c. 1997 Religion News Service

(Samuel K. Atchison is an ordained minister and has worked as a policy analyst and social worker to the homeless. He currently is a prison chaplain in Trenton, N.J., and a fellow of the Gallup International Institute.)

UNDATED _ Dear Pastor,

When I arrived home this evening after a long workday, I found the parking spaces near my inner-city dwelling had all been taken. It seems your normally empty church was the site of a rare evening worship service; all the parking spaces had been taken by the faithful.

Usually I wouldn’t mind parking a few blocks from home, even if it does increase the likelihood that my car will be stolen. Such is the price of life in the city.

Yet it occurred to me as I walked through my neighborhood that our parking spots aren’t the only things you and your church members have taken. Far worse, you’ve helped rob us of the life of our community.

There used to be a time, not too long ago, when the black church was at the center of our existence. Whether through Vacation Bible School, pot-luck dinners or community bazaars, the church door was always open _ to the saved as well as the unsaved. The church was our lifeline, the place where we married our sweethearts, baptized our children and buried our dead.

Moreover, the church and its leaders were our bridge, providing links both to our past and our future. To quote author Carl Upchurch,”The churches became the repository of our African culture and the womb of our moral, social and political development. And the best church leaders produced black civil rights leaders, (who) then went on to represent their voiceless, anonymous black flocks with intellect, vision and courage.” But something has changed in the last generation. Many of us feel the church is not there for us like it used to be.

Of course, I realize times have been hard for you, too. Many of your congregants have followed their jobs to the suburbs, taking with them much of the wealth and stability of the neighborhood.

While some return for Sunday morning services, others refuse to come back at all and have transferred their memberships to suburban churches. Included among them were some of your most skillful and resourceful members, and the church’s ministry has suffered as a result.

On a personal level, you, yourself, have gotten older. Like many of your colleagues, the glory days of your ministry are behind you. You are frightened by the changes left in their wake.

The neighborhood over which you presided is no more. The faces that once greeted you with a smile have been replaced by those filled with fear. The streets that once brimmed with life now reflect the specter of death.

In the midst of this, a gap _ a sense of disconnectedness _ has developed between the church and its community.

As Upchurch notes, many churches seem to have”no recollection”of their history and mission vis-a-vis the black community. They have become so consumed with meeting their own needs and satisfying personal agendas, they have”neither the time nor the energy nor the resources to continue their historical mission.”At the same time,”Upchurch continues,”the communities served by the churches are concerned with their own sheer survival and have neither the time nor the energy to reach out to the churches, asking for the nurturing they so desperately need.” Yet the reality is: We do need you. We need your authoritative voice, your moral authority, and your spiritual, political and economic leadership.

For though your suburban members have gotten wealthier, we who have remained behind have gotten poorer. It has become harder to make ends meet and the temptation to become part of the underground economy is ever great.

Likewise, our children have come of age at exactly the moment when there are few healthy alternatives available to them. Though you and your members fear their large size and rough manner, they are equally afraid, living in a community that lacks leadership, direction and hope.

As I suggested earlier, I wouldn’t mind giving up my parking space if I believed you really wanted to help me and my neighbors. A longer walk home would be a small price to pay to restore a sense of wholeness and community to my surroundings.

So feel free to use my space anytime you’re in the neighborhood. Only don’t be in such a big hurry when you see me coming. Stop and say hello.

MJP END ATCHISON