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CHAPTER 8
Organizational Imperatives: The Internal Dynamics of the Congregation

To this point our discussion has focused primarily on the life of the Congregation for Reconciliation in the community; we have described the sociocultural context wherein the group was created, the differences between that which emerged and the expectations of the planners, the Congregation's handling of tension with the parent body, the dynamics of arriving at a set of goals, and some concrete case studies of their social-action projects.

For five years the Congregation for Reconciliation has managed to stay alive in a milieu which had largely defined social activism as passe almost before the Congregation's formal organization. Moreover, it has survived in a fundamentally conservative community where almost any kind of opposition to the status quo is "too radical." Simply to sustain life is thus no small accomplishment. Similar experimental groups across the country have folded. Others have survived only by radically redefining their goals. Not so with the Congregation for Reconciliation. While some members in the group would have liked to have redirected the Congregation, they had little success. The viability of the group has remained emphatically tied to their continuing commitment to the social-action objectives present from the onset.

A number of factors explain this continuing commitment. First of all, they have a leader with a driving commitment to social action, but who is not predisposed to do all the work. He masterfully delegates responsibility and is willing to let a project fail if others don't follow through. But more importantly, the

Congregation itself sets high expectations for its members. The initial recruitment was self-selective of activist-prone people. There have always been more projects and more work than there were bodies and hours to complete the tasks. In this setting, a casual participant soon felt he or she was not carrying a fair share of the load. In most cases, people either became deeply involved in the. life of the group or they soon had marginal status and became dropouts.

We have also seen how their success, or at least their perception of success, in the political arena has served to reinforce commitment to goals. Had they received less visibility through the media, commitment might have been more difficult to maintain. The continual news coverage of their projects, however, has sustained and reinforced their belief in their own effectiveness. To this we can add an old sociological maxim which holds that external group conflict generates and reinforces internal group solidarity.

The story of the Congregation for Reconciliation would be incomplete, however, if we left our readers with the impression that the formula for a successful social-action group is as simple as finding a good action strategist, gathering a small group of activists who reinforce one another's commitment, and then skillfully utilizing the media. The Congregation, like any other organization, has faced not only the external problems of goal attainment but also the difficulties of internal integration. In a nonauthoritarian environment, these can grow more acute and threatening to group survival than external opposition.

In chapter 3, we gave some indication of the internal tensions over goals and theological rationale. While this conflict arose substantially from the necessity of dealing with the Presbyterian denomination, it indicated more serious ongoing internal tensions. Goal achievement, at least in terms of consensus on social-action projects, has presented relatively small difficulty for the Congregation. The problems of tension management and integration-or, as they say, achieving "a sense of community"-have been mastered only gradually, haltingly, and at some points dubiously. We turn now to the internal dynamics of the Congregation, the story of the process whereby a group of people who share common goals are learning to live with one another.

In our discussion of the group's instant plunge into social-action projects prior to any thought on formal organization, we described their mood as one of reckless abandon of survival-oriented goals. Only when forced to organize or face a suspension of funds from the Presbytery did the group confront this problem. In this chapter we shall see that postponement, delay, temporary compromise, and even denial have been typical postures toward internal problems. Again and again they have refused to deal with difficulties until they have posed a serious threat to the group. Their boldness in facing conflict in the Dayton community, with the Presbyterian denomination, and with other congregations stands in sharp contrast to their shyness in dealing with conflict within their own ranks.

In substantial measure, their awareness of the precariousness of the group may explain this. Their numbers have never been large enough or their finances sufficient to risk wide-open internal conflict. While they have developed theological legitimacy for conflict as a means to reconciliation in the community, they have largely rejected or avoided applying the same principle within their own group. We are aware of one instance, and suspect others, in which an active member of the congregation sought to subvert the goals of the group and undermine Righter's leadership. Rather than face the problem head on, both Righter and the Congregation struggled on as if nothing were really wrong. Cross-pressured by a spouse who envisioned another agenda for the Congregation, the individual finally withdrew from membership and thus resolved the problem.

While conflicts in personalities and agendas have periodically posed real threats to the Congregation, the more serious menace has been an unwillingness to acknowledge the structural imperatives of organizational survival. We refer specifically to numbers and money. Reduction below present size would not only rest the survival of the mission on a very narrow base, it would severely exacerbate an already critical financial situation. On several occasions during our initial visit to Dayton in 1972, we raised the question of the financial viability of the Congregation. Without exception we were informed this was simply not a problem. Indeed, some expressed outright irritation with our concern for such mundane matters. By this point, Righter knew the grim

financial situation and had already devised a face-saving means (for the Congregation) of cutting his salary. But even he refused to admit finances were a problem. In June 1972 he told us, "Whenever the treasury begins to look a little bleak, we have a meeting to discuss finances and somehow we come up with the money to keep going."

Such an attitude has precedence in the faith of Old Testament prophets, but it also seems a naive way of avoiding the imperatives of organizational survival. The Congregation no longer receives mission subsidy from either the Presbyterian or United Church of Christ denominations, nor, given the controversial nature of their activities, is outside support likely to be forthcoming in any substantial quantity. While mostly middle-class, no member of the Congregation has substantial discretionary income to channel into the budget. Indeed, some already make substantial personal sacrifices to support congregational activities. While some might conceivably give more, it is highly problematic the group can afford to lose many additional members and continue to pay Righter a salary.

In the year between our first and second field trips, survival imperatives finally enveloped the group. When we returned in mid-1973 we found several members had not only recognized the necessity of forceful measures to assure survival but also had taken concrete steps to keep the group alive. Righter feels our queries about survival considerations during our first field visit played a significant role in bringing the group to consider its future viability. We tend to see our probing as relatively incidental to more serious structural dilemmas which confronted the group during 1972-73, dilemmas which finally forced the Congregation to face the problem of survival.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves. Let us return in a more sequential narrative to the internal dynamics of the Congregation. We begin with the issue of membership. What kinds of people sought out an experimental congregation? Who stayed? Who left? For both, why? What kinds of problems arose in moving beyond a collectivity of social activists to a community not only caring about social injustice but also dealing with one another's human frailties?

We need to recall, once again, the mood of crisis hanging over

this nation in the late 1960s. The tenor of those years affected not only the institutional churches' response in the creation of experimental congregations such as this one, but also the individual lay person's response to participation in the group. The turmoil across the nation had nurtured frustrations. Democratic process, individual freedom, equal opportunity, justice for all-in short, the American Dream-faced indictments of being nothing more than myth. Many who had little or nothing chose to release their anger in search of some semblance of personhood and importance; many numbered among the "haves" sought desperately for ways to pump new hope into the sagging American ideal.

For those who saw the church as a viable vehicle to effect change, experimental congregations offered an opportunity to channel their energies for social betterment. The creation of the Congregation for Reconciliation, designed for "action-oriented Christians," was a move in this direction. It seems of utmost importance in examining the membership of this congregation to stress this broader social context. The early dropout rate from the group must be considered in the light of people feeling driven to "do something" to respond to crisis. That the fervor of the day led some persons to plunge into involvements they could not sustain is hardly surprising. For reasons of basic disagreement, insufficient time, unexamined commitment, and others of this sort, many persons who initially rallied to membership chose later to leave the Congregation.

Likewise, that the Congregation has always eschewed any formal approach to recruitment seems quite natural within this context. Those who initially joined did so because the Congregation stood as a possible solution to their seeking an outlet for constructive involvement in the society and its problems. The demands which the totally functioning congregation, as proposed by the Miami Presbytery, would make upon its members required deep commitment and extensive work. Only those seeking such consuming involvement could possibly become vital participants. Presumably, too, those in the market for such an engrossing activity would be actively seeking and thus would come to the group. Persons with only a fleeting or partial interest in social change issues would be less likely to initiate contact, though they

might join if invited. Obviously, these often would not retain membership for any sustained period.

As the Congregation began to define and characterize itself to the outside world, its very existence was its only recruitment endeavor. Even the suggestion that meetings be announced in the Saturday religious news of local newspapers was resisted. Instead, the general attitude of the Congregation was simply: "If people are interested, they will find us."

The initial sifting of potential membership and leadership determined the Congregation over the years. The quick steps to confrontation tactics and the limitation of worship activity early delineated the "type" of individual who might join the group. And these, as the members expressed, needed no recruitment.

Naturally, then, the publicity received by the Congregation for its various involvements became a prime channel for introducing new members into the mission. A smaller source emerged in interaction with other social-action groups with which the Congregation had formed temporary alliances. This proximity fostered some interest in other aspects of the Congregation's life and has resulted in some new members. The membership itself has almost totally ignored proselytizing among friends and acquaintances as a source of new participants.

The records indicate that, at one time or another, 110 persons have participated in the life of the group. During the first two years of the Congregation's life the participant list was frequently updated and mimeographed copies were distributed. These lists have become infrequent during the past two years, so the total number of participants is undoubtedly somewhat larger than cited. Technically, there were no members until formal organization in the spring of 1970. In that year there were 40 members. The number shrank to 29 in 1972; at the time of our second field trip in 1973, there were 32 members. Checking through a variety of congregation records, we found that attendance at meetings averaged in the vicinity of 30, with a range from 11 to 50.

Two unique features of the Congregation's record keeping deserve note. First of all, the membership roster is wiped clean each year. Those who wish to continue as members must renew their covenant annually. Obviously, then, the membership list carries no dead weight. A second feature is recognition of an

informal status of "participant." In one sense, the participant sans membership status probably feels some pressure to become a full-fledged member. On the other hand, the status of participant has been legitimated and no formal pressures or sanctions are utilized to bolster the membership list. Typically, a participant's involvement pivots around some particular project of the Congregation. There are others, however, who participate at those points when the Congregation solicits their professional competence. There is no record of participants. While the number is not large, this is an important dimension of congregational life.

One reason for fluctuating membership, of course, is the experimental nature of the Congregation. Experimental anythings in our society are bound to attract their share of transient, insatiable seekers, and the Congregation for Reconciliation was no exception. However, as mentioned before, most of those who came to the Congregation were dissatisfied with their previous experiences in established congregations. Their sources of dissatisfaction, and consequently their reasons for joining and leaving the mission, are diverse and complex. At least three primary motives, mixed in various degrees, account for membership changes in the Congregation.

The first and most important of these was concern for social action. As mentioned earlier, many of the members of the Congregation had been previously active in social action, and a number had tried without success to express their concern in their former congregations. By joining the mission they were seeking a place within the church where they could act in accordance with their understanding of Christian duty.

But once inside, some individuals found themselves in basic disagreement with the mission's political style. Some disappointedly found the Congregation far too tame while others perceived it as too radical. A number of individuals in the latter group had come expecting a social-service orientation and experienced discomfort with the mission's confrontation style. Others, though in basic agreement with the social policies of the mission, nevertheless found their involvement embarrassing or threatening to themselves or to other members of their families. No known case exists in which involvement with the Congregation has definitely caused a member to lose his job, but instances of veiled

threats and harassment from employers or fellow workers sufficient to cause withdrawal from participation in the mission have occurred.

Closely intertwined with this concern for social action was a desire for experimental worship. For most this meant simply exploring ways of expressing their social concerns through worship services and finding new worship forms to express their religious beliefs. Yet a number of participants have dropped from the mission out of dissatisfaction with the group's religious orientation. On the one hand were those intolerant of even minimal references to God or "religion"; on the other hand were those upset by the lack of traditional elements in the mission's worship services. A small number also came seeking mystical or occult elements and, being unable to stir interest, withdrew from the group.

For most who became members of the group, the issue was neither social action nor experimental worship but rather the balance between the two and the content of worship. A few humanists could affirm the value of "celebration," but they resisted "worship" and found any reference to clearly Christian symbols a threat to their integrity. Over the years those most adamantly opposed to any shades of Christian worship have either dropped out or become more tolerant. As we shall see shortly, the gradual filtering out of those with different visions or hopes for the Congregation has led to substantially greater openness about Christian symbols and even reference to the group as a Christian community.

There is a third and perhaps ubiquitous motivation for participation in the Congregation. This is the search for a sense of community and the emotional support provided by a primary group. As we have seen, most of the persons in the Congregation who had had previous involvement in another congregation had felt varying degrees of isolation and estrangement from the predominantly status quo, comfort-oriented view of religion they had found. Also active at an even deeper level was a dominant theme in contemporary America, the sense of modern urban industrial society as estranged from community.

As nearly as we can determine, virtually everyone ever affiliated with the Congregation for Reconciliation has felt this longing for

community. Like all intangibles, community is easier to talk about than to find, build, or recognize. Some persons have zealously sought to impose their own sense of community on the group. Most have remained only a short while before moving on. A few have lingered long enough to become quite divisive forces in the Congregation. And, as we have suggested, the Congregation has typically not dealt harshly with these persons but rather has sought to absorb them into the life of the group, albeit on the terms of the core members. This, of course, has seldom worked and most of these persons have eventually drifted away.

For some, the Congregation became an instant community. Their needs were fulfilled by working on action projects with others who shared their values and goals. Worship services ("celebrations") organized around action concerns reinforced their commitment and bolstered their sense of community. For others, the dominant influence of the activists and the nearly total preoccupation with action projects quite literally left them in positions of structural marginality. These were persons who supported social action but were themselves uncomfortable in the role of picketing, leafleting, confronting. In some measure, Righter's conceptualization of research and action as separate activities provided these persons with a niche in the study of issues. But this proved temporary. In time, a hesitancy to research and plan for projects one felt uncomfortable in executing emerged.

Discomfort with being on the firing line created additional problems of marginality. Often the activists who planned projects would need assistance in executing them and would call upon less active members for help. Frequently these calls for help were also consciously motivated by a desire to make marginal members feel needed. Rather than reduce their sense of marginality, however, these last-minute calls made the less active members feel they were being used as mere bodies to hold picket signs or to distribute leaflets. Furthermore, not having been involved in the research stage, these persons tended to feel uninformed on the causes they were asked to advocate and consequently felt even further discomfort on the picket line. Though the group seems to apply little direct pressure to participate in action projects, some

persons nevertheless have felt obligated to do so from guilt and a desire to be "responsible" members of the Congregation.

Over the years, some of these persons have "learned the role of activist" and have come to feel more comfortable in their participation. But all the while they have quietly carried an unfulfilled agenda, a desire to see the Congregation be something more than a social-action group. Though the group obviously filled some important needs, the sense of community felt by the activists eluded them.

Gradually that "something more" began to emerge. Over the past two years, several interrelated factors have contributed to intensified feelings of community among all the active members of the Congregation. First of all, so long as the Congregation membership remained heterogeneous and unstable, the activists could ignore the internal problems of the mission. But as the membership stabilized and the number of active members decreased slightly, internal dissension became increasingly difficult to disregard. Intense involvement in the life of the Congregation, often several evenings a week, had the additional consequence of reducing, if not terminating, friendships outside the group. In short, for many the Congregation gradually became their only source of intimate social contacts and friendships. Dissensus had to be faced, if not squarely, at least sufficiently to reduce latent tensions.

Other factors pushed the Congregation toward resolution of problems too long ignored. One unavoidable reality was the impending end of the experimental mission phase of the Congregation's life. The Presbyterians' financial support for the Congregation had been established on a declining basis: 100 percent the first year, two thirds the second year, and one third the third year. The United Church of Christ, in becoming a cosponsor of the Congregation, extended financial support through five years. In 1971, the Congregation received $6,650 in denominational support, approximately 40 percent of their operating budget. That amount declined to $3,500 in 1972 and only $1,500 in 1973. As of January 1974, the group will receive no further subsidy.

As every pastor and church administrator knows, good liberals like to give their time but not their money. It is not surprising, thus, that with each year's decline in denominational support, the

members of the Congregation had to do more soul searching and sacrificing in order to pay the pastor's salary and meet other congregational expenses. Since membership over the years has remained about the same or declined slightly, and since the Congregation had no appreciable sources of additional revenue, the declining denominational support had to be countered by increased financial commitment from the membership.

The final steps toward self-sustenance were major ones. As the Congregation approached 1973, their financial situation looked grim. Making up the difference between the $6,650 of denominational support in 1971 and the $3,500 in 1972 was not easy. During 1972, the Congregation sold $2,250 worth of stock, a gift from a family of the Congregation, in order to meet their fiscal obligations. With most members of the Congregation already feeling maximally pledged, and also feeling the pinch of the general economy, they faced 1973 with the prospect of a $5,000 to $6,000 deficit.

Righter removed much of the weight of the impending fiscal crisis in September 1972 by asking for a 20 percent reduction in his time allocated to the Congregation to pursue personal study. Since a large proportion of Righter's normal work schedule has involved study not dissimilar to what he proposed to do with the cut in salary, this gesture seems to us clearly an altruistic solution to the fiscal crunch. This was possible by virtue of Willie Righter's having obtained full-time employment in April 1971. The Righters' sacrifice, thus, was a reaffirmation of their dedication to the continuance of the Congregation. Others, in turn, reaffirmed their commitment by coming up with sufficient funds to meet the Congregation's obligations. Only one month during 1973 did the Congregation fail to pay their pastor a full salary, and this was rectified the following month.

Nineteen seventy-two was also the year the National Missions Committee of the Miami Presbytery had scheduled continuance hearings for the Congregation. While Righter had received assurances that the door would remain open for the Congregation to continue beyond the experimental phase, such continuance could hardly be assumed. Demonstrating fiscal solvency was necessary, but not altogether sufficient for continuance. The schedule called for an evaluation of the Congregation's perform

ance. Pursuant to the continuance hearings, a team of Synod and Presbytery evaluators were to visit the Congregation and make recommendations to the National Missions Committee. Nervous that their controversial activities might give cause for a negative evaluation, the Congregation requested and received supplementary funds from the Presbyterians and UCC's for an outside evaluator.

These evaluation activities, coupled with an impending financial crisis, placed the members in a situation of having to engage in some serious reflection about their future. Thus, from the spring of 1972 through much of 1973, the Congregation had numerous discussions about where they had been and where they wanted to go. The desire for continuance was unanimous and strongly shared by members of the group. Some could not imagine what they would do if the Congregation ceased to exist. Finally the group came to realize that survival required planning.

The strong desire to continue inextricably related to their emerging identity. At the onset, they were a social-action group strongly divided over the issue of whether their relationship to the Presbyterian church made them any different from other action groups. Debate over this issue continued for a long time and finally resolved itself not in words but in fact. In the process of working together they had gradually become a community unafraid to acknowledge a relationship to the Christian faith.

Those we have previously identified as structurally marginal played no small role in the growth of community, although they were not alone responsible for what evolved. Slowly, their concern for personal growth and for more explicit recognition of their status as a Christian congregation began to be shared by others previously content to focus virtually all congregational ritual and worship around social action.

During the fall of 1972, the Congregation moved in several directions to create programs more nearly representative of "traditional" structures of congregational life in a Christian church. First, they revised the monthly celebrations, heretofore focused almost exclusively around social issues, so that alternate months were devoted to liturgical or personal growth themes. Christmas and Easter were celebrated, and two sessions were devoted to the meaning of death and dying. Christian symbols and

language are now used, accompanied by an acknowledgment of broader systems of meaning. So, after four years of sensitivity to the possibility of offending some members, the Congregation moved forward by openly acknowledging their Christian heritage. One member of the Congregation commented, "There is still some awkwardness about not wanting to step on one another's toes. But we reached a point where many of us felt a real yearning to be more open with each other about what we're experiencing. Those of us who come out of a Christian heritage felt a need to be more honest in acknowledging our feelings. The Congregation has now lived together long enough that we are beginning to feel comfortable with this. . . . I think it's kind of like an inter-faith marriage. Members of the Congregation are now able, in effect, to say, 'If this day is really important to you, we'll let you have it and share with you in our own terms, and then later we'll celebrate something which is important to us.' . . . In planning liturgical celebrations, we've tried to be open in allowing for all kinds of meanings; we don't want to ram one viewpoint down anybody's throat. . . . But I feel this greater openness has been healthy for all of us. I think it is a sign of our growth and maturity as a congregation."

Such openness would probably have been impossible at the onset of the Congregation's life. Not until they had begun to grow together as a community could they openly acknowledge and appreciate their own diversity. From the beginning, the Congregation had used the rhetoric of "diversity within unity." Now it had meaning. Not one member was lost as a result of this new openness.

The matter of Christian education for the children in the Congregation had long been an issue for bringing ideological division quickly to the surface. Yet in spite of the wide range of views on doctrinal matters, those with preadolescent children have generally agreed on the desirability of some sort of Christian education. For three years a program was attempted. Each year it failed. There seemed no way of designing a curriculum palatable to the whole membership.

Again, in the fall of 1972, the Congregation launched its first successful Christian education program. The rules for Children's Church were simple. A parent had to accompany the children.

They met three Sundays a month. There were, not surprisingly, some concessions to the humanists. Bible stories received no strong doctrinal emphasis, for instance. At Easter, they not only celebrated the resurrection but also planted a rosebush as symbolic of Easter as a rite of spring. Projects and activities were emphasized: puppet theater presentations, building nativity and passiontide scenes, producing a passion play, and making personal talismans bearing Christian symbols.

In spite of the focus on Bible stories and the absence of pressure to attend, Children's Church was well attended and drew from a cross-section of the Congregation. The perceived need for some kind of formalized Christian or ethical education for the children contributed to the success of the program. So, too, did the open format which permitted parents to introduce their children to the Christian heritage without affirming a doctrinal line. Another important dimension of Children's Church was that it opened the door to discuss ethics and the meaning of faith in the home, a task which had been made awkward by the absence of explicit theological content in the life of the Congregation. Humanists were free to emphasize the symbolic meanings of the biblical tradition, while the traditionalists could affirm what they believed.

Children's Church served another function for the entire Congregation: it brought adults together in a context which made it easier to both acknowledge and share their diversity. The diversity, which in the early years of the Congregation had been a key source of divisiveness between the secular humanists and the traditional Christians, in the presence of children became a source of educational strength. Thus, a latent consequence of Children's Church was a considerable subsidence in earlier tensions and another move toward community.

The group took yet another step toward becoming an explicitly Christian community in the fall of 1972 with the formation of a weekly Saturday afternoon prayer group. When we first learned of this development, we were concerned that it might result in a realignment wherein the orthodox became a new core of the Congregation, with the humanists pushed to the edge. As we write, the prayer group is entering its second year and we see no evidence of its having a divisive effect. Again, this suggests the maturation of the Congregation and their growing ability to

openly accept diversity without its constituting a threat to the group.

Although the Congregation has made great progress toward stabilizing and becoming a community, there remain several unresolved problems which in the long run threaten its survival. Indeed, some could bring an abrupt end to the Congregation.

The first critical problem is membership. Four factors, in substantial measure interrelated, have led the group to create a membership committee. First of all, the Congregation has periodically lost members as a result of job transfers. Recognizing the highly mobile nature of our society, the Congregation is aware they may lose further members via this route. Indeed, as we write, the Congregation faces the threat of losing one of its most active couples to a transient job market. Without new members, the Congregation is certain to die the slow death of attrition.

A second factor is the ever-present precarious financial situation of the Congregation. The loss of a few members or personal crises which would necessitate curtailing contributions could create an insoluble financial dilemma. While Willie Righter's employment makes it theoretically possible for them to remain on a radically reduced pastor's salary, it is unrealistic to expect them not to look for greener pastures sooner or later if the situation does not change.

A third factor bringing pressure for new members is a growing realization the Congregation is already spread very thin on its social-action projects. As we have seen, United People and the Gulf boycott have become long-range commitments. The Congregation has had to resist the temptation to get involved in new projects because it simply doesn't have the person power. At the same time, new projects are needed to renew commitment and reassure members that they are not stagnating but are addressing vital issues in the Dayton community. Thus, new members are needed not only to expand current activities but also to move forward into new projects.

Finally, the problem of person power has been exacerbated over the past two years by the entrance of several women into the labor force. Whether through financial necessity or the desire for self-fulfillment in the world of work, the employment of several

women in the group has cut seriously into the time earlier spent on congregational projects.

All these factors have interacted to underscore the need for new members. The Membership Committee, however, has approached the matter of recruitment warily. There are several reasons for this. One is the uncertainty that others will want to join them. One committee member described the problem thus: "I think the Congregation is not for everybody. It's probably not as easy to recruit for our congregation as it is to recruit for other organizations which do not make as many demands upon their membership. Besides, it is not the `in' thing to be involved in social action anymore. Furthermore, the kind of social-action projects we are doing are not so groovy because they require long-term commitments and a lot of hard work. We have been into the United People campaign for four years and are just now beginning to make some inroads; we've been working on [poverty] four years and the Gulf boycott two years. Someone who does not understand that it takes five to ten years on such projects is deceiving himself. And that requires quite a commitment. We really don't know how many people there are out there who want to take on those kinds of commitments and that much hard work and all the stomachaches that go with it. . . . We make a big thing of expecting from members a high level of commitment and discipline. Signing the covenant and becoming a member is, therefore, a serious matter."

In one sense, she is quite correct. Lowering the expectations for new members would set in motion a wide range of new problems for the Congregation. But as we spoke with several on the Membership Committee, we sensed that part of their problem is the newness of the role of recruiter. Not only has the Congregation not previously engaged in recruiting, but also traditional models of proselytizing don't fit. Finally, the committee has found some members of the Congregation less than enthusiastic about their plans for recruitment.

A resolution establishing an accountability system for recruitment was voted at a congregational meeting in the fall of 1972. The Membership Committee would assign prospects to members. A committeeperson would then check periodically on the progress the member was making with the prospect. The resolution itself

was slickly written, emphasizing "welcoming people into the Congregation." However, the statement reflected a clear expectation that recruitment would be the job of all members, not just the committee. The Congregation accepted the resolution without protest.

As the system began to function, however, protests did arise. The accountability system left nowhere to hide. Those shy about actively cultivating prospects became defensive, guilty, and even a little hostile after a committee member had checked back three or four times and the prospect had still not been contacted.

Three sources of resistance arose. First, the accountability system and the policy of total membership inclusion in the recruitment effort flew in the face of the established value of automotivation-the "do your own thing" ethic. For some, recruitment, though good and needful, was not their thing. Having received encouragement to "volunteer" for committees and to seek "their own level of participation" in the past, they adamantly resisted the new expectation.

Second, the recruitment drive not only grated against the value of volunteers, it also brought to the surface much resentment of the established church. Old wounds opened as members recalled the kinds of recruitment pressures espoused in their earlier, and to some nightmarish, church experiences. As one committeeperson said, "I think they were laboring under a lot of old junk out of the institutional church. Some people felt that we were asking them to go out and save souls or something . . . or bring in prospects hogtied and delivered with a checkbook in their hands. This is not at all the spirit of what we were asking. We just wanted a kind of concern. Since the old high-pressure recruitment and all the `bringing in the sheaves' theology that goes along with it was not the direction from which the Membership Committee was coming, we just never dreamed that some of this sort of resentment and interpretation would come up."

While not explicitly mentioned as a problem, we suspect a third source of resistance came from the subtle security of things as they are and the suspicion of the unknown. What might be called the "charter member syndrome" is a common phenomenon in small and recently formed organizations. New members pose a threat to stable status and power arrangements within an

organization. They bring with them a host of new definitions and goals which might alter the already established, meaningful, and satisfying patterns of the group. It took the Congregation for Reconciliation five years to become a tightly knit Cemeinschaft. Along the way, the thrust toward community was disrupted more than once by newcomers attempting to impose their own agendas. How could this group not feel some uneasiness about the prospect of new members? Yet many of the members now recognize that the survival of the Congregation depends on the success of their efforts to bring in new recruits.

Two measures helped make recruitment more palatable for the . congregation as a whole. They first modified the policy statement to restore a value harmony with volunteers. In essence, it now expresses the hope that everyone will want to participate in welcoming new members but has eliminated the policy to do so. Second, the Membership Committee sponsored a training program aimed at developing recruitment skills, designed brochures, and put together a slide show recounting the history of the Congregation with an emphasis upon its action programs.

Thus far, recruitment has resulted in few new memberships. From the fall of 1972 through the summer of 1973, three new persons joined. One is a teen-age daughter of members. The others are a couple recently moved to the city who found their way to the Congregation through the media.

The time and energy involved in recruitment thus far cannot easily be measured, but the amounts are significant. Without new strategies designed to ferret out and interest potential members, however, more time and effort will be expended without much success. We believe both that there are persons "out there" who are capable of the commitment needed and that the continued existence of the Congregation hinges on finding and recruiting these persons. A year may be minimal for the group to get in gear and tackle this problem with the vigor and ingenuity they've displayed for other projects. Nonetheless, from a system's perspective, the allocation of resources to recruiting results in a net reduction in social-action areas. And this is the raison d'etre of the group. Diminishing the flow of its lifeblood or otherwise reducing the Congregation's quality of life for its members over prolonged time could endanger internal rapport.

In sum, the Congregation, having worked hard for five years to achieve independence and community, now faces what may be the greatest challenge to date. They must recruit new members while avoiding the pitfalls of new internal division and loss of direction in their external goals.

At the present moment, neither of these poses an imminent threat to the Congregation, but the danger of new divisions within the group remains ever present. For one, it is probably too early to be certain that the detente between Christians and humanists is permanent. Likewise, the balance between social action and personal growth may yet be precarious. Those who have pushed for personal growth, having achieved some success, could attempt to lead the Congregation further in this direction.

Another problem which has haunted the Congregation from the beginning is the inherent tension a high-demand organization creates for an individual whose spouse is not a member. This is a difficult problem for us to assess, since we have not probed deeply into the personal lives of most of the members. Clearly, however, a few members have experienced marital conflict resulting from time-consuming involvement in the Congregation. One husband, only marginally involved in the group, expressed his frustration thus: "Sometimes I think she is married to that damned congregation." This comment occurred at about 1:30 A.M. in the couple's kitchen. The dinner dishes were still in the sink; she had not returned from a committee meeting. Another distraught person told us her husband was going to have to choose between their marriage and the Congregation; shortly afterward, he dropped out of the Congregation.

The extent to which congregational involvement is the cause rather than a symptom of marital discord is unclear. It may well be that a few individuals, failing to find fulfillment in marriage, have turned to the Congregation for support and meaning. This situation, however, places the noninvolved spouse as odd person out in a triadic struggle.

Our concern with marital tensions within the Congregation involves impact on the future of the group. Theoretically, at least, it is possible all those experiencing difficulties would move to ease their marital tensions by dropping out. While this involves few

persons, the Congregation is scarcely in a position to lose any members.

More importantly, though, how the Congregation comes to grips with such personal problems may be some indicator of the value and viability of its community. They have not yet resolved this issue, nor for that matter has it become a problem of a magnitude demanding such attention. But reconciliation needs consideration on the level of individual members also; the weighing of questions of marital obligations and role responsibility versus individual fulfillment and self-identity must be worked through responsibly.

Thus far, the Congregation has handled such problems in a way far healthier and closer to the Christian ideal of ministering to one another's needs than have most churches. They have done this simply by moving problems from the secrecy of the pastor's study out into the air of trust and mutual support they have generated within the group. That's a major step. But it alone solves neither marital tension nor any other personal problems wherein involvement in the group is itself a contributing factor.

The Congregation for Reconciliation has no immunity to the problems experienced at every level of our society. Nor does it seem to have a lesser resistance. It is, however, trying to find its own remedies.

One important problem remains in discussing the internal dynamics and the future of the Congregation. That is the issue of leadership. Righter's style, while nondirective, is nonetheless goal or task-oriented. Many of the Congregation's projects had their genesis in his mind and came to fruition only through his hard work and persistence. In our interviews with members of the Congregation, many spoke of the abundance of leadership within the group. "Our problem," one enthusiastic member told us, "is that everyone in the Congregation is a leader."

Whether they are all leaders we cannot say. Clearly, however, they are a group of strong-willed people, seldom wanting for ideas or the desire to express them. Many pastors with this kind of group would have failed to mold them into either an effective social action cadre or a community. Righter accomplished both.

While the Congregation's "do your own thing" ethic is real, it is not unbridled. Along the way, Righter has managed to harness

collective energies to pursue common goals. Without his leadership, the Congregation would probably have gone off in as many directions as there are members, with little legacy and few accomplishments for their five years.

The critical question now facing the Congregation is whether its members are capable of functioning without his leadership. The issue is not academic, for Righter is planning a sabbatical beginning in the fall of 1974 to study in Europe. Righter discussed his plans with us during our visit in 1972. At that time, we thought this was a device to make a break with a group which had just about run its course. Our return in 1973 altered both our perception of the potential viability of the group and of Righter's motive. As we have seen in this chapter, 1972-73 was a critical period in the solidification of the group. They met more than 90 percent of their budget; they made great strides in resolving some persistent internal difficulties; and they began to take some important steps toward meeting the structural imperatives of survival.

We suspect Righter is quite capable of going out and recruiting enough members to assure his job security for the next several years. We doubt, however, he will take this route; not because he lacks the proclivity, which he may, but rather because to do so would make it his congregation. From the onset, the Congregation has belonged to the people, and it is this fact, perhaps more than any other, which has kept everyone working toward common goals. If the Congregation means enough to its members, they will find ways to recruit new constituents and keep the ship afloat while the captain is away.

Righter is realistic about the possibility of things falling apart, but he is optimistic that this will not happen. "We may come home," Righter commented, "and find that they don't want us. That would be kinda tough on Willie and me, for we have grown very fond of these people. But that would be good, for it would mean that they had outgrown the need for us. And that's what it's all about, isn't it?"

Time is needed to know if the Congregation for Reconciliation will survive at all. Our skepticism of 1972 regarding the prospects of survival have now given way to at least a flicker of optimism and-if we may depart from the role of objective observers-a

hope that Righter is right. They've come a long way, and there's still no rest in sight. They've grown weary from time to time, but there's a strength that has sustained them through all sorts of adversities. They believe in themselves and in what they're doing, stylish or not. The following reflection sums up this affirmation better than our words could; it was written by a Congregation member for their most recent birthday celebration.

And indeed they do.