in the middle of the Sermon on the Mount!), in which Jesus tells his followers not to make a personal show of praying in public to be seen and heard -- tell that to the street-corner preachers haranguing people with their bullhorns! -- but rather to seek out God in solitude and humility, praying sincerely from the heart. The passage led directly into the Lord's Prayer, which we prayed corporately to end today's gathering.

Now, I could tell you that the Evangelical Free Church is a merger of two other evangelical church bodies and that its membership numbers are climbing, in contrast to the sharp decline in mainline Protestant churches. That's all interesting data. But this is one case, in my mind, where the preacher takes on more importance than the denomination or its particular theological stances. 

If I haven't made it clear, I'm thoroughly impressed with Pastor Nick and his idea of what it means to be a Christian. People tend to turn Jesus into either a dour moralist or an anything-goes hippie, when I think both are distortions of what he taught. In my experience, few people can separate him from either modern political divides or their own personal convictions, trying to fit Christ into their worldview rather than letting Christ transform them. Because the thing is, you can be compassionate and charitable without being a woke authoritarian, and you can adhere to a life of personal responsibility and restraint that serves as an example to others without being a cold-hearted right-winger. After all, part of what it means to be a Christian is to align yourself not to the ways of this world but to Christ, who doesn't change with the political winds. 

It's nice to be reminded that there are still some followers of Christ out there who seek him outside of a contemporary political and social binary. There's a reason his teachings have survived for 2,000 years, even as nations and empires and political movements come and go. Those things are ephemeral. Truth and goodness, on the other hand, always endure.

Churches of the Silver Valley: Osburn Christian Center

(Part seven in an ongoing series.)

I wasn't in the best frame of mind when I left for this week's church visit. I was coming off one of my sleepless nights -- I think it's a neurological thing; my flaky health is something I've touched on here many times in the past -- and I was feeling agitated over some recent events that aren't germane to this post. 

I tried to talk myself out of going to church this week, but I had a feeling that if I didn't, I wouldn't go next week either, and the whole project would fall apart well before its completion. I know how I am.

So it was off to Osburn, two towns over from Wallace, for the second week in a row. This weekend, I decided to visit a place I drive by several times a week: the Osburn Christian Center, right along the main drag (so to speak). 

I try to do my due diligence before visiting a church every week; if there's a website, I'll listen to some past sermons or read up on the history and theology of that particular faith community. But information for OCC was scant. There was no website that I could find, and just a bare-bones Facebook page with an email address for contact information. I usually bypass the email option, as I fail to get a response more often than not. So that meant I was flying blind this week.

When the kiddo and I stepped inside the church, I looked around for a bulletin or a flyer of some kind, in further hopes of getting any information in advance before the service. Alas, I didn't see anything -- but I did notice a prominent "God Is Love" banner hanging in the social hall that led to the sanctuary. 

That statement, taken from the first epistle of John, is honestly one of my favorite New Testament verses: short and to the point, yet it conveys so much meaning. And if you proclaim that verse up front as a central part of your theology, I take that as a positive sign. 

Now that I think about it, that one banner told me more about OCC than any bulletin or flyer ever could. Good first impression!

Once in the sanctuary, I took a quick picture to capture the room, which felt really big after stepping into it from a pretty small doorway. I saw several musical instruments spread across the stage, but none of them would be used at today's service. I was left to wonder who played them, and when.

Looking around some more, I found a little bookcase full of Bibles and other religious books in a vestibule that led to an exit. I grabbed a New Living Translation so I could follow along, expecting that there would be a sermon drawn from scripture.

On the other side of the vestibule, I caught sight of this adorable little card on a bulletin board. I thought it did a commendable job of distilling the essence of the faith down to a level that even small children could understand.

I was also pleasantly surprised to see the old "Jesus Laughing" sketch from the early '70s that's been stuck in my mind ever since I first saw a copy of it hanging in a Catholic church in Kalamazoo, Michigan, probably close to 30 years ago now. I always liked how it showed a side of Christ that we almost never see in portrayals of him. We know very well how he looks when he's dour, sad, somber, tired, and serious, because we see him looking like that all the time. But rarely do we get to see the traits that would have made him relatably human to those around him.

OK, so I was starting to feel at ease here, even if I had no idea of what to expect from the actual service.

I needn't have worried. As soon as we sat down in the back row of chairs, that friendly evangelical outreach that I appreciate so much when I visit churches like this finally came through and saved the day. The fellow who walked over to greet me was named Levi Page, and he introduced himself as one of three pastors at the church. He and two women, named Shelby Brandi and Lisa Morden, are on a rotating preaching schedule, he told me. This week happened to be Pastor Shelby's turn to command the lectern.

But before that, the kiddo and I were invited up front to join in a prayer circle. I haven't been in one of those in a long time, so even though it felt a little awkward, it was nice of them to welcome a total stranger to join them in such an intimate moment. I stood and politely listened as the woman next to me asked for prayers for what I believe was her granddaughter, age 7, who'd asked if the congregation could pray for her as she went to the hospital. When the woman emotionally proclaimed that we all could use the faith of a 7-year-old, my mind went immediately to the verse in the 18th chapter of the Gospel of Matthew, when Jesus says that we must become like little children to enter the Kingdom. I admit that I don't know how to do that. It's a very hard concept for an overthinker to wrap his head around.  

Then we returned to our seats and the music began. Lots of it. Like, about 40 minutes of it. Now, I know nothing about the Contemporary Christian Music scene, outside of Neal Morse's first few prog-rock Christian-themed albums. But I have to say the music was pretty nice. Some of the songs at the churches I've been to so far have felt kind of bland and samey, but whoever made the song selections today came up with a nicely varied, lively, upbeat, and dynamic playlist. One song in particular jumped out at me, both musically and lyrically:

"Strike the Ground" by Seth Yates (I had to look that up) has a great buildup of atmospheric drama ... and in parts, it just flat-out rocks. Great stuff. And two lines in the verses stuck with me, inasmuch as they made me reflect on the battle between good and evil being waged in our culture, and even in the small towns we live in:

There's a war going on in the heavenlies

And we're tearing down wicked principalities

It really does feel of late as if diabolical forces are assembling to bring this world crashing down in a whirlwind of chaos and confusion, and I so deeply admire those with the depths of faith to propel them forward to be righteous and tireless warriors for their cause, especially on days when things seem so dark and hopeless. I lack that gift of faith and always have, but I still feel as if good folks like the ones at OCC and I are on the same side when it comes to the kind of world that we want to see prevail. 

After the music and before the sermon, we were invited to mingle freely around the sanctuary. There were only about 15 people present in total, so I got to say hello to most everyone. As I shook hand after hand, I had the distinct feeling of being introduced to members of a friendly, close-knit family. Most folks were, I'd guess, around my age or a little bit younger. Pastor Levi told me that the church itself was young and growing -- I neglected to ask him how long OCC has been around -- and I can certainly say that I felt a positive energy amongst the small congregation, one that exudes authenticity, groundedness, and seriousness about its faith, that I think gives it a strong foundation to build upon. I just hope the church can manage to get the word out to the public that it's here and, by all accounts, doing good things.

Finally, we got down to Pastor Shelby's sermon, which ran for about another 40 minutes. 

Using as a springboard the 37th chapter of Ezekiel, where God breathed life into a valley of dry bones, she talked about how so much of our contemporary spiritual strife is rooted in a rejection of the Holy Spirit that leads to a kind of spiritual dryness. If we've accepted Christ as our savior, she said, the Spirit already dwells within us; if that's the case, we just need to ask for a refreshing of the Spirit to renew our faith lives. ("The Kingdom of God is within you" is the verse that popped into my head when she said that.) 

But, she added, that doesn't mean waiting around for a big, grand, parting-of-the-Red-Sea moment. Instead, it means listening for the whisper in the ear to nudge us into everyday action, letting the Spirit, the Helper, the Paraclete, fill us with a holy presence so that we can be a light to others and do the work that has to be done before Christ's return. If we can do that, she said, it opens the door to allowing the Spirit to do great things through us, like performing healing miracles. 

  

It was an inspiring sermon that managed to remain friendly, casual, and personable. Its focus on paying attention to spiritual prompts for guidance reminded me of when I used to sit with the Quakers, who always emphasized the importance of listening for the "still, small voice" that would spur us to action. "Silence is the language of God," as the Sufi mystic Rumi once said, and I firmly believe that to be true. How can we hear what the Spirit has to say if our world and our minds are constantly full of noise?

 

Those who are aware of my spiritual leanings know that I'm drawn both to the Sacred Feminine, which I think has been overshadowed to our spiritual detriment, and to female ministers. I've always felt that women, as bearers and nurturers of new life, have a deeper connection to the life-creating Divine than we men do. Back when our family lived in the Seattle area, I often took my kiddo to an Episcopal church led by a female priest, because I felt it was important for her to see someone who looked like her up on the altar, as opposed to the Catholic church I was born into that only allows men to be priests. But I also felt that, somehow, that Episcopal priestess radiated a deeper, calmer, more profound, more mature spiritual wisdom and energy than many of her male peers were ever able to.   

All that's to say that I felt especially drawn to Pastor Shelby's message today, and I have to say I'd enjoy hearing her preach again sometime. But first, the kiddo and I have to finish our tour. I imagine we'll make return visits to some of the places we go, and OCC may well be one of them.

When I spoke again briefly with Pastor Levi after the service, he said that OCC was a nondenominational church with Pentecostal leanings. As soon as he mentioned Pentecostalism, the penny dropped: The Holy Spirit-centrism of Pastor Shelby's sermon made perfect sense, as did the prayer circle at the beginning of the service. I've had a turbulent relationship with Pentecostals and other similar "spirit-filled" churches, but overall I appreciate how on fire so many of them are for their faith. 

My experience with Pentecostal folks goes something like this. My first serious girlfriend, way back when I was 19 years old, came from a Pentecostal family, and not only did her mom regularly tell me how much she despised my Catholic faith, but my girlfriend once went to a Catholic Mass with me and remarked afterward that it was so spiritually dry, she'd seen more moisture in a piece of stale bread. The relationship was obviously doomed to fail. But at the same time, the Catholic church my family belonged to in my Michigan hometown was part of the "charismatic Catholic" movement that took hold in the '70s and '80s. The Masses themselves were normal Catholic Masses; the charismatic-minded folks met weekly in the church basement for prayer meetings -- complete with hands raised heavenward, healing circles, even speaking in tongues. While I was never quite sure what to think of it all, I couldn't for a second doubt the sincerity and depth of spirit-filled belief of those who participated in those charismatic prayer meetings, including my adoptive dad and my godfather. 

Those were interesting times in the formative years of my spiritual journey, and today's visit in Osburn managed to bring back some memories of those days.        

Churches of the Silver Valley: Bethany Lutheran Church, Osburn

(Part six in an ongoing series.)

Today's visit was a bit of a cheat, to the extent that Bethany Lutheran isn't strictly a church congregation anymore. The remaining members of the Osburn church voted to disband their community in the fall of 2021 and donate their building to Lutherhaven Ministries, a faith-based service organization headquartered in Coeur d'Alene. 

Bethany, which had served the Osburn community for around 80 years, shares the fate of other old churches in the Valley that are meeting their demise as the culture shifts and aging congregations die out, with not enough younger people to replace them to keep the churches open and functioning. As I've mentioned previously, Wallace's century-old Methodist Church now hosts a nondenominational "Prayer Station" -- more on that community in a future post -- and its stately old Episcopal Church building, which was an active place of worship for 108 years, is now a museum, featuring historical photographs of Wallace and the surrounding area. 

I met Deacon Jeff Arthurs last week out in Mullan, at Emmanuel Lutheran. Deacon Jeff serves both Emmanuel and Bethany, as neither community has its own pastor anymore. We spoke briefly after today's service about how, in some ways, the days of the circuit riders are returning in rural areas like ours: Since there's not enough of a congregation left at many churches to justify assigning them a pastor, someone like Deacon Jeff has to step in to minister to who's left. Fr. Jerome Montez, as I've mentioned, is in the same situation, having to take care of three Catholic churches here in the Valley as well as two other communities to the south of us. Even the modern-day circuit-riders, it seems, are stretched as thin as can be. Yet Deacon Jeff said he believes that these dwindling communities can't just be abandoned, as Christ calls on the faithful to serve the widows and all others in need.

Bethany's remaining congregation is very small. Today, there were seven of us in attendance, and that included Deacon Jeff. All but two of us present were his family members. Accordingly, Bethany's worship service takes place in the much more intimately sized community hall rather than in the old sanctuary.

Deacon Jeff did let me in to see the old sanctuary, which, happily, Lutherhaven has plans for. But as I looked around at the empty pews and took in the utter silence of the place, I could imagine with some sadness the worship services that took place there over the years, not to mention all the weddings, baptisms, and funerals. For decades, people celebrated and mourned together, here as one, just as they praised God through hymn and prayer together. But the world changed and time took its toll, as the hairs on the congregants' heads got grayer, and the number of people in the pews thinned out, not to be replaced, until the church community officially ceased to be. The ghosts of times gone by hung heavy in that room.

And it doesn't seem likely that the trend will reverse anytime soon. In fact, I read on Lutherhaven's website that only 25% of the residents of Shoshone County -- which contains the Silver Valley -- consider themselves religious. That's far below even the declining national average, and it goes a long way toward explaining why so many churches in the Valley are withering away.  

As far as today's service went, the sermon focused on Paul's proclamation in Romans 8 that "if God is for us, who can be against us?" As Deacon Jeff put it, we're all sinners who deserve punishment, and there's nothing we can do to change our sinful nature -- again as last week, a perfectly Lutheran way to frame the discussion. But if we have faith, he went on, then we find ourselves under the loving protection of God, which is the safest place we can be, a place where no one can threaten us, because God has proclaimed us innocent by way of Christ's atoning sacrifice, doing for us what we couldn't do for ourselves. 

The deacon's wife operated a projector to show the calls and responses throughout the service, and during the sermon, she projected a visual on to the wall that I thought summed up the essence of Reformed theology perfectly:

On one side of the chasm are sinful humans. On the other is holy God. In between, bridging the chasm, is the cross. Those who have faith will embrace the cross and pass to the other side. But if you reject the cross, you can't reach God. You're helpless to do anything.

The inevitable takeaway from this viewpoint is that we can never be transformed internally by our experience with Christ but are rather just "clothed in his righteousness," as the deacon put it -- again reflecting Luther's firm belief in the idea of irredeemable human depravity. We can never transform the piles of excrement that we inherently are; at best we can only become snow-covered dunghills, with our innate filth draped over by Christ's pure righteousness so that God can bear to look upon us and welcome us into heaven. 

Theologians here speak of the difference between infused and imputed righteousness. The Catholic and Orthodox churches preach infused righteousness, which is essentially the idea that through Christ, we experience an inner change that makes us holier, more like God, as our faith deepens. The author of the second epistle of Peter called this process "partaking in the divine nature"; the Orthodox call the ultimate goal of this process theosis, a mystical union with God. Protestants, on the other hand, tend to preach imputed righteousness: Even after we put faith in Christ, nothing about us ever changes inwardly, because it can't, because we're so utterly depraved -- and to think that we could change is an example of the "works-based salvation" that most Protestants vehemently reject. To put it in symbolic terms, infused righteousness is Christ helping us clean our dirty clothes, while imputed righteousness is Christ putting a new, sparkling robe over our dirty clothes that we can never hope to launder clean. Or, in Luther's terminology, it means we're piles of dung whose foul natures can only be concealed but never changed for the better.

If it sounds like I'm being critical of Luther's theology, well, let's just say that I've never been his biggest fan -- but understand that I'm only repeating his own words. Lutherans, on the other hand, I like just fine. Deacon Jeff seems like a genuinely nice guy, for example, and Lutherhaven is doing good things for the community. So no complaints there. Deacon Jeff even let me, someone who's never been a Lutheran, partake in communion. The bread that I took from the plate he extended to me was in the shape of a wafer imprinted with a cross, which imparted a welcome feeling of reverence, not to mention some pleasant familiarity for someone raised Catholic.    

As for Lutherhaven, it's been around since 1946, when a group of Lutherans from congregations in Idaho, Oregon, and Washington had a chance to purchase a parcel of land on Lake Coeur d'Alene. From those simple beginnings emerged an organization that offers camps and retreats for kids and adults alike and also engages in community service and faith-building activities and programs. Lutherhaven's goal for Bethany is to convert it into a community center by the end of 2024, with space to house volunteers year-round and serve those in need in the Silver Valley, as part of its Idaho Servant Adventures program that has its young volunteers do everything from visit elderly folks to help with property repairs.

So as one chapter winds down for Bethany, a new one lies on the horizon. I hope it's a future that helps Lutherhaven grow and benefits the Valley in positive ways. 

Churches of the Silver Valley: Emmanuel Lutheran Church, Mullan

(Part five in an ongoing series.)

My lasting impression of today's Lutheran service is that the sermon was, well, quintessentially Lutheran. And that was nice. Even if I'm not exactly a fan of Martin Luther himself, I like being able to step into a place of worship and know precisely where I am simply by the way the place does church. But as old denominations die out, those distinctive characteristics of each one will sadly die with them, potentially leaving behind a Christianity with much less doctrinal direction. 

Before I delve any further into today's service, let me tell you a little bit about Mullan, Idaho. 

This quiet little town, the last one on I-90 before you leave the Silver Valley and cross into Montana, lacks the historical draw of Wallace, the retail destinations of Kellogg or Smelterville, or the tourist attractions of the former two. It was named for Capt. John Mullan Jr., a surveyor and road-builder known in these parts for selecting the course of the first wagon route to cross the Rockies into the Inland Northwest. Mullan today boasts a working mine, an Olympic-size swimming pool that my daughter loves to swim in, and a pretty good burger joint. The drive from Wallace to Mullan is also quite scenic, as the highway twists between tall pine-covered hills along the 9-mile trek.

There's even a curious local landmark along the way: Elmer's Fountain, made from old mining parts and fed by a freshwater source. It looks especially neat in the winter, when ice formations take shape around the still-running water.  

My daughter and I got to Mullan earlier than expected, so we drove around a bit and came across a charming old wood-frame Episcopal church.

St. Andrew's closed way back in 1980, meeting its fate many years before Wallace's Episcopal church ended worship services and became a museum. 

Finally, we parked in front of Emmanuel Lutheran Church, which was our destination for the day. Emmanuel sits at the front end of a cul-de-sac, with the Mullan fire department and city hall sitting behind it, and a monument of Capt. Mullan situated in a landscaped median. 

Inside, we were greeted by Deacon Jeff Arthurs, who's affiliated with Christ the King Lutheran Church in Coeur d'Alene. The deacon runs services here as well as at Bethany Lutheran Church in Osburn, some 13 miles west of Mullan, as neither church has its own pastor. I wanted to talk to him more about that, as it suggests more of the denominational decline I've seen around the Valley, but we had to cut things short when the 9:30 service time rolled around. 

We did, however, touch briefly on the general decline in civic organizations, and he also mentioned that there was a grand total of one person in attendance at Bethany the previous weekend. At least there were around 20 people in the pews today in Mullan, though it's a fairly gray-haired congregation. It felt like a place where Grandma and Grandpa might go on a Sunday, while the kids and grandkids are, for better or worse, off dedicating themselves to other life priorities.

Emmanuel is affiliated with the Lutheran Church -- Missouri Synod, a conservative strand of Lutheranism. I'd never been to an LCMS church before, so I didn't know what to expect from the service. Turns out it was quite structured and liturgical, very similar to a Catholic Mass, complete with hymns at designated times, three scripture readings (Old Testament, epistle, and Gospel), the Nicene Creed (complete with filioque, but with the word "catholic," in the sense of "universal," being replaced by "one holy Christian and apostolic church"), and the Our Father -- but, notably, no communion. The deacon even spoke the words of the sign of the cross, but I was the only one who crossed myself -- with three fingers, left to right, Orthodox syle, but still.

Back when we lived in Washington, I did spend some time in a church that was part of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America, which theologically leans far more to the progressive side of the spectrum than the LCMS. That church was led by a female pastor; that wouldn't be possible in an LCMS church, which has held fast to the traditions established by the first Lutherans, from Luther's Small Catechism to the Book of Concord. 

The solas were also crucial to the first Reformers, perhaps none more so for Luther than sola fide, or the concept of faith alone. The others are sola scriptura, sola gratia, solus Christus, and soli Deo gloria -- scripture, grace, Christ, and glory to God alone. These principles, the cornerstone of Protestantism, were intended to distinguish Reformation views from the theology of the medieval Catholic church. Without getting into the weeds on a theological dissertation, the emphasis on "alone" in each point signified a determination to simplify the faith that the Reformers thought had become too entangled with the institutional Catholic church and its far-reaching power. The church was unquestionably selling indulgences and engaging in Simony, proof to the Reformers that power corrupts, and when Luther submitted his 95 Theses to the Castle Church in Wittenberg, Germany -- the story of nailing them to the church door is probably apocryphal -- it sparked a religious revolution across Europe.

That's a matter of documented history, and it's incontrovertible. But if you were raised Catholic, as I was, you also learned about Luther's dark side -- in particular his obsessive scrupulosity that had him bringing lists of sins to the confessional, where he would remain for hours daily, confessing the same sins over and over again. He saw no escape from God's wrath and punishment, and he projected his dilemma onto all of humanity, proclaiming that we are all no more than dunghills, foul piles of excrement, that are utterly incapable of ever doing anything good. 

Luther eventually found an escape from his neurotic dilemma through his interpretation of Romans 3:26, where he hit on the idea of justification by faith alone. Suddenly, it didn't matter how sinful he or anyone else was; faith alone would guarantee salvation. This was Luther's get-out-of-jail-free card.

That brings us back to today's sermon. Deacon Jeff said he struggled with what to say about Romans 8:17, where it appears that Paul places a condition on salvation: "Now if we are children, then we are heirs -- heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if [my emphasis] indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we might also share in his glory."

So we have to suffer to be saved? Well, Catholics do indeed talk about redemptive suffering, but not as a condition of salvation. And, of course, Christ himself told us to pick up our crosses in imitation of him. But from a Protestant, and especially Lutheran, point of view, anything that suggests putting the onus on us to do something, anything, to "earn" our salvation is an unacceptable reading of scripture -- an idea that goes straight back to scrupulous Martin Luther and his humans as dunghills, incapable of doing good because he thought of himself as such. Indeed, Luther exhorted people to "sin boldly," precisely because he believed that if you simply had faith, it didn't matter how much you sinned, since you can't quit sinning anyway. In my view, this is why there are so many Christians in the world who act so un-Christian: If you get saved regardless of how you live your life, then why would you bother to put in any effort to be a good person?

This is precisely why Luther wanted to expunge James, which he called an "epistle of straw," from the New Testament: James contradicted Luther's view of faith by flatly proclaiming that faith without works is dead. It's not that James mandates a set amount of "good works" as a condition of salvation; it's that authentic faith will demonstrate itself through the good works the faithful do for others. Jesus says as much all throughout the Gospels, from the Sermon on the Mount to the parable of the Good Samaritan to the separation of the sheep and goats in Matthew 25. "Let your light shine before men," Christ says, "that they may see your good works [emphasis mine] and glorify the Father in heaven." Even Paul speaks of the charitable fruits of the spirit that will be evident in all the faithful.

In any event, Deacon Jeff went on to say that the need to suffer as a condition of salvation is the wrong way to understand the passage from Romans. Instead, he said that Christ's paschal sacrifice was an act of suffering for all humanity, one that we could never take on by ourselves because we can't suffer enough to "earn" our salvation. We think "faith alone" sounds too good to be true, the deacon said, and so we tell ourselves we have to do something to earn our way into heaven. Giving Luther the benefit of the doubt for a moment, that was precisely the dilemma he found himself in. That's why I found the sermon today so utterly Lutheran in nature. And as much as I chafe at Luther and the theological ideas that sprang from his personal hang-ups, I wouldn't have it any other way. Driving home sola fide is exactly what I expect to hear in a Lutheran sermon. 

Here's why this matters. If there's a shortcoming among evangelical and "nondenominational" churches, it's that you really don't know what to expect from them, theologically speaking. And that theological amorphousness makes them all somewhat indistinguishable, such that you don't really go to church so much for the theology as for which pastor you like best. There's nothing wrong, in my view, with finding new interpretive angles within scripture, but the lack of a denominational underpinning to guide seekers can lead to a kind of spiritual anarchy where every Christian becomes his own pope. This has always been the Achilles' heel of Protestantism, of course: If there's no central authority to interpret and hand down meanings from scripture, then church bodies will forever splinter into smaller and smaller groups over minute disagreements on what a specific passage means.

The weight of history and tradition that underpins old Christian denominations at least tempers that process, by way of giving folks some idea of what to expect when they enter a church that's labeled Presbyterian, Episcopalian, Lutheran, or what have you. That's a net good, inasmuch as it gives seekers a baseline when they're looking for a church home. And it's a big part of the reason I don't want to see these old traditional churches fade away. 

Maybe their demise is inevitable, given the seismic social shifts we're experiencing. But I hope not.