Two congregations, many voices, shared concerns. The staff of the Congregations, Health, and Healing project recently conducted focus groups in two of its participating congregations in Evanston, Illinois. Although the two congregations could not be more different, they expressed similar worries about the effects of violence in their community and the conviction that their faith traditions have many resources to tackle the problem.
The first congregation was Lutheran, with a Tudor-style building nestled amid the green parklands and graceful lawns of its affluent, suburban environs. The focus group participants, mostly baby boomers, shared a general optimism about the possibilities of social action. They poked fun at their ethnically homogeneous, Norwegian heritage, with references to lutefisk and Scandinavian stoicism sprinkled amid their theological and social observations.
The second one was a progressive African-American Baptist congregation in the heart of downtown Evanston. Although the members of the Baptist focus group were of the same generation as their Lutheran counterparts, they looked to law, state, and especially families as means toward community order and discipline.
The Lutheran congregants were fairly well versed in their tradition's key concepts of health and healing. The call for deliverance from evil in the psalms, salvation by grace through faith alone, the New Testament understanding of human imperfection, the healing example of Jesus, the priesthood of all believers, the emphasis on forgiveness, and a commitment to holistic health—all these tenets came readily to the minds of the focus group participants.
There was less unanimity in the group as to the extent to which these concepts are actually realized in practice. One woman argued that society parcels out responsibility for healing to various professions, rather than involving the community as a whole. Others disagreed, pointing out that, despite the emphasis on pietism so often attributed to the Lutheran tradition, the church does encourage various forms of social ministry as part of its commitment to the priesthood of all believers and the commandment to love one's neighbor.
The group was concerned about the congregation's suburban isolation and loss of unity in a membership spread out over several towns. Yet they agreed that this did not excuse them from participation in social ministry. They shared a sense that their church was insulated from the issues and needs that would fall on its doorstep were it an urban church.
Some felt the Lutheran tradition has been too hesitant to reach out into the wider community for new members and new ministries. They described the Lutheran preference for small support groups over large social ministries as a characteristically "Nordic thing." One woman lamented that this stance is particularly ironic in an era in which society is "on a spiritual roll," with a great deal of interest in, and hunger for, spirituality and community.
When conversation shifted to community health and violence as a public health issue, the group pointed out that the murder of beloved Northwestern University basketball coach, father, and community member Ricky Byrdsong by a white supremacist took place within blocks of their church last summer. For many, the incident was a defining moment, impelling them to participate in interfaith marches, conversations with strangers of other faiths, and public acts of remembrance in an unprecedented way. The group reflected on the value of these communal expressions and on the need to include those who feel marginalized and disaffected in the community in order to prevent a similar event from happening again.
The Lutheran focus group suggested possible new themes for the ministry of health and healing. First, the group expressed interest in reaching out to those different from them. In particular, several spoke of a new awareness of the vulnerability of the Orthodox Jewish community in neighboring Skokie. Congregants said they talked with their Jewish neighbors for the first time during the community marches. Second, one participant noted the important "ministry of the building," as creating a place for conversation and conflict resolution. Third, one person articulated the need for a "relational church" that reaches out into the community and draws people into the congregation. This last proposition best reflects that church's desire to reconnect with the diverse elements of the Evanston community.
The African-American congregants were also quite immersed in their tradition, though they identified it as Christian rather than specifically Baptist. Members of the focus group first noted their church's tradition of a holistic ministry attentive to the physical, psychological, and spiritual needs of the faithful, lived out in a variety of educational and social ministries of health and healing. They identified a distinctively African-American emphasis on the church as extended family, as well as community.
A comparison of the Lutheran and African-American Baptist congregations, at least as represented by these focus groups, shows a remarkable tendency in both churches to depart from their traditions' characteristic features. The Lutheran congregation felt hindered by a stereotype of Lutheranism as a pietistic and close denomination that prefers small support groups over broad social ministries. The African-American participants, despite their church's strong legacy of political activism, proposed strategies aimed at the individual and the family.
Mention of the problems of drugs, gangs, and the lack of recreational opportunities for youth in Evanston quickly led to a lengthy discussion of the difficulties of parenting. Members described feeling bereft of support from the wider community in establishing rules and discipline for their children when necessary. Several noted that children now feel that they have rights superseding parental authority. One wryly observed that children now threaten to call 911 when parental punishment appears imminent. They sensed a need for a new parental covenant in matters of childrearing, supported by the congregation and the surrounding society. The group maintained that this is especially necessary in single-parent homes.
The focus on the family as fundamental to preventing violence seemed, at first glance, to be a retreat from the more public sphere that the African-American congregation usually inhabits. Focus-group members noted the many instances in which members of their congregation have participated in public activities for political and social justice, such as the Million Man March, the Progressive Baptist Convention, and in a variety of efforts to correct social injustices and the public policies that produce them. In this context of political engagement, the emphasis on family seemed somewhat anomalous.
This congregation, however, demonstrated that family is not separate from the community in their church tradition. In fact, the community is the extended family. This reality not only proves the relevance of the African proverb that "it takes a village to raise a child," but is also a tremendous resource within African-American churches for dealing with issues of violence and community health. What focus-group members said was that, though patterns of violence are so often learned in the family, they can also be unlearned in the family (defined broadly to include congregations and communities).
What do these congregational narratives mean for a project on congregations, health, and healing taking on the issue of community violence? First, religious traditions explicitly guide the way congregations think about issues of health and healing. Second, religious traditions view health and healing not just as a matter of curing individuals, but of healing various forms of brokenness that threaten the entire community. Finally, violence, as one of these instances of community fragmentation, is viewed differently by different congregations on the basis of theology and social location.
