Episcopalians

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These stark numbers are headline worthy: Death of the Episcopal Church is approaching

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These stark numbers are headline worthy: Death of the Episcopal Church is approaching

Last November, I wrote a post for Religion in Public with the title, “The Data is Clear — Episcopalians are in Trouble.” In it, I used survey data to paint a portrait of a denomination that was on the brink of collapse.

One of the most troubling things about the future of the Episcopal Church is that the average member is incredibly old. The median age of an Episcopalian in 2019 was sixty-nine years old. With life expectancy around 80, we can easily expect at least a third of the current membership of the denomination to be gone in the next fifteen or twenty years. That’s problematic when membership has already been plummeting for decades.

But, I came across some data in the last few weeks that I just had to look at in more depth.

Before I get into the graphs I have to give some serious kudos to the data team that works for the denomination. I have looked at the websites of all kinds of Baptist, Methodist, Presbyterian and Catholic traditions over the last few years. The Episcopalians blow them all out of the water in terms of accessibility and ease of use.

Don’t believe me? Well, they have an interactive dashboard of all their churches in the United States. You can sort based on a map, church size, or amount of offering. It’s incredible and can be accessed at this link.

Let’s get down to it, though. How many people actually attend an Episcopal church on an average Sunday? I grabbed a PDF of their membership reports from here and did some quick analysis of the national trends.

In 2009, 725,000 people attended an Episcopal church on an average weekend. According to their own data, the Episcopal Church has about 1.8 million baptized members. (The denomination’s membership peaked at 3.4 million in the 1960s.) Thus, about 40% of current members attend on a regular basis. That’s been declining steadily over the last decade. A typical year sees attendance dip by 25,000-35,000 people. That represents a 2-3% year-over-year decline.

By 2019, the weekly attendance was 547,000. In percentage terms, the Episcopalians have seen their attendance drop by a quarter in just the last decade.

But, that doesn’t tell the whole story about the future of the Episcopalians.


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Don't neglect Mainline Protestants when analyzing, e.g., sexual abuse or Baptist turmoil

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Don't neglect Mainline Protestants when analyzing, e.g., sexual abuse or Baptist turmoil

Two blockbusters dominated the American religion beat last week.

The Catholic bishops defied a nudge from Pope Francis's Vatican and decided overwhelmingly to write a Communion policy that might target President Joe Biden and other pols for liberal abortion stances. And conservative establishment voters in a Southern Baptist Convention (SBC) presidential showdown narrowly defeated (for now) hard-right populists.

Standard news judgment automatically puts the spotlight on hot disputes in the nation's two largest religious sectors — white evangelicalism and Catholicism. Meanwhile, week by week, year by year, the media consistently downplay the third-ranking religious category, "Mainline" Protestantism, which not so long ago exercised such vast cultural influence. (They also neglect fourth-ranking Black Protestantism.)

Two thoughtful new articles show intriguing ways to overcome sins of omission.

President Mark Tooley of the conservative Institute on Religion & Democracy asks, at the Juicy Ecumenism weblog, why Mainline churches apparently suffer fewer sexual abuse scandals than their evangelical rivals. And University of West Georgia historian Daniel K. Williams compares the turbulent Southern Baptists with their smaller and rarely covered Mainline rival, American Baptist Churches (ABC). [Disclosure: The Guy was happily raised in the ABC and remained a nominal member till age 30.]

"Mainline" refers to church bodies dating from Colonial and post-Revolutionary times that have been predominantly white, involved in ecumenical groups like the National Council of Churches and are either liberal on theology and politics or give liberals ample running room. The largest such denominations — often called the “Seven Sisters” — are the ABC, Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), Episcopal Church, Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, Presbyterian Church (USA), United Church of Christ and United Methodist Church.

Tooley is a Methodist evangelical and major critic of liberal trends, so when he faintly praises Mainline performance this commands attention.


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Did mainstream media distort America's religion-and-politics divide? Are they still doing so?

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Did mainstream media distort America's religion-and-politics divide? Are they still doing so?

While culling files from decades of religion-beat work, The Religion Guy has come across a forgotten and seminal article from 2002 that contended the media were distorting public understanding of American politics. It said "religious right" Republicans were blanketed with coverage and turned the tables, contending that "the true origins" of cultural conflict were found in increased "secularist" influence in the Democratic Party.

As journalists contemplate the tumult of the succeeding two decades, ask what the article in question might say about media performance, past and present.

Consider the hostility toward openly religious nominees expressed by Senators Schumer, Feinstein, and Harris (now vice president and prospective future president). Or contrast the Religious Freedom Restoration Act, which passed the Senate 97-3 in 1993, with current House Democrats' unanimous vote for the pending Equality Act, which would forbid practical applications of that very law.

Customary political history emphasizes such landmarks as the Rev. Jerry Falwell (Senior) launching Moral Majority in 1979, Ronald Reagan's Republicans cultivating conservative Christians in the winning 1980 campaign or the Rev. Pat Robertson founding Christian Coalition in 1989 after his Republican run for president.

These events were important, of course. But what about Democrats and the other half of what was happening?

That's the focus of the 2002 article, by political scientists Louis Boice and Gerald De Maio from the City University of New York's Baruch College, drawn from their 2001 presentation at an academic conference. The piece appeared in the conservative journal The Public Interest, which is now defunct, but fortunately the American Political Science Association archive has posted the text (.pdf here). Also, click here and then here for tmatt columns on this duo’s work.

In their telling, 1972, the year before the Supreme Court legalized abortion, was the pivot point for Democrats' shift on emotion-laden social issues away from cultural conservatism and an "accommodation" policy toward religion.


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Keeping up with the times: If schools nix 'Mom and Dad,' is mainstream journalism next?

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Keeping up with the times: If schools nix 'Mom and Dad,' is mainstream journalism next?

Reporters and editors want to be sensitive to personal and minority-group concerns alongside their professional duty to be clear, accurate and non-partisan.

How to handle this balancing act amid the West's fast-evolving verbiage to accommodate feminist or LGBTQ+ advocates? The media need to consider that proposed prohibitions now go well beyond replacement of "binary" pronouns with the singular usage of they-them-their (which breaks strict grammar in English and creates ambiguity on antecedents).

Grace Church School in lower Manhattan (sticker price $57,330 per year) provides a revealing rundown on new expectations for usage and diction in its "Inclusive Language Guide," enacted last September. It says e.g. that instead of "boys and girls," school personnel should now say "people, folks, friends," or specifics like "readers" or "mathematicians." Similarly, "husband, wife, boyfriend, girlfriend" give way to "spouse / partner / significant other." The Grace community is asked to say "grown-ups, folks or family" and shun the formerly acceptable "parents" or "Mom and Dad."

Some Moms and Dads were apparently upset upon learning about the guide when posted online in January. School leaders defended their new "inclusive" regimen but hastened to explain that wordings are "suggested," not "mandatory," and apply to the adult faculty and staff, not students.

The 12-page Grace guide, posted here under "Antiracism Resources" at is by no means unique in concept. It draws from such resources as the 2018 "language values" policy at New York City's Bank Street College of Education, which media policy-makers need to be monitoring.

The key disputes involve LGBTQ+ expectations and especially regarding gender identity and fluidity. Grace opposes "heteronormativity," that is, "the assumption that cisgender is the 'norm' or standard and transgender is the outlier or an abnormality." (Editors should ponder the "cisgender" neologism for labeling persons whose gender identity or gender expression matches their biology.)

"Language is constantly evolving," Grace correctly states, and the longstanding term "homosexual" should be eliminated. "More appropriate" designations include "queer,” formerly a derogatory equivalent of the N-word — but now rehabilitated as individuals' deliberate "political identification."


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'Total Woman' redux: Obscure white evangelical says stupid things and it's national news

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'Total Woman' redux: Obscure white evangelical says stupid things and it's national news

About the time that I started teaching journalism in Washington, D.C., I saw a movie in which Beltway professionals (including speechwriters) played a rather cynical bar game. I think the movie was “Speechless,” with Michael Keaton and Geena Davis.

If my memory is correct, the game was called “Spot the soundbite.” The goal was to watch a long, complicated political speech and then to accurately predict the tiny, often sensational 5-10 second “bite” that would make it into television news reports.

The message, of course, was that substance and nuance didn’t mean much in public life. Emotions and feelings linked to a fleeting soundbite — which could be funny or emotional or whatever — were what mattered. All together now: “Where’s the beef!” It was also clear that it was easy for journalists to pick good, sharp soundbites from “good” candidates and bad, stupid soundbites from “bad” candidates.

This brings us to this week’s “Crossroads” podcast (click here to tune that in), in which host Todd Wilken and I discussed the latest example of a preacher getting caught, in the age of YouTube and social media, failing to understand the rules of “Spot the soundbite.”

I heard about this epic news story when a former student — who has national print and television experience — sent me a wry email that said: “It’s weird that this random preacher’s sermon merits an NBC News story, no?” Indeed. In the world of short attention spans and tiny online news reports, this sermon by an unknown preacher, in a tiny church, in the middle of nowhere, in an obscure denomination, deserved a 900-word report.

My witty former student knew, of course, why this sermon received lots of national news coverage — including staff (not wire service) coverage in The New York Times (we will get to that shortly).

Yes, this preacher said some genuinely bizarre and disturbing stuff about women and marriage, especially when viewed through a #ChurchToo lens. However, was it national news that an unknown pastor said these things? Well, it is if the sermon contains the word “Trump” and this pastor can be turned into an archetypal symbol of white evangelicals in flyover country, the rubes many journalists blame for electing Orange Man Bad in the first place.

This preacher did not understand how to play “Spot the soundbite.”


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Yo, Nashville Tennessean: What does 'people of faith' mean in a political argument?

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Yo, Nashville Tennessean: What does 'people of faith' mean in a political argument?

When I arrived at the Rocky Mountain News (RIP) long ago — think early ‘80s — I quickly learned that the city-desk team had an informal way of checking the Colorado pulse on religious issues.

Basically, they were interviewing clergy at the churches in downtown Denver. That was pretty much it. They would also call the Denver Catholic archdiocese (rather progressive at that time) and the “local seminary,” as in the already “woke” Iliff School of Theology, nationally known as an edgy United Methodist campus. It appeared no one knew about the larger Denver Seminary (evangelical) only a few blocks from Iliff.

What kind of churches were downtown? Almost all of them were mainline Protestant congregations and very few of them were showing any sign of life, in terms of attendance and growth. But they were nearby and most were progressive, so that was that. Why talk to folks at the region’s growing megachurches?

Hang in there with me. I am working toward a recent Nashville Tennessean article that ran with this headline: “Hundreds of people of faith call on Tennessee's Republican congressional delegation to repudiate lies about election fraud.” The key question: Define “people of faith”?

Back to Denver, for one more comment. Early on, I attended a press conference linked to the Colorado Council of Churches. Here is how I described what happened in a post back in 2013:

The key was that the organization … was claiming that it spoke for the vast majority of the state's churches. The problem was that, by the 1980s, the conversion of the Colorado Front Range into an evangelical hotbed (including evangelicals in many oldline Protestant bodies) was well on its way. Also, a more doctrinally conservative Catholic archbishop had arrived in town, one anxious to advocate for Catholic teachings on public issues on both sides of the political spectrum. …

Still, it was an important press conference that helped document one side of a religious debate in the state.

Near the end of the session, I asked what I thought was a logical question: Other than the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Denver, did any of the CCC leaders present represent a church that had more members at that moment than during any of the previous two or three decades?

Well, hey, I thought it was a fair question.


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Behind the headlines: As winter storm cripples Texas power grid, people of faith rally to help

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Behind the headlines: As winter storm cripples Texas power grid, people of faith rally to help

Texans like to brag that they live in “a whole other country.”

I don’t suppose, though, that whoever came up with that slogan had Siberia in mind.

As a severe winter storm crippled the state’s energy grid this week, my parents were among 4 million residents who lost electricity. Mom and Dad endured a really chilly night before going to stay at my sister’s house for a few days.

Heroes (think “Mattress Mack”) and villains (#FlyingTed) have emerged, while people of faith — as they tend to do during disasters — rally to help.

Here at Religion Unplugged, Jillian Cheney tells the inspiring story of a church that partnered with a Jeep club to rescue snowed-in families.

Houses of worship losing power themselves hampered some efforts to provide reliable sanctuary, but “leaders are doing all they can to connect and comfort their communities,” Christianity Today’s Kate Shellnutt reports.

Churches and other faith groups teamed up to help open an emergency warming center for the homeless at a Dallas convention center, Religion News Service’s Bob Smietana notes.

Catholic churches in San Antonio and Fort Worth opened their doors, according to the Catholic News Agency’s Jonah McKeown.

Among others mobilizing to help: Southern Baptists, Churches of Christ and Episcopalians.

Power Up: The Week’s Best Reads

1. A congregation of avatars: A few pastors minister “to the wild universe of virtual reality, or VR for short,” this fascinating feature by World magazine’s Juliana Chan Erikson explains.


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Want to trigger Episcopalians? Ask an evangelical superstar to preach at National Cathedral

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Want to trigger Episcopalians? Ask an evangelical superstar to preach at National Cathedral

Halfway between Norway and the North Pole, scientists have buried a million seeds and crop samples under a mountain in the Svalbard archipelago -- in case an environmental doomsday comes to pass.

That strategy rings true during "this crazy, chaotic season" when so many are anxious about the coronavirus pandemic, global warming, lost jobs, surging debts and the bitter state of public life, said evangelical megachurch leader Max Lucado, in a recent sermon streamed online by the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C.

“Most of us can't hide out in a bunker, yet threats of calamity may make us try to do so," he said. "If the wrong person pushes the wrong red button -- it's enough to make a person purchase a plane ticket to Svalbard."

But there was a problem. While pre-service publicity stressed that Lucado's books have sold more than 120 million copies and Christianity Today has called him "America's pastor," this invitation alarmed legions of Episcopalians opposed to his history of orthodoxy on sex and marriage. His sermon about God offering comfort in the midst of chaos avoided hot-button topics, but his cathedral appearance triggered an online storm.

Before the event, the Very Rev. Randolph Marshall Hollerith linked the Lucado invitation to the cathedral's history of hosting a variety of religious leaders. This has included evangelicals such the late Billy Graham, Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby and megachurch leader Rick Warren of Saddleback Church in Southern California.

"When we only engage with those with whom we agree on every issue, we find ourselves in a dangerous (and lonely) place," wrote the cathedral's dean. "That means this cathedral, and this pulpit, are big enough and strong enough to welcome pastors, rabbis, imams, clergy of every faith. … It does not mean we agree with everything they might believe, but it does mean that we exhibit and inhabit a sense of open handed welcome."

However, Hollerith issued a formal apology in response to the online backlash, noting: "In my straight privilege I failed to see and fully understand the pain he has caused. I failed to appreciate the depth of injury his words have had on many in the LGBTQ community. I failed to see the pain I was continuing. I was wrong."

While Lucado is known as an evangelical moderate, Episcopalians were outraged by a 2004 sermon, and online commentary, stating that he "categorically opposes" gay marriage, as well as his conviction that "homosexual activity" is sin.


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New podcast: There's more to Lent 2021 than virtual-ash selfies and giving up (fill in the blank)

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New podcast: There's more to Lent 2021 than virtual-ash selfies and giving up (fill in the blank)

It happened every year that I worked in a mainstream newsroom. Apparently, there was a law somewhere that official newsroom “advance calendars” should include a note about the beginning of Lent.

Thus, an editor would ask me a question that sounded something like this: “So where are we sending a photographer this year on Ash Wednesday?”

This was, you see, the official way to handle Lent and it would be followed, of course, by some kind of sunrise-and-lilies photo when Easter rolled around. There might be an Easter story of some kind, but that was always a problem since the goal was to have the story in print on that Sunday, which meant the story and photograph needed to be done early. It’s so hard to cover a holy day that hasn’t happened yet.

But Ash Wednesday photographs, backed with a sentence of two about Lent, seem to be a news-culture tradition. That reality was the hook — sort of — for this week’s “Crossroads” podcast (click here to tune that in).

Thus, it was easy to anticipate this COVID-19 era variation on a familiar theme, care of Religion News Service: “Celebrating Ash Wednesday in a pandemic? There’s an app for that.”

There are filters that blur “imperfections” in photos and filters that turn lawyers into cats on Zoom.

Now there are filters to help Christians safely display the very visible Ash Wednesday mark on social media.

Many Catholic and other liturgical churches observe Ash Wednesday by smudging ashes on congregants’ foreheads as a sign of repentance and a reminder of one’s mortality. That practice presents a problem during a season when health experts fighting COVID-19 have advised people to avoid touching their faces or coming in close proximity to others. …

In a year when so much of life has been lived virtually, Catholic prayer and meditation app Hallow has also taken the tradition online with an “AshTag” photo filter on both Facebook and Instagram.

That’s a valid story, even if it does fit a now familiar pandemic pattern — lots of coverage of virtual faith in these troubled times, as opposed to a few stories about the creative efforts of analog people to observe their traditions within the parameters of social-distancing guidelines.


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