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.     

Churches of the Silver Valley: Cornerstone Church, Silverton

(Part four in an ongoing series.)

Cornerstone is a self-proclaimed nondenominational church that worships in the former Seventh-Day Adventist building in Silverton, the next town over from Wallace. If you're cruising by on I-90, you'll see the back of the brick church situated right next to the Wallace High School football field.

Knowing what I do of nondenominational churches, I had a pretty good idea of what to expect from the service. For churches that shy away from formal liturgy, I find that their worship services follow a fairly predictable pattern of singing a few contemporary praise songs and then settling in for the sermon. 

However, I was pleasantly surprised to find the worship band leading us in something that wasn't a contemporary praise song that I knew nothing about, but rather an old, familiar spiritual hymn: "Amazing Grace." 

That was one of my adoptive mom's favorite spiritual tunes, and I've always been fond of it for its ties to Chris Squire of Yes, who made it part of his bass solo on a few tours.

Another surprise came during the doxology, when the band led us in singing "Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow," a song that's been played in many a Catholic Mass. Again, something I'm familiar with!

I looked through the church's Facebook page before my visit and saw that Cornerstone's pastor, Cody Karst, has been preaching on the first epistle of John for the past month or so. Today, he wrapped up his series with the epilogue of Chapter 5. I always liked 1 John for its emphasis on God as light and love. The letter is hopeful and encouraging rather than preachy, judgy, and glum, and I think it gives Christians a solid basis for centering their religion on things that are good and hopeful and uplifting, rather than focusing their spiritual journey on what's wrong with the world. As an adjunct to the Gospels, 1 John and the epistle of James -- the latter a brilliant but often overlooked piece of New Testament wisdom literature that I think of as a kind of Christianity for Dummies -- are in my view all that a person really needs from the Bible to build a solid foundation of Christian faith. 

Pastor Cody shared a little bit about how he came to his own Christian beliefs, saying that he wasn't raised Christian but was led to the faith through a dogged pursuit of truth, as he examined why one religion would be true while another wouldn't be. The rest of his talk, in its own way, built on how that kind of faith relationship works, with an emphasis on the importance of aligning one's will with God's. I think that's a point a lot of folks miss, inasmuch as many people seem to treat God as a kind of wish-granting genie, unaware that one's relationship with God is not about what we want, but accepting what God wants for us. 

That perspective, in turn, also means you can't read a Bible verse and ignore it because you dislike its implications for your life. You have to go all in. And one of the things 1 John does well is give struggling believers hope: You will stumble because you're human, but an enduring faith and the prayers of your Christian brethren will help you through the rough spots. 

I liked that Pastor Cody took the time to offer different interpretations of verse 18, in which the author of the epistle encourages people to pray for their brethren caught in sinful ways but adds that "there is a sin that leads to death, and I am not asking you to pray about that." Pastor Cody noted that whether you believe in the theological concept of "once saved, always saved" (i.e., you can never lose your salvation, no matter what) or you have a more Arminian view (i.e., you can lose your salvation, which is not unlike the Catholic and Orthodox viewpoint) will determine how you understand what the author is saying in this verse -- either you believe the person is unsaved and too hardened of heart to reach, or you think he's blasphemed against the Holy Spirit and is therefore a lost cause (see Matthew 12, Mark 3, or Luke 12 for more on the unpardonable sin), or you might even assume that the person is so far gone that God will strike him dead in a matter of time, so there's no point in praying for him anyway. 

The fact that the pastor didn't give a prescriptive view on the verse is, I suppose, something that comes with the territory of being nondenominational, since that means there's no central ecclesiastical hierarchy dictating meanings down to its member churches. That approach also seems to be keeping in the greater spirit of Protestantism and its dedication, to a point, to interpretive flexibility. But naturally, even the churches most lenient on interpretation will draw the line somewhere between orthodox belief and heresy. It's not a free-for-all. If it were, people could find a way to rationalize away all those problematic verses that they don't want to conform their lives to.

Lastly, I appreciated that Pastor Cody talked about the idolatry that the author of 1 John warns about in the letter's final verse. I've run across religious people who have a very narrow view of idolatry, one that usually has something to do with specific forms of Catholic worship, seemingly unaware of how idolatry might affect their own lives in ways that are not always so obvious. I've always contended that anything a religious person places above God is idolatry, whether it's money, celebrities, sensual pleasures, or what have you. In his own way, Pastor Cody was in agreement with that view. Idolatry isn't just about religious statues or icons; it's a state of mind. As he put it, everyone has a hierarchy of values, and whatever is at the top of that hierarchy is what you worship. So if you're a Christian, you'd better make sure that God is at the top of your personal pyramid. 

Pascal made the point long ago about the God-shaped vacuum that longs to be filled, and social psychologist Jonathan Haidt made a similar observation much more recently that we all have a God-shaped hole in our hearts. That hole will always be filled with something. Far better, then, to fill it with something that directs us toward the good and uplifting -- which is a big part of the reason I'm doing this series on local churches and why I encourage religious belief in general. Despite the occasional shortcomings of religion, I think that religious belief is a net good for both us and our society.     

Moving on to some general observations: The congregation in attendance today numbered somewhere between 70 and 80, with a vibrant mix of young and old. There were lots of kids present, as well as a few babes in arms. That was quite a contrast to, say, the UCC church in Wallace, which had only a handful of folks in attendance when I visited and a minister on the verge of retirement. The difference, even here locally, reflects the greater trends in American Christianity, whereby mainline Protestantism is in steep decline while Catholic and evangelical numbers are holding more or less steady, and in some cases slightly rising. I think that says something about the kind of church Christians want -- or at least what those want who haven't given up on church and belief altogether: They either gravitate toward ancient reverent tradition or want a vibrant faith that isn't watered down to cater to contemporary social and cultural trends. There's something to be said for either, even if the overarching Christian belief structure isn't something I can embrace anymore.

One thing I will say is that old liturgical churches like the Catholics could take some pointers from more contemporary churches on how to make people feel welcome. My daughter and I were warmly welcomed today by Linda, Cornerstone's greeter. We had a nice talk about the Valley, homeschooling, and some of the events taking place at the church, including an ongoing youth group and an upcoming vacation Bible school. She even gave me a little welcome bag. 

I can't emphasize how important things like this are to make people feel welcome. Aside from one person who in the end couldn't do much to help, I was completely ignored at the Byzantine Catholic church in Spokane Valley when I asked if I could change my canonical status from Latin (Roman) Catholic to Byzantine and get my daughter baptized there. I was excited about becoming part of the community, and for all my efforts I was treated as if I were a leper. It was a depressing and shockingly negative experience, and I would never set foot in that church again. Cornerstone, in sharp contrast, made me want to come back, even if it's probably not a faith community I could ever personally call home.

Out front there was self-serve coffee...

Inside the sanctuary were Independence Day-themed doughnuts... 

And there was even a little merchandise stand where you could buy hats, shirts, and other items emblazoned with the church's logo. 

For those who want to follow along with Pastor Cody and didn't bring a Bible, Cornerstone even has you covered there, with ESV Bibles tucked under the chairs in front of you. 

I'd brought along my Third Millennium Bible, to try to fit in with the Protestant vibe. (I figured it best to leave my thoroughly Catholic Word on Fire collection of Acts, the epistles, and Revelation at home.) But with the Cornerstone-provided Bibles, it turned out I didn't need it. This church covers all the bases and does it all very well.

We happened to show up during the week Cornerstone was celebrating communion. Unlike the Catholic church, where communion is the central focal point of every Mass, it's something observed only occasionally in most Protestant churches, sometimes monthly or quarterly. Pastor Cody says Cornerstone celebrates communion so that we don't become complacent about the sacrifice Christ made for believers -- and also because Christ did ask us to partake of bread and wine in his memory. 

However, as I expected when the ushers passed around the tray, communion consisted not of bread and wine but a tiny cracker and some grape juice. 

I've been there and done that in past Protestant communion services, and honestly, I think it's a little weird. But on the other hand, Pastor Cody went out of his way to point out that Cornerstone's communion was open to everyone, which is exactly as it should be, not fenced off the way it is in the Catholic church until you meet the proper requirements for receiving. I'll take an oyster cracker and a shot of Welch's that's offered to everyone over transubstantiated bread and wine that's off limits to all but "properly disposed" Catholics. 

Overall, I was impressed by Cornerstone, and I can see why the church is, by all appearances, doing well in this Valley.

Churches of the Silver Valley: Wallace Church of God

(Part three in an ongoing series.)

Today's visit took us to the outskirts of Wallace, where an unassuming building set off from the road might go unnoticed, if not for the big sign out front letting you know that you're passing one of our local churches.

The Wallace Church of God is led by a husband-wife team of Bob and Lisa Sharp, both of whom came over to greet us before the service began. Three or four other folks were kind enough to do the same. That counts for a lot. Anyone familiar with Catholic culture knows that you can slip in and out of a Catholic service and never have anyone talk to you. It's not that Catholics are standoffish; it's just that the Mass is the entire point of being there, and fellowship is secondary. 

There was even a little alcove as you entered the building where you could make yourself some coffee. Friendly and casual are clearly two points of emphasis at this church.

I'd say there were around 30 people in attendance today, a mix of young and old. The sanctuary space itself was open, bright, and welcoming, with plenty of windows to let in the natural light. A wooden cross was centered against a panel of bricks to set off the staging area. 

I've been to enough non-liturgical worship services to be familiar with the video screens that display the words of the songs for everyone to follow along with. They're the hymnals of the electronic age. But they're new enough to my daughter that once she figured out their purpose, she turned to me and said, "It's like holy karaoke!" That comment made my day.

The service began with a half-dozen or so worship songs, led by a cantor at the pulpit and an organist and pianist whose instruments flanked the staging area. Afterward, Pastor Bob, looking relaxed in a polo shirt and jeans -- which I mention only because I'm so accustomed to high-church vestments -- led the congregation in prayer before moving to the pulpit. His sermon centered on a passage from the Second Book of Kings, in which Elisha prays for protection against the Syrians, and Elisha's servant is granted a vision of the spiritual protection on the surrounding mountain, filled with horses and chariots of fire. Elisha then prays that his enemies be struck blind, and God obliges. 

The point Pastor Bob made about the passage is that while we see the world through our physical eyes, we often fail to see it through our spiritual eyes. Lacking the proper perspective, he said, makes it more difficult to place our faith and trust in God -- and as a result, we do our own thing rather than conform our wills to that of the Father. 

I don't disagree, inasmuch as many of us these days accept our material reality because we can see it but doubt our spiritual existence because it's invisible to our physical beings. Embracing one but ignoring the other leaves us incomplete and empty, as we end up filling our spiritual needs with an inferior material substitute of some kind. The God-shaped hole in our hearts that Pascal once spoke of yearns to be filled. Better to fill it with something uplifting and spirit-affirming. On that the pastor and I agree, even if we think of the spiritual realm in different ways. 

Out of curiosity, I grabbed a pamphlet on my way out that outlines the Church of God's beliefs. Not surprisingly, justification, sanctification, and reliance on "the verbal inspiration of the Bible" are mentioned early and often. But along with other expected things like the embrace of the nuclear family, personal modesty and temperance, the sanctity of life, and good citizenship, I noted an emphasis on being good stewards of the earth, practicing charity, checking social injustices, and treating people equally and with dignity and respect. There's not a whole lot I disagree with in those principles, save for the emphasis on national allegiance. But I know where the idea of obedience to civil authority comes from in the New Testament (primarily Romans 13, if you're interested), so I won't knock them for that. It's a legitimate stance for a devout Christian to take.

Overall, today's visit was a pleasant experience. Pastor Bob was a good preacher who mixed some light anecdotal humor into his sermon. He was serious about his message while not taking himself too seriously. For someone like me who has a tendency to be too earnest about things, that was a nice surprise. 

No one came up for his altar call at the end, which made me feel kind of bad for him, but maybe he's used to that. Maybe his church members feel comfortable where they are in their spiritual lives. If so, then perhaps that's testament to Pastor Bob's skills as a shepherd to his flock. I certainly wish him and his congregation well. 

The Tantruming of America

I know that no one is required to show up for every argument, but the rank ignorance of American civics and the deranged shrieking hysteria surrounding the recent Supreme Court ruling merits at least a passing comment. 

Let's get a couple of things straight: The court did not ban abortion, and it's not on a personal vendetta to destroy women. The court simply returned the right to regulate abortion to the states, which is a perfectly reasonable thing to do in a federal republic. The Tenth Amendment exists for a reason. 

Even Ruth Bader Ginsburg, a bastion of women's rights and judicial liberalism if ever there was one, said that Roe went too far. Instead of addressing the most extreme state limits on abortion rights that existed at the time, the court overstepped its bounds and essentially wiped every state abortion law off the books in one fell swoop, inventing an implied national right to abortion in the Constitution as it did so. 

The problem is, the argument behind Roe was constitutionally weak, and therefore always susceptible to being overturned. Ginsburg, who argued that "measured motions" work better than "doctrinal limbs too swiftly shaped," knew this to be true. States were already in the process of liberalizing their abortion laws when Roe was decided in 1973, but Ginsburg said that the ruling "invited no dialogue with legislators" and instead "seemed entirely to remove the ball from the legislators' court," while in Europe the abortion question was rightly being decided by legislators elected by the people and by public referendums, not by unelected judges. 

And that's how we ended up where we are today: An activist court used a flimsy legal argument to decide national abortion law by judicial fiat. This is always what happens when judges think they're legislators in robes, making law from the bench rather than simply interpreting and ruling on the laws already on the books.

Judges need to leave the legislating to the legislators. Abortion-rights activists have had half a century to push their lawmakers to draft legislation, either on a state or national level, which would have ended this debate that comes up in every election cycle. They also could have worked on a constitutional amendment. Instead, they relied on an instance of judicial overreach and now act shocked when one of their own judicial heroes warned them this day might come.

But let's also be candid here and admit that the reaction to the overturning of Roe speaks volumes about the degree to which raw emotion and uninformed opinion drive so much of our society today. If people think the answer to the overturning of a bad ruling is to kill Supreme Court justices, for example, then it's little wonder the same group of people also tend to argue so passionately for gun control: Because they lack the ability to control their own emotional impulses, they don't trust themselves not to go on a murderous rampage, so they assume everyone else would be the same. It's classic projection. And what we're seeing in reaction to the ruling is far more a call for actual insurrection than anything that happened at the 1/6 Capitol demonstration.

And let's be frank here. Look at the reactions in this compilation video, as in any many other videos floating around online. (This one is so raw, in fact, that YouTube has age-restricted it; you have to click through to YT to watch it.) If you're this lacking in impulse control, then it's no wonder you want abortion on demand. There is a correlation.

So forgive me if I lack sympathy when your position is "agree with me or I'll destroy you." Or, if you're a Supreme Court justice, "If you don't let me kill my baby, I'll kill you." Stop acting like a petulant child. I refuse to engage with you if you're incapable of acting like more than a 3-year-old who was told she can't have cookies for dinner. Grow up.

All you do is alienate people when you act like this. See, wanting the choice to abort is one thing, as is keeping abortion "safe, legal, and rare." But shouting your abortion like it's something to be proud of, akin to some kind of holy sacrament, only tells me how unhinged your mindset has become. It makes it really hard to warm up to you when you either want me dead or you cram your politics down my throat and demand my constant active vocal praise for every single thing you do and say. 

It also says a lot about how little these people value human life, given that they are, after all, engaging in screaming meltdowns over the fact that they think they no longer have the right to kill unborn humans. (Of course, they're not human until they're wanted, conveniently. Just as saying you're the opposite sex magically makes you the opposite sex now, saying you want the baby means that it magically ceases to be a "clump of cells" or a "product of conception.")

And let's not ignore that a lot of these people clamoring for what is essentially abortion on demand are also the ones who praise exposing little kids to sexualized drag-queen performances and actually get outraged when schoolteachers can no longer push sex-ed and gender ideology on Kindergartners. 

They always push too far and become their own worst enemies, alienating people who might otherwise find common ground with them. Just like this entire month, when we're practically ordered to bow down to the rainbow mafia and show our unwavering fealty to one of the seven deadly sins, pride. What started out as a sincere push for equal rights has metastasized into "praise me, you bigot," with the power of every major institution of power behind it. If you ever wondered what primitive Christian zealotry looked like, with its inquisitions, its attacks on science and logic, and its rigid puritanical intolerance, you're seeing it now, just with different dogmas being pushed and different holy symbols being foisted on you.   

Let's not also forget that if your state bans abortion as a result of the reversal of Roe, you can still drive to another state to terminate your pregnancy. And you can always petition your own state's legislators to change the laws. Do something instead of complaining, if you don't like the way things are.

And I know this comes as a surprise to a lot of people, but the primary purpose of sexual activity is reproduction. You are engaging in an act that carries the potential to create new life, because that's precisely what it's designed to do. If you don't want the responsibility of becoming a parent, it's exceedingly easy to avoid that result. You either abstain or you use contraception, which is cheap and easily available. It's not the government's fault if you get pregnant, or its responsibility to clean up your mess. Take responsibility for the consequences of your own actions. 

Look, I don't care if you want to terminate your pregnancy. That's on you. And at a minimum, I agree that there need to be allowances for pregnancies arising from nonconsensual sexual activity, and for cases of severe fetal abnormalities and a significant heath risk to the mother. But those abortions account for a small fraction of the whole. Most are performed as a method of birth control, which is unnecessary and irresponsible. But if you don't like what's happened with Roe, stop blaming a court for doing its job in throwing out a bad ruling. Stop screaming about it on social media. And get your legislators to do something about it. 

Sorry to say, you might even have to get a male legislator involved. But since men can get pregnant and no one can define what a woman is, that shouldn't be a problem, right?

And also, if you argued in favor of mask and vaccine mandates at any point over the past two years, then you have abandoned any moral right to now go around proclaiming "my body, my choice." Sorry, you can't have it both ways. 

Can we please stop acting like emotionally stunted children for a change? 

Churches of the Silver Valley: United Church of Christ, Congregational, Wallace

(Part two in an ongoing series.)

If you're driving past the unassuming-looking brick building across the street from the Wallace Post Office, you wouldn't know it's a church -- unless you happened to notice the skinny steeple peeking out from between two tall evergreens on the west side. 

"Come as you are," proclaims the sign outside the United Church of Christ, Congregational. And Rev. Alice Ling appears to take it upon herself to make sure that slogan means something, preaching a message of inclusiveness that strives to meet people where they are. 

The UCC has had a presence in Wallace since 1898, but the current building was erected in 1957 -- and it looks quaintly like a product of its time inside, with its abundance of bare blonde wood and its dramatically vaulted ceiling. Behind the altar is a massive stained-glass window depicting a nature scene filled with trees, rocks, water, and mountains, not unlike the lovely everyday view around Wallace itself. Rays beam out from behind a mountain in the background, suggesting, no doubt, both the light of the sun and that of the Son.

The inside, in fact, reminds me a lot of the Catholic church I grew up in, back in Michigan. It came from the same era, having been built in 1959. The only giveaways that my daughter and I weren't sitting in a Catholic church were the lack of a crucifix and kneelers -- and the fact that there's a female minister. Rev. Ling was there to greet us as we walked in, and we took our place among the 10 or so congregants who came out to worship today. Rev. Ling said a busy day brings out maybe 20 people. It's a sleepy little church community, as are many around here these days.

The view from in front of the altar.

During the service itself, Rev. Ling led us in a few songs and responsorial prayers, but the central focus, as in most Protestant gatherings, was on the sermon. Those accustomed to a formal church service would welcome the altar, the pews, Rev. Ling's vestments, the communal recitation of the Lord's Prayer, and so on. But if, like me, you were raised Catholic, the absence of communion would be notable. The service was far more formal than, say, a typical evangelical gathering, but looser and more personable than the average Catholic Mass. Semi-liturgical is an adequate description of how the UCC appears to roll, I think. 

Once known as the denomination Barack Obama belonged to, the UCC has a decidedly leftward theological tilt. A quick glance at the UCC's official website leaves you with no doubt about which side of the culture wars the denomination falls on. There is much talk of social justice and the need to do something about firearms violence. There is advocacy for reparations. A UCC leader speaks out in support of abortion rights. A call for “justice for trans and nonbinary people” stands front and center on the news page.

Rev. Ling herself, however, didn't strike me as somebody you'd think of as a strident activist, but rather as someone who gently advocates for those on the outside looking in. Some of her advocacy is so subtle you probably wouldn't notice, as in the way she sidesteps using masculine pronouns for the Supreme Being. Some of it is more overt, as in her sermon today that riffed on the passage in Galatians in which Paul tells us that "there is neither Jew nor Gentile, slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus." She related a couple of anecdotes to illustrate the work to be done in living out the challenge of this verse, both in relation to some gay folks who had once notably seated themselves as close to the church door as possible, fearful of retribution and poised to make a quick exist if necessary, and to a man who told Rev. Ling, at a funeral she was conducting, that he didn't "believe" in female ministers.

The irony is that people who oppose women in ministry usually take their cue from Paul himself. Likewise, if gay folks feel uncomfortable in church, you can mostly point to Paul. I could go on at length about my personal distaste for Paul, whose caustic language and long self-proclaimed lists of people who will get locked out of heaven are things I always found at odds with the comparative open-heartedness that Christ himself preached. After all, quoting Paul's inclusive-sounding "neither Jew nor Gentile" passage means you have to reconcile it with his blunt condemnations of homosexuality and his assertion that it was disgraceful for women to speak in church. And yet the paradox of Paul is that we can't just ignore or dismiss him, because if not for his ministry to the Gentiles, it's very likely that no one today would remember an itinerant preacher who spoke of the imminent Kingdom of God two millennia ago. This, to me, has always been the double-edged sword of Christianity -- separating Jesus from Paul to make the teachings of Christ relevant to us today.

And I think that's what churches that lean into an emphasis on "inclusion" attempt to do. The Quakers I sat with for a couple of years did that. Likewise for the Episcopal church, at least in America. They try to move people away from focusing on the hidebound rigidity of dogmatic rules and regulations to open their hearts to charity and compassion toward "the least of these." But I think the bigger challenge for all churches, both liberal and conservative ones, is to resist the temptation to become an echo chamber for contemporary political tribalism. How do you authentically follow in Christ's footsteps without sounding indistinguishable from wokeism on one hand, or Trumpism on the other? If your church becomes a mere reflection of everyday politics, I don't see how people will feel compelled to get up early on Sundays and head out to worship. It seems the church would have to set itself apart from the culture in some way to remain relevant. After all, for mainline Protestant churches that try to be all things to all people and reflect shifting cultural mores, attendance is in freefall. 

There's a fine line to be walked, and I think Rev. Ling -- at least based on my spending one Sunday morning with her -- tries her best to do so. But Rev. Ling is retiring soon, and that will leave the tiny congregation with a choice to make about the future. UCC membership has declined from more than 2 million at its peak to less than 825,000 today, following general trends in American church membership, and such steep drops are felt more acutely in small towns like Wallace, where the local Methodist church building is leased out to a nondenominational prayer group and the Episcopal church is now a museum. Far more people in Wallace visit the UCC's social hall when it serves as the local voting center than attend services in the actual church sanctuary. So it could well be that the UCC building will suffer a similar fate to its church neighbors when Rev. Ling steps down.     

This side of the church, probably better known to most locals,
is where Wallace residents enter to vote.

In a pretty conservative part of the country, a UCC church may face even more of a struggle to hang on than if it were located in a more progressive community. I can only hope for the congregation that those rays of light on the stained-glass window serve as a symbol of hope for their future.  

Churches of the Silver Valley: St. Alphonsus Catholic Church, Wallace

(Part one in an ongoing series.)

"Dad, do you think we could go to church one of these Sundays? I kinda miss doing that with you."

That was my daughter speaking to me about a week ago. When we first moved to Idaho, I was still trying to find my place within the Catholic church I was raised in. The whole family went with me to Mass on Sundays for a while, and since then my kiddo has gone with me irregularly to various Catholic and Orthodox churches in North Idaho and the Spokane area.  

I've pretty much moved on from any attachment I once had to traditional forms of Christianity, other than to see them as a metaphorical expression of how to connect with the divine. You may recall that my previous entry had to do with how I'm OK with the idea that truth is a pathless land. That hasn't changed. But on the rare occasion I do get an itch to go to Mass, I usually attend St. Joan of Arc Catholic Church, about 50 miles from our front door out in Post Falls. That church is part of the Priestly Fraternity of St. Peter, which still offers the pre-Vatican II-style Latin Mass. The modern vernacular Mass I was raised in isn't really my thing. That's a long story for another time, and one that I've touched on previously in this blog. But since I don't want to take out a loan to fill up my gas tank for a 100-mile round trip to Post Falls, I thought it would be a fun thing for the kid and me to visit some churches not far from home, right here in the Silver Valley, where we live. 

The Silver Valley, so named because of its rich silver deposits that once made it one of the leading mining centers in the world, is a narrow stretch of land that cuts across the northern part of Idaho. There are roughly 10 small towns here, depending on where you draw the valley's boundaries, and among those towns there are probably around a couple of dozen churches. 

The first church I attended after we moved here, and one of only a handful that I've visited, is St. Alphonsus Catholic Church in Wallace. So that's where I decided we'd start our tour.

As chance would have it, St. Al's was today celebrating the 25th anniversary of the ordination of its assigned priest, Fr. Jerome Montez. Fr. Jerome takes care of all three Catholic churches in the Valley, as well as attending to two Catholic faith communities outside the valley, in St. Maries and Harrison to the south of us. He's a busy guy, to say the least. But he also seems of good cheer, as during the celebratory luncheon following Mass he was walking around and greeting folks by name and chatting with them as if he'd long been familiar with their lives. That's the way it goes in a small town. 

St. Al's, dating to 1894, is a Wallace landmark. Sitting on a small lot near the east end of town in an otherwise residential area, save for a tiny playground across the street, the old brick structure has been well preserved, marked by its arched stained-glass windows and a bell tower that hovers above all the houses around it.  

I've seen old historical photos of St. Al's, and from the looks of it, the church hasn't changed much over the years. The only major alteration I can see inside from days long past is that the old communion rail is gone. But that's typical of almost every post-Vatican II church. Otherwise, a visitor from the church's early years could walk in and find himself in quite familiar surroundings.

St. Al's in 1935, from the Barnard-Stockbridge Photograph Collection.

St. Al's in 2022.

My daughter and I sat on the Mary side of the church, as has long been my custom. For non-Catholics, that just means that there's usually a Mary statue to the left as you're looking at the altar, and a Joseph statue to the right. My connection to Mary, and through her the Sacred Feminine, was the only thing that kept me in the Catholic fold for many a year. It still feels somewhat comforting to be in her presence while the Mass is going on, like having a compassionate mother looking protectively over you.

From our vantage point there was also an image of the Divine Mercy and an icon of Our Lady of Perpetual Help prominently placed. It's interesting to me that the Catholic church has taken such a shine to what originated as an Orthodox Marian icon, but it's nice to see, inasmuch as it suggests a spiritual camaraderie of sorts between the Eastern and Western churches. The Eastern Catholic churches excel at uniting the ways of East and West, which is something I've always admired about them, and given my past explorations into Orthodoxy, the presence of icons always lends a warm feeling of familiarity.

The first reading today happened to be one of my old favorites, from Proverbs, in which Sophia, the Wisdom of God, proclaims that she was God's companion from the time of the creation of the earth, "rejoicing in his whole world and delighting in mankind." Aside from certain mystics over the years, the church doesn't recognize Sophia as a separate being, an immanent aspect of the divine, but rather as a poetic personification of God's wisdom alone. The church and I have different points of view on that -- suffice it to say I take the mystics' side -- but it was nice to hear a familiar reading that's always resonated with me.

A few more shots of this lovely old church, taken immediately after Mass:

My daughter wanted to go up to the organ/choir loft you can see in that last picture, but the stairs were chained off. The only music during Mass came from a pianist on the main floor, so I have to assume the loft is no longer used.

She had lots of questions for me as the Mass unfolded. She hasn't been to a modern Mass since back before the lockdowns, after which we stopped attending church regularly. I was helping her figure out what to say, and I explained the Catholic belief in transubstantiation, how each piece of communion bread isn't a discrete body part of Jesus, like his appendix or his big toe, but the entire body, blood, soul, and divinity of Christ. ("Isn't that cannibalism?" came the question that many Catholics have had to contend with. Then, "Can vegans take communion?" The respective short answers are no and yes. But it's theologically complicated.) She also wondered why the Holy Spirit is a bird, and how it had time to fly down from heaven and consecrate the bread and wine at every church in the world. I tell you, kids think of things that grown-up minds would never contemplate. And we've raised our daughter to be skeptical and question what she's told, so she's only doing exactly what I would expect a kid raised that way to do.

I'm glad that I've taken such a lifelong interest in religion and spirituality so that I can answer most of her questions. I've more or less become her religious-studies teacher as a result. When I was a kid her age, no one was willing to answer the similar questions I had. I was told to be quiet, have faith, and listen to the priest -- which did a curious mind like mine no good, leaving me with so many questions and doubts that I eventually walked away from the faith. 

Still, going to a Catholic Mass is always kind of like going home again. It's familiar and in some ways comforting. I'm glad we started out our Silver Valley church adventure at St. Al's. But I have to admit that my daughter and I preferred the luncheon afterward to the Mass itself. 

Arriving in the social hall after Mass. Time for food!

She was eyeballing Fr. Jerome's anniversary cake the whole time we were eating lunch and kept wondering where Father was so he could cut the cake and take the first slice. 

Once he stepped up, she was one of the first in line. 

Finally satiated with lunch and dessert, we found our way home, happy that we decided to embark on this fun, and potentially enlightening, new journey together.

Come on back for our next stop, which will probably be a week from today.