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0 occurrences of Gideon's Gang: A Case Study Of The Church In Social Action
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On Death and Dying: Terminating an Experimental Congregation
  
  
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0 occurrences of Gideon's Gang: A Case Study Of The Church In Social Action
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On Death and Dying:
Terminating an Experimental Congregation

There seems to be something unjust in the death of a youth. Why must such potential be wasted, unlived? Why, too, should the Cincinnati Congregation for Reconciliation have terminated after less than four years? Holm's answer was simple. It could not have supported itself as a small nonresidential congregation. With Presbytery money no longer coming in, the Congregation would have had to grow in order to pay its debts. If it grew, it could no longer remain a house church. It would have to settle down and become a residential congregation with a building of its own. In Holm's view, if that happened, it would be fast on its way to giving up its specialized ministry. Rather than witness this senility, he preferred to see the Congregation die in its youth.

It should be pointed out that the Dayton Congregation has managed to struggle along supporting itself with even fewer members, maintaining a strong commitment to its initial goals. Nor are the Dayton members better equipped financially than their Cincinnati counterparts. The key difference between the two missions, we believe, lies in the matter of commitment. Holm's following was seldom capable of giving the time, resources, and single-minded dedication demonstrated in Dayton.

As a terminal patient, the Cincinnati Congregation lived in the awareness of its coming death. The theme of death recurred over


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and over through the devotional writings in congregational newsletters. It first appeared in the fall of 1970, only half a year after formal acceptance as a Presbyterian congregation. The references mounted and finally peaked in July 1971, one year before termination. The Congregation quite literally lived with its own impending death and so structured much of its aspirations and actions. The earliest of these devotional references alluded to the "absurdity of being for these few brief years God's Congregation for Reconciliation." Another cited a stage play, The Last Sweet Days of Isaac, and drew a parallel between Isaac, who knew when he would die, and the Congregation. Isaac had set out to heighten and record each precious moment of life that remained. The Congregation must do the same. In the final devotional reference to death, a comparison to Christ's death was drawn.

He began to teach [his disciples] that the Son of Man was destined to be put to death. He told them, not because he wanted their sympathy. But because he wanted them to have no illusions. He wanted them to live those three years together in the awareness of their dispersal. He wanted them to know that things would not always be the way they are. That they would not always be together like this. That the time would come when they would be dispersed and scattered like sheep.... Once we have accepted our death and dispersal, we are given back to each other with new meaning.

The period of time in which these devotional references occurred was less than one year, midway in the Congregation's life. There is little doubt the brooding presence of the reaper hovered near for the duration of the mission.

The newsletter continued for several issues after the Congregation had disbanded. It offered a way for the members to hang onto one another, but, perhaps more importantly, it was a means for Holm to minister to their bereavement. The theme of resurrection, so familiar to Christian bereavement ministry, recurred continuously in these issues.

There is a final irony in all this. The Cincinnati Congregation for Reconciliation was specifically designed to place heavy


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emphasis upon those structural mechanisms which would create strong solidarity and tight cohesion. Worship, for believers, tends to be a unifying force. We would argue that worship was indeed unifying for the lonely, socially conscious church people who came together experiencing, perhaps many for the first time in a long while, a high level of consensus and emotional support in a congregational setting. The problems of internal division and latent conflict characteristic of the early Dayton Congregation were almost wholly absent in Cincinnati. The organizational problem which commanded their greatest attention was external rather than internal: courting the established churches so that a helping ministry could be provided.

In Dayton a helping ministry was hardly attempted; external goals, such as social-action projects, ran fairly smoothly. Contrary to Cincinnati, its problems were internal rather than external. If it had died early, the Dayton mission would have been just a good idea that never got off the ground, a group that couldn't overcome its problems. But Cincinnati was different. From the beginning, it had worked and worked well, particularly in providing meaning, support, and accomplishments for its members. Reinforced by the weekly cycle of worship, the Cincinnati Congregation for Reconciliation faced dispersal with a special agony. The loss of a social-action outlet and its achievements brought sadness; the loss of the support group brought grief.

The ways in which the Congregation coped with the crisis of termination are best described by its pastor in his final report to the Presbytery.

I was committed to the ending from the beginning. It would give urgency to our work and a poignancy to our caring. We would face death without illusions.
I did not recognize how many people this would put off. We had said no building. But the building is simply a symbol, a mortgage on the future. People give themselves to what will go on beyond them. The church provides the illusion of vicarious immortality, as do many other corporations in our society. A church which can bring no such illusions, which will die before we do, is more threatening than racial reconciliation.
Such is the theory. But it may be that some people knew how

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much it was going to hurt at the end, and did not want to go through that again. . . .
It became apparent that failing to deal with death head-on would undermine our work in the fall of 1971. A session committee worked out how to discuss [the issue]. We hired outside trainers to design and lead the discussions. After three intense sessions, we came out with a request to the Board of National Missions for five more months of funding, through December, 1972, in which to work out an ending and possible new beginnings. . . . When the funding proved elusive, people accepted the end and began to plan what needed to be done.
The Congregation did a good job of planning how to give themselves away. Dispersal task forces were formed, and people worked very hard. A People Resources task force catalogued our people's skills and connections, so that we could call on each other for help afterwards. A Place Resource task force listed organizations through which we might work and churches where we might go. A Last Will and Testament task force worked out the dispersal of our goods and assets. An Evaluation task force worked with other judicatories in planning our own and their evaluations. And we kept working on Presbytery's minority investments and minority representation.
In the spring of 1972 we spent a day looking back at where we had come-with the help of the categories from Elisabeth Kubler-Ross's On Death and Dying-and we could see ourselves working through denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. It did not tell us whether this particular death had been necessary. But it did help us deal with all the other separations, losses, and deaths we face in life.
The last days in June 1972 could not have been planned better. On a Sunday, the Congregation acted on the task force proposals. The next Sunday, we had a chance to tell a Board of National Missions . . . evaluation team what we thought we had been and done. That Tuesday, we led stirring worship at Presbytery, and late at night pushed through our recommendation to increase Presbytery's minority investment and minority representation. The final Sunday, we shared the Lord's Supper for the last time, looked over our shoulders, and went home.

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