Creating caring communities

Opinion

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 14/06/2024 (451 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

The Elders, the global group of distinguished former leaders established by Nelson Mandela in 2007, issued a sombre statement after their recent meeting in Brazil. It began by saying “the world stands on the brink of a precipice … we face the most perilous moment since the end of the Second World War.”

They pointed to a failure of international law, to the growth of aggressive nationalism and great power rivalry that was undermining the UN Charter Principles, stating that “no country is above the law.”

Given recent commemorations of D-Day 80 years ago and considering why that fighting was necessary, their statement was timely.

My original intention was to write here about the United Church of Canada, which began its centennial celebration on June 10. Formed in 1925 from the union of Methodist, Congregationalist and Presbyterian churches, it embodied the religious experience of Prairie communities, whose isolation meant practicality trumped theological niceties when it came to providing pastoral care and services for everyone. But in the aftermath of the Great War and a global pandemic, the formation of the United Church in 1925 particularly represented a shared hope for a better future.

In this centennial year, the United Church needs to decide if it is still celebrating that shared hope, or whether — in view of the dramatic decline in church membership — it is more a celebration of a life, instead. Pointedly, is it a party or a funeral?

While much has been said about the decline of Prairie communities over the last decades, as they lost their grain elevators, branch railway lines, and especially their post offices, little more than a shrug has greeted the serial closing of their churches. Such closures have huge implications for the social fabric of Canadian society, not only in rural communities across the Prairies, but in smaller towns and cities as well.

In many of these communities, the United Church often played an important social role. At its best, it bridged local divides by welcoming people who were excluded elsewhere by everything from marital status, to gender identity and orientation, or to race and ethnicity.

Yet theological differences were always secondary to being good neighbours. Everyone supported dinners, teas, sales, and other community activities. The social infrastructure was interwoven with the people from community churches, who provided the leadership for local service organizations, too.

In times of crisis or tragedy, people worked together. What sustained those local communities (and their churches) was not a shared theology, but a shared set of values that fostered community responsibility and intergenerational relationships. Whether at service or in service, people sat with, prayed with, sang with, and worked with a wide range of people with whom they otherwise would not likely have associated. All sorts of social, cultural and economic boundaries were crossed, uniting neighbours in a shared understanding of their community and what it needed.

It was about service to others, valued and appreciated in a religious context, to be sure, but expressed in practical terms that were more sociological than theological.

This is the ethos at risk, as these core congregations decline and disappear, taking with them the social agencies that such an ideal of community service sustained. People can be spontaneously generous, but community organizations (and churches) have provided the structure, rationale and focus for that generosity. If those church doors close and their community ethos disappears, the social supports that people in communities used to offer each other will disappear, too. The curling club executive simply cannot fill that role.

Perhaps the saddest realization for me is that we will need more co-operation, more understanding, more service to each other — not less — if our communities are going to be resilient in the face of the dire future the Elders depict.

While an ethic of care is at the heart of all major religious traditions, what is still needed, more than ever, is that shared vision and hope for the future that those people embraced back in 1925 — not just among Christians, but generally within our communities, and especially for next generations.

When even the World Health Organization identifies social isolation and loneliness as a serious public health concern, parents should consider what their children are learning about relationships these days — especially given that families are smaller, and children are connected more to other people by devices than by physical presence.

What lessons in social morality are children learning today, and where? What understanding of difference, diversity and inclusion do they witness, in the behaviour of their parents and other adults? While an ethos of care can be expressed in occasional parades, it needs to be grounded in the habits of a community in which no one should feel they are alone.

To create such caring communities requires intention, effort, and dedication in service to others. Any such practical “theology” can be built from the ground up, wherever you choose. Our example may not change the world in which we are forced to live, but it can certainly change the communities we call home.

Peter Denton writes from his home in rural Manitoba.