Churches of the Silver Valley: Grace Evangelical Free Church, Osburn

(Part eight in an ongoing series.)

What does it mean to be a Christian? 

In the church I grew up in, it meant going to Mass every week, regularly confessing your sins to receive absolution, frequently receiving communion, and trusting in the guidance of the priests, the examples of the saints, and the church magisterium.

In many churches I've visited over the years, it doesn't mean much more than having faith in Jesus so you can to heaven when you die. 

In yet others, it means indignation against others who fall short of perfection while glossing over one's own shortcomings.  

All those things popped into my head when I listened to a series of sermons on the Grace Evangelical Free Church's website a week or so ago. The topic of the series was righteous anger, and I was prepared to hear the kind of fire-and-brimstone bellowing from the pulpit that's so typical of what I've encountered over the years from evangelical preachers. 

Instead, I heard Pastor Nick Hoffman thoughtfully explaining to his congregation why he was angry about all the injustice in the world. He was angry that people are mistreated for looking different, that sick people can't afford life-saving medicine, that so many of us are so hard-hearted toward the less fortunate. 

What I heard actually made me feel bad for making assumptions. This is the message people need to hear from the churches, I thought. If, instead of pointing fingers at what we deem to be others' immorality, the church instead called us to be better people in Christ's name -- being his hands and feet in a world that sorely needs it -- maybe the churches wouldn't be emptying out. 

Over and over and over, scripture tells the faithful to help the poor, the widows, the less fortunate, the sojourners, the strangers among us, the "least of these." And yet so much of what I hear, in church after church, is either a narrow focus on abortion and homosexuality -- i.e., focusing on things that other people are doing that we think are wrong, rather than tending to the log in our own eye and treating others mercifully, as we would want ourselves to be treated -- or a tendency toward antinomianism, excusing our own bad behavior because we're so depraved that we can't do any better, and anyway, your faith in Jesus has already saved you, so what does it matter?

Even the Catholic Church expects people to live out the Corporal Works of Mercy to the extent they're able. The Corporal Works are all based on what Christ expected of his followers as spelled out in the Parable of the Sheep and Goats in Matthew 25. And yet not once, in all my decades in the Catholic Church, can I recall a priest actually giving a homily on the Corporal Works of Mercy.

And so we end up with a world of believers who are puffed up with pride, getting angry at people instead of for them, or who are so focused on the next world that they forget about the needs that exist in this one. I'm not even talking about so-called "works-based salvation," which doesn't really exist anyway. I'm talking about living out one's faith with mercy and love, leaving an impression on others so that if you're the only Bible they'll ever read, they go away heartened rather than repulsed. 

So it was with all that in mind that my daughter and I went to visit Grace Evangelical in Osburn today. 

Turns out the church didn't have its usual worship service today. The last Sunday of every month is a prayer service, with congregants seated in a circle to share their praises and offer their prayer requests. The sanctuary was a smallish part of a much bigger building that housed a sizable community hall. On one end of the sanctuary was a stage; on the other, a big stained-glass window that I noticed wasn't visible from outside the church. I felt as if there must be a story behind the window if it's walled in from the exterior, but I didn't ask.

After being greeted by many of the 15 or so other folks in attendance, we wandered back to the kitchen area, where the kiddo got herself a brownie and some water. Pastor Nick shook my hand and invited us into the circle, where he started things off by picking up an acoustic guitar and leading us in song. 

Before he started us singing the old hymn "What a Friend We Have in Jesus," he remarked on how important it is for us to go to God first with our troubles, not as a last resort -- which I thought was an appropriate lead-in to a service that was going to be focused on prayer. It does seem that a lot of people resort to prayer in desperation, only after they've lost all other hope.

I admit I've never been good at praying, as I don't really understand it, except as a way for us to submit ourselves to God's will. When I used to pray for an end to my health problems and nothing happened, the lesson I took away was that prayer wasn't for getting what we wanted, like asking a genie for a magic wish, but for coming to terms with whatever is inevitably in the cards for us. To that end, I learned that there was little point in begging for mercy when you're suffering, or really in asking for anything at all. After all, an all-knowing deity would already know how my life is going to play out, and it's not like I'm going to change his mind. "Not my will but yours be done," as Christ himself said.

Nor could I really relate to the thanks I heard today in prayer -- for example, from a couple who expressed their gratitude to God that they endured a long drive through oppressive heat without breaking down, while they passed other folks whose cars didn't make it. All I could think was, why didn't God help the other people too, instead of letting their cars break down in triple-digit weather?   

But that's my own theological struggle, and it has no bearing on Pastor Nick and the commendable way he presents God and Christ to his congregation. You can tell a lot about a pastor and his mindset by what he says even outside of a preaching context, and when I listened to him lamenting the existence of a tent city out in Spokane, where people have been forced out of housing by the cost of living, while others with mental health struggles were forced onto the streets after the system failed them, all I could think was, this guy really gets it. You can sneer at the bums while being content that you've got yours, or you can imagine yourself in their place, thinking about how you'd want to be treated, and try to help in whatever way you can.

He also commented on how lots of people come into the Valley to turn a profit without thinking of those who live there, which is something that hits home for me, as I see houses just down our street in Wallace being flipped and turned into B&Bs by owners who don't even live here and thus never integrate themselves into the local community. They take the money they earn from investing in a property here but don't put it back into the local economy. Meanwhile, the local cost of living goes up and home values increase. The latter is nice if we ever wanted to sell, but it creates a situation that's not so great for those who are finding everyday life too expensive for them to remain here. The rich get richer, and the poor have to find somewhere with a lower quality of life just so they can survive. 

Why are situations like this not the focus of those who follow Christ? Why do Christians not challenge a system that rewards greed and lays ever heavier burdens on the poor and working class? Shouldn't this be our focus, rather than fixating on others' personal sins and obsessing over a heavenly reward? Why do so many Christians look less like the Good Samaritan who stopped to help an enemy and more like the "holy" men who walked on by and offered nothing?

I'm not saying I'm perfect, or that I couldn't do more than I do. I'm just wondering why this isn't the baseline, the starting point, for living an authentic Christian life.

In any event, it's clear that Pastor Nick backs up his words with actions, as his church is an active participant in the local food banks -- he lamented at today's service that hunger isn't part of the current news cycle yet remains a pressing social problem -- and I saw in the bulletin a mention of Hope Pregnancy Center and Hospitals of Hope, which respectively offer crisis pregnancy services and medical assistance to the needy. 

And you know what? Any church that uses "Micah6:8" as its Wi-Fi password tells me everything I need to know about where that church is coming from theologically. That's long been one of my favorite Old Testament verses outside of the books of Proverbs, Wisdom, and Sirach. This is what it says, if you're unfamiliar:

What does the Lord require of you? To do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God. 

Pastor Nick wrapped up today's service by sharing the passage from Matthew 6 (ah, smack-dab in the middle of the Sermon on the Mount!), in which Jesus tells his followers not to make a personal show of praying in public to be seen and heard -- tell that to the street-corner preachers haranguing people with their bullhorns! -- but rather to seek out God in solitude and humility, praying sincerely from the heart. The passage led directly into the Lord's Prayer, which we prayed corporately to end today's gathering.

Now, I could tell you that the Evangelical Free Church is a merger of two other evangelical church bodies and that its membership numbers are climbing, in contrast to the sharp decline in mainline Protestant churches. That's all interesting data. But this is one case, in my mind, where the preacher takes on more importance than the denomination or its particular theological stances. 

If I haven't made it clear, I'm thoroughly impressed with Pastor Nick and his idea of what it means to be a Christian. People tend to turn Jesus into either a dour moralist or an anything-goes hippie, when I think both are distortions of what he taught. In my experience, few people can separate him from either modern political divides or their own personal convictions, trying to fit Christ into their worldview rather than letting Christ transform them. Because the thing is, you can be compassionate and charitable without being a woke authoritarian, and you can adhere to a life of personal responsibility and restraint that serves as an example to others without being a cold-hearted right-winger. After all, part of what it means to be a Christian is to align yourself not to the ways of this world but to Christ, who doesn't change with the political winds. 

It's nice to be reminded that there are still some followers of Christ out there who seek him outside of a contemporary political and social binary. There's a reason his teachings have survived for 2,000 years, even as nations and empires and political movements come and go. Those things are ephemeral. Truth and goodness, on the other hand, always endure.

Dining in the Silver Valley: Valley Grind, Kellogg

Inspired by someone I knew back in the Seattle area who runs a food blog, I decided to try my hand at putting the word out about some local eateries here in the Silver Valley. I don't quite know how to go about this, as I'm not a food connoisseur by any stretch of the imagination. I just like food in general, as the size of my belly demonstrates quite plainly. So I'm making this up as I go.

Even getting to this point has involved some false starts. Either I waited too long after our recent restaurant visits to remember the details, or the photos I took got lost in the ether. So at last, here we are. And befitting a new series, I'll start with a new place for locals to eat. 

Valley Grind is a pleasant little coffee shop that opened last month. It's located within Dave Smith Motors territory out in Kellogg, the Valley's biggest town. Dave Smith is massive around here. It's the largest retail employer in Shoshone County, and it seems as if anytime a vacant lot goes up for sale, the dealership snaps it up to add more parking space for its cars for sale. Dave Smith also owns the building, a former elementary school, that houses Valley Grind. When you step through the doors into the shop's space, you're surrounded by views of Dave Smith office space. It's open to the public, even though you might feel as if you're intruding on someone's workspace.

Riley, one of three young ladies working behind the counter, greeted us with enthusiasm as we perused the menu. 

The offerings are pretty standard for a coffee shop: bagels, burritos, and paninis. My wife opted for the Cowboy Panini, featuring chicken, bacon, and some nicely tangy barbecue sauce. My daughter got the Turkey Bacon Panini, hold the avocado. Me, I chose the Protein Bowl from among the new menu items. It had scrambled egg, bacon, sausage, and cheese, with added avocado, and I got some cottage cheese on the side. 

To drink, I got a white mocha. I'll rate a coffee shop by its coffee before I do its food, and I can say the mocha really hit the spot. It was a good level of sweet, without overpowering the coffee flavor. My wife went off menu and special-ordered a breve -- and props to Riley for knowing exactly how to make it. We've encountered our share of baristas who are stumped when the missus asks for a breve or a cafe au lait. I didn't think either drink was so exotic as to be widely unknown among folks who make coffee for a living. But maybe I'm just more of a coffee nut than even the average barista. Seriously, coffee is life, as far as I'm concerned. 

With that said, I almost made the tragic mistake of trying out a drink called the Big Train, solely because I liked the name, until Riley informed me that it was a drink without caffeine. Sorry, but I don't need that kind of negativity in my life.

Not in the mood for coffee? I can't fathom why you wouldn't be, but you can also choose from a good variety of other beverages at Valley Grind, from tea and energy drinks to lemonade and smoothies.

The food was decent. No complaints. I tried a little bit of everything on our table, as I usually end up being the family's garbage disposal when everyone else is full. Sometimes leftovers come home in a box, but more often than not they come home in my belly. 

Service was quick, and Riley was nice enough to bring a rack full of condiments along with our food to the table. Anyone who offers up Tabasco, for any reason, earns points in my book. 

For dessert, the kiddo and I chose a couple of crumbly coffee-cake muffins to go. They were moist and full of cinnamon-sugar yumminess.

Grand total for three meals, a Coke, two coffees, and two muffins: $51, inclusive of tip. Nothing's cheap these days. But I think it was worth the price. 

It's nice to have a little place like Valley Grind nearby. When we lived in the Seattle area, there was practically a Starbucks on every corner. In contrast, out here in rural North Idaho, you can count the grand total of the national chains we have on two hands, and that includes the gas stations. Luxuries and conveniences are things you take for granted until they're not around anymore. 

Pro tip: If you're looking for the entrance, you won't find it by going down the main Dave Smith drag on Cameron Avenue. Head north one block, to 11 Riverside Avenue West. (It's not on Google Maps as of this writing.) You'll see the Valley Grind logo on the right side of a pair of glass doors. Chances are, Riley will be waiting to greet you and take your order.

Churches of the Silver Valley: Osburn Christian Center

(Part seven in an ongoing series.)

I wasn't in the best frame of mind when I left for this week's church visit. I was coming off one of my sleepless nights -- I think it's a neurological thing; my flaky health is something I've touched on here many times in the past -- and I was feeling agitated over some recent events that aren't germane to this post. 

I tried to talk myself out of going to church this week, but I had a feeling that if I didn't, I wouldn't go next week either, and the whole project would fall apart well before its completion. I know how I am.

So it was off to Osburn, two towns over from Wallace, for the second week in a row. This weekend, I decided to visit a place I drive by several times a week: the Osburn Christian Center, right along the main drag (so to speak). 

I try to do my due diligence before visiting a church every week; if there's a website, I'll listen to some past sermons or read up on the history and theology of that particular faith community. But information for OCC was scant. There was no website that I could find, and just a bare-bones Facebook page with an email address for contact information. I usually bypass the email option, as I fail to get a response more often than not. So that meant I was flying blind this week.

When the kiddo and I stepped inside the church, I looked around for a bulletin or a flyer of some kind, in further hopes of getting any information in advance before the service. Alas, I didn't see anything -- but I did notice a prominent "God Is Love" banner hanging in the social hall that led to the sanctuary. 

That statement, taken from the first epistle of John, is honestly one of my favorite New Testament verses: short and to the point, yet it conveys so much meaning. And if you proclaim that verse up front as a central part of your theology, I take that as a positive sign. 

Now that I think about it, that one banner told me more about OCC than any bulletin or flyer ever could. Good first impression!

Once in the sanctuary, I took a quick picture to capture the room, which felt really big after stepping into it from a pretty small doorway. I saw several musical instruments spread across the stage, but none of them would be used at today's service. I was left to wonder who played them, and when.

Looking around some more, I found a little bookcase full of Bibles and other religious books in a vestibule that led to an exit. I grabbed a New Living Translation so I could follow along, expecting that there would be a sermon drawn from scripture.

On the other side of the vestibule, I caught sight of this adorable little card on a bulletin board. I thought it did a commendable job of distilling the essence of the faith down to a level that even small children could understand.

I was also pleasantly surprised to see the old "Jesus Laughing" sketch from the early '70s that's been stuck in my mind ever since I first saw a copy of it hanging in a Catholic church in Kalamazoo, Michigan, probably close to 30 years ago now. I always liked how it showed a side of Christ that we almost never see in portrayals of him. We know very well how he looks when he's dour, sad, somber, tired, and serious, because we see him looking like that all the time. But rarely do we get to see the traits that would have made him relatably human to those around him.

OK, so I was starting to feel at ease here, even if I had no idea of what to expect from the actual service.

I needn't have worried. As soon as we sat down in the back row of chairs, that friendly evangelical outreach that I appreciate so much when I visit churches like this finally came through and saved the day. The fellow who walked over to greet me was named Levi Page, and he introduced himself as one of three pastors at the church. He and two women, named Shelby Brandi and Lisa Morden, are on a rotating preaching schedule, he told me. This week happened to be Pastor Shelby's turn to command the lectern.

But before that, the kiddo and I were invited up front to join in a prayer circle. I haven't been in one of those in a long time, so even though it felt a little awkward, it was nice of them to welcome a total stranger to join them in such an intimate moment. I stood and politely listened as the woman next to me asked for prayers for what I believe was her granddaughter, age 7, who'd asked if the congregation could pray for her as she went to the hospital. When the woman emotionally proclaimed that we all could use the faith of a 7-year-old, my mind went immediately to the verse in the 18th chapter of the Gospel of Matthew, when Jesus says that we must become like little children to enter the Kingdom. I admit that I don't know how to do that. It's a very hard concept for an overthinker to wrap his head around.  

Then we returned to our seats and the music began. Lots of it. Like, about 40 minutes of it. Now, I know nothing about the Contemporary Christian Music scene, outside of Neal Morse's first few prog-rock Christian-themed albums. But I have to say the music was pretty nice. Some of the songs at the churches I've been to so far have felt kind of bland and samey, but whoever made the song selections today came up with a nicely varied, lively, upbeat, and dynamic playlist. One song in particular jumped out at me, both musically and lyrically:

"Strike the Ground" by Seth Yates (I had to look that up) has a great buildup of atmospheric drama ... and in parts, it just flat-out rocks. Great stuff. And two lines in the verses stuck with me, inasmuch as they made me reflect on the battle between good and evil being waged in our culture, and even in the small towns we live in:

There's a war going on in the heavenlies

And we're tearing down wicked principalities

It really does feel of late as if diabolical forces are assembling to bring this world crashing down in a whirlwind of chaos and confusion, and I so deeply admire those with the depths of faith to propel them forward to be righteous and tireless warriors for their cause, especially on days when things seem so dark and hopeless. I lack that gift of faith and always have, but I still feel as if good folks like the ones at OCC and I are on the same side when it comes to the kind of world that we want to see prevail. 

After the music and before the sermon, we were invited to mingle freely around the sanctuary. There were only about 15 people present in total, so I got to say hello to most everyone. As I shook hand after hand, I had the distinct feeling of being introduced to members of a friendly, close-knit family. Most folks were, I'd guess, around my age or a little bit younger. Pastor Levi told me that the church itself was young and growing -- I neglected to ask him how long OCC has been around -- and I can certainly say that I felt a positive energy amongst the small congregation, one that exudes authenticity, groundedness, and seriousness about its faith, that I think gives it a strong foundation to build upon. I just hope the church can manage to get the word out to the public that it's here and, by all accounts, doing good things.

Finally, we got down to Pastor Shelby's sermon, which ran for about another 40 minutes. 

Using as a springboard the 37th chapter of Ezekiel, where God breathed life into a valley of dry bones, she talked about how so much of our contemporary spiritual strife is rooted in a rejection of the Holy Spirit that leads to a kind of spiritual dryness. If we've accepted Christ as our savior, she said, the Spirit already dwells within us; if that's the case, we just need to ask for a refreshing of the Spirit to renew our faith lives. ("The Kingdom of God is within you" is the verse that popped into my head when she said that.) 

But, she added, that doesn't mean waiting around for a big, grand, parting-of-the-Red-Sea moment. Instead, it means listening for the whisper in the ear to nudge us into everyday action, letting the Spirit, the Helper, the Paraclete, fill us with a holy presence so that we can be a light to others and do the work that has to be done before Christ's return. If we can do that, she said, it opens the door to allowing the Spirit to do great things through us, like performing healing miracles. 

  

It was an inspiring sermon that managed to remain friendly, casual, and personable. Its focus on paying attention to spiritual prompts for guidance reminded me of when I used to sit with the Quakers, who always emphasized the importance of listening for the "still, small voice" that would spur us to action. "Silence is the language of God," as the Sufi mystic Rumi once said, and I firmly believe that to be true. How can we hear what the Spirit has to say if our world and our minds are constantly full of noise?

 

Those who are aware of my spiritual leanings know that I'm drawn both to the Sacred Feminine, which I think has been overshadowed to our spiritual detriment, and to female ministers. I've always felt that women, as bearers and nurturers of new life, have a deeper connection to the life-creating Divine than we men do. Back when our family lived in the Seattle area, I often took my kiddo to an Episcopal church led by a female priest, because I felt it was important for her to see someone who looked like her up on the altar, as opposed to the Catholic church I was born into that only allows men to be priests. But I also felt that, somehow, that Episcopal priestess radiated a deeper, calmer, more profound, more mature spiritual wisdom and energy than many of her male peers were ever able to.   

All that's to say that I felt especially drawn to Pastor Shelby's message today, and I have to say I'd enjoy hearing her preach again sometime. But first, the kiddo and I have to finish our tour. I imagine we'll make return visits to some of the places we go, and OCC may well be one of them.

When I spoke again briefly with Pastor Levi after the service, he said that OCC was a nondenominational church with Pentecostal leanings. As soon as he mentioned Pentecostalism, the penny dropped: The Holy Spirit-centrism of Pastor Shelby's sermon made perfect sense, as did the prayer circle at the beginning of the service. I've had a turbulent relationship with Pentecostals and other similar "spirit-filled" churches, but overall I appreciate how on fire so many of them are for their faith. 

My experience with Pentecostal folks goes something like this. My first serious girlfriend, way back when I was 19 years old, came from a Pentecostal family, and not only did her mom regularly tell me how much she despised my Catholic faith, but my girlfriend once went to a Catholic Mass with me and remarked afterward that it was so spiritually dry, she'd seen more moisture in a piece of stale bread. The relationship was obviously doomed to fail. But at the same time, the Catholic church my family belonged to in my Michigan hometown was part of the "charismatic Catholic" movement that took hold in the '70s and '80s. The Masses themselves were normal Catholic Masses; the charismatic-minded folks met weekly in the church basement for prayer meetings -- complete with hands raised heavenward, healing circles, even speaking in tongues. While I was never quite sure what to think of it all, I couldn't for a second doubt the sincerity and depth of spirit-filled belief of those who participated in those charismatic prayer meetings, including my adoptive dad and my godfather. 

Those were interesting times in the formative years of my spiritual journey, and today's visit in Osburn managed to bring back some memories of those days.        

Churches of the Silver Valley: Bethany Lutheran Church, Osburn

(Part six in an ongoing series.)

Today's visit was a bit of a cheat, to the extent that Bethany Lutheran isn't strictly a church congregation anymore. The remaining members of the Osburn church voted to disband their community in the fall of 2021 and donate their building to Lutherhaven Ministries, a faith-based service organization headquartered in Coeur d'Alene. 

Bethany, which had served the Osburn community for around 80 years, shares the fate of other old churches in the Valley that are meeting their demise as the culture shifts and aging congregations die out, with not enough younger people to replace them to keep the churches open and functioning. As I've mentioned previously, Wallace's century-old Methodist Church now hosts a nondenominational "Prayer Station" -- more on that community in a future post -- and its stately old Episcopal Church building, which was an active place of worship for 108 years, is now a museum, featuring historical photographs of Wallace and the surrounding area. 

I met Deacon Jeff Arthurs last week out in Mullan, at Emmanuel Lutheran. Deacon Jeff serves both Emmanuel and Bethany, as neither community has its own pastor anymore. We spoke briefly after today's service about how, in some ways, the days of the circuit riders are returning in rural areas like ours: Since there's not enough of a congregation left at many churches to justify assigning them a pastor, someone like Deacon Jeff has to step in to minister to who's left. Fr. Jerome Montez, as I've mentioned, is in the same situation, having to take care of three Catholic churches here in the Valley as well as two other communities to the south of us. Even the modern-day circuit-riders, it seems, are stretched as thin as can be. Yet Deacon Jeff said he believes that these dwindling communities can't just be abandoned, as Christ calls on the faithful to serve the widows and all others in need.

Bethany's remaining congregation is very small. Today, there were seven of us in attendance, and that included Deacon Jeff. All but two of us present were his family members. Accordingly, Bethany's worship service takes place in the much more intimately sized community hall rather than in the old sanctuary.

Deacon Jeff did let me in to see the old sanctuary, which, happily, Lutherhaven has plans for. But as I looked around at the empty pews and took in the utter silence of the place, I could imagine with some sadness the worship services that took place there over the years, not to mention all the weddings, baptisms, and funerals. For decades, people celebrated and mourned together, here as one, just as they praised God through hymn and prayer together. But the world changed and time took its toll, as the hairs on the congregants' heads got grayer, and the number of people in the pews thinned out, not to be replaced, until the church community officially ceased to be. The ghosts of times gone by hung heavy in that room.

And it doesn't seem likely that the trend will reverse anytime soon. In fact, I read on Lutherhaven's website that only 25% of the residents of Shoshone County -- which contains the Silver Valley -- consider themselves religious. That's far below even the declining national average, and it goes a long way toward explaining why so many churches in the Valley are withering away.  

As far as today's service went, the sermon focused on Paul's proclamation in Romans 8 that "if God is for us, who can be against us?" As Deacon Jeff put it, we're all sinners who deserve punishment, and there's nothing we can do to change our sinful nature -- again as last week, a perfectly Lutheran way to frame the discussion. But if we have faith, he went on, then we find ourselves under the loving protection of God, which is the safest place we can be, a place where no one can threaten us, because God has proclaimed us innocent by way of Christ's atoning sacrifice, doing for us what we couldn't do for ourselves. 

The deacon's wife operated a projector to show the calls and responses throughout the service, and during the sermon, she projected a visual on to the wall that I thought summed up the essence of Reformed theology perfectly:

On one side of the chasm are sinful humans. On the other is holy God. In between, bridging the chasm, is the cross. Those who have faith will embrace the cross and pass to the other side. But if you reject the cross, you can't reach God. You're helpless to do anything.

The inevitable takeaway from this viewpoint is that we can never be transformed internally by our experience with Christ but are rather just "clothed in his righteousness," as the deacon put it -- again reflecting Luther's firm belief in the idea of irredeemable human depravity. We can never transform the piles of excrement that we inherently are; at best we can only become snow-covered dunghills, with our innate filth draped over by Christ's pure righteousness so that God can bear to look upon us and welcome us into heaven. 

Theologians here speak of the difference between infused and imputed righteousness. The Catholic and Orthodox churches preach infused righteousness, which is essentially the idea that through Christ, we experience an inner change that makes us holier, more like God, as our faith deepens. The author of the second epistle of Peter called this process "partaking in the divine nature"; the Orthodox call the ultimate goal of this process theosis, a mystical union with God. Protestants, on the other hand, tend to preach imputed righteousness: Even after we put faith in Christ, nothing about us ever changes inwardly, because it can't, because we're so utterly depraved -- and to think that we could change is an example of the "works-based salvation" that most Protestants vehemently reject. To put it in symbolic terms, infused righteousness is Christ helping us clean our dirty clothes, while imputed righteousness is Christ putting a new, sparkling robe over our dirty clothes that we can never hope to launder clean. Or, in Luther's terminology, it means we're piles of dung whose foul natures can only be concealed but never changed for the better.

If it sounds like I'm being critical of Luther's theology, well, let's just say that I've never been his biggest fan -- but understand that I'm only repeating his own words. Lutherans, on the other hand, I like just fine. Deacon Jeff seems like a genuinely nice guy, for example, and Lutherhaven is doing good things for the community. So no complaints there. Deacon Jeff even let me, someone who's never been a Lutheran, partake in communion. The bread that I took from the plate he extended to me was in the shape of a wafer imprinted with a cross, which imparted a welcome feeling of reverence, not to mention some pleasant familiarity for someone raised Catholic.    

As for Lutherhaven, it's been around since 1946, when a group of Lutherans from congregations in Idaho, Oregon, and Washington had a chance to purchase a parcel of land on Lake Coeur d'Alene. From those simple beginnings emerged an organization that offers camps and retreats for kids and adults alike and also engages in community service and faith-building activities and programs. Lutherhaven's goal for Bethany is to convert it into a community center by the end of 2024, with space to house volunteers year-round and serve those in need in the Silver Valley, as part of its Idaho Servant Adventures program that has its young volunteers do everything from visit elderly folks to help with property repairs.

So as one chapter winds down for Bethany, a new one lies on the horizon. I hope it's a future that helps Lutherhaven grow and benefits the Valley in positive ways. 

Churches of the Silver Valley: Emmanuel Lutheran Church, Mullan

(Part five in an ongoing series.)

My lasting impression of today's Lutheran service is that the sermon was, well, quintessentially Lutheran. And that was nice. Even if I'm not exactly a fan of Martin Luther himself, I like being able to step into a place of worship and know precisely where I am simply by the way the place does church. But as old denominations die out, those distinctive characteristics of each one will sadly die with them, potentially leaving behind a Christianity with much less doctrinal direction. 

Before I delve any further into today's service, let me tell you a little bit about Mullan, Idaho. 

This quiet little town, the last one on I-90 before you leave the Silver Valley and cross into Montana, lacks the historical draw of Wallace, the retail destinations of Kellogg or Smelterville, or the tourist attractions of the former two. It was named for Capt. John Mullan Jr., a surveyor and road-builder known in these parts for selecting the course of the first wagon route to cross the Rockies into the Inland Northwest. Mullan today boasts a working mine, an Olympic-size swimming pool that my daughter loves to swim in, and a pretty good burger joint. The drive from Wallace to Mullan is also quite scenic, as the highway twists between tall pine-covered hills along the 9-mile trek.

There's even a curious local landmark along the way: Elmer's Fountain, made from old mining parts and fed by a freshwater source. It looks especially neat in the winter, when ice formations take shape around the still-running water.  

My daughter and I got to Mullan earlier than expected, so we drove around a bit and came across a charming old wood-frame Episcopal church.

St. Andrew's closed way back in 1980, meeting its fate many years before Wallace's Episcopal church ended worship services and became a museum. 

Finally, we parked in front of Emmanuel Lutheran Church, which was our destination for the day. Emmanuel sits at the front end of a cul-de-sac, with the Mullan fire department and city hall sitting behind it, and a monument of Capt. Mullan situated in a landscaped median. 

Inside, we were greeted by Deacon Jeff Arthurs, who's affiliated with Christ the King Lutheran Church in Coeur d'Alene. The deacon runs services here as well as at Bethany Lutheran Church in Osburn, some 13 miles west of Mullan, as neither church has its own pastor. I wanted to talk to him more about that, as it suggests more of the denominational decline I've seen around the Valley, but we had to cut things short when the 9:30 service time rolled around. 

We did, however, touch briefly on the general decline in civic organizations, and he also mentioned that there was a grand total of one person in attendance at Bethany the previous weekend. At least there were around 20 people in the pews today in Mullan, though it's a fairly gray-haired congregation. It felt like a place where Grandma and Grandpa might go on a Sunday, while the kids and grandkids are, for better or worse, off dedicating themselves to other life priorities.

Emmanuel is affiliated with the Lutheran Church -- Missouri Synod, a conservative strand of Lutheranism. I'd never been to an LCMS church before, so I didn't know what to expect from the service. Turns out it was quite structured and liturgical, very similar to a Catholic Mass, complete with hymns at designated times, three scripture readings (Old Testament, epistle, and Gospel), the Nicene Creed (complete with filioque, but with the word "catholic," in the sense of "universal," being replaced by "one holy Christian and apostolic church"), and the Our Father -- but, notably, no communion. The deacon even spoke the words of the sign of the cross, but I was the only one who crossed myself -- with three fingers, left to right, Orthodox syle, but still.

Back when we lived in Washington, I did spend some time in a church that was part of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America, which theologically leans far more to the progressive side of the spectrum than the LCMS. That church was led by a female pastor; that wouldn't be possible in an LCMS church, which has held fast to the traditions established by the first Lutherans, from Luther's Small Catechism to the Book of Concord. 

The solas were also crucial to the first Reformers, perhaps none more so for Luther than sola fide, or the concept of faith alone. The others are sola scriptura, sola gratia, solus Christus, and soli Deo gloria -- scripture, grace, Christ, and glory to God alone. These principles, the cornerstone of Protestantism, were intended to distinguish Reformation views from the theology of the medieval Catholic church. Without getting into the weeds on a theological dissertation, the emphasis on "alone" in each point signified a determination to simplify the faith that the Reformers thought had become too entangled with the institutional Catholic church and its far-reaching power. The church was unquestionably selling indulgences and engaging in Simony, proof to the Reformers that power corrupts, and when Luther submitted his 95 Theses to the Castle Church in Wittenberg, Germany -- the story of nailing them to the church door is probably apocryphal -- it sparked a religious revolution across Europe.

That's a matter of documented history, and it's incontrovertible. But if you were raised Catholic, as I was, you also learned about Luther's dark side -- in particular his obsessive scrupulosity that had him bringing lists of sins to the confessional, where he would remain for hours daily, confessing the same sins over and over again. He saw no escape from God's wrath and punishment, and he projected his dilemma onto all of humanity, proclaiming that we are all no more than dunghills, foul piles of excrement, that are utterly incapable of ever doing anything good. 

Luther eventually found an escape from his neurotic dilemma through his interpretation of Romans 3:26, where he hit on the idea of justification by faith alone. Suddenly, it didn't matter how sinful he or anyone else was; faith alone would guarantee salvation. This was Luther's get-out-of-jail-free card.

That brings us back to today's sermon. Deacon Jeff said he struggled with what to say about Romans 8:17, where it appears that Paul places a condition on salvation: "Now if we are children, then we are heirs -- heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if [my emphasis] indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we might also share in his glory."

So we have to suffer to be saved? Well, Catholics do indeed talk about redemptive suffering, but not as a condition of salvation. And, of course, Christ himself told us to pick up our crosses in imitation of him. But from a Protestant, and especially Lutheran, point of view, anything that suggests putting the onus on us to do something, anything, to "earn" our salvation is an unacceptable reading of scripture -- an idea that goes straight back to scrupulous Martin Luther and his humans as dunghills, incapable of doing good because he thought of himself as such. Indeed, Luther exhorted people to "sin boldly," precisely because he believed that if you simply had faith, it didn't matter how much you sinned, since you can't quit sinning anyway. In my view, this is why there are so many Christians in the world who act so un-Christian: If you get saved regardless of how you live your life, then why would you bother to put in any effort to be a good person?

This is precisely why Luther wanted to expunge James, which he called an "epistle of straw," from the New Testament: James contradicted Luther's view of faith by flatly proclaiming that faith without works is dead. It's not that James mandates a set amount of "good works" as a condition of salvation; it's that authentic faith will demonstrate itself through the good works the faithful do for others. Jesus says as much all throughout the Gospels, from the Sermon on the Mount to the parable of the Good Samaritan to the separation of the sheep and goats in Matthew 25. "Let your light shine before men," Christ says, "that they may see your good works [emphasis mine] and glorify the Father in heaven." Even Paul speaks of the charitable fruits of the spirit that will be evident in all the faithful.

In any event, Deacon Jeff went on to say that the need to suffer as a condition of salvation is the wrong way to understand the passage from Romans. Instead, he said that Christ's paschal sacrifice was an act of suffering for all humanity, one that we could never take on by ourselves because we can't suffer enough to "earn" our salvation. We think "faith alone" sounds too good to be true, the deacon said, and so we tell ourselves we have to do something to earn our way into heaven. Giving Luther the benefit of the doubt for a moment, that was precisely the dilemma he found himself in. That's why I found the sermon today so utterly Lutheran in nature. And as much as I chafe at Luther and the theological ideas that sprang from his personal hang-ups, I wouldn't have it any other way. Driving home sola fide is exactly what I expect to hear in a Lutheran sermon. 

Here's why this matters. If there's a shortcoming among evangelical and "nondenominational" churches, it's that you really don't know what to expect from them, theologically speaking. And that theological amorphousness makes them all somewhat indistinguishable, such that you don't really go to church so much for the theology as for which pastor you like best. There's nothing wrong, in my view, with finding new interpretive angles within scripture, but the lack of a denominational underpinning to guide seekers can lead to a kind of spiritual anarchy where every Christian becomes his own pope. This has always been the Achilles' heel of Protestantism, of course: If there's no central authority to interpret and hand down meanings from scripture, then church bodies will forever splinter into smaller and smaller groups over minute disagreements on what a specific passage means.

The weight of history and tradition that underpins old Christian denominations at least tempers that process, by way of giving folks some idea of what to expect when they enter a church that's labeled Presbyterian, Episcopalian, Lutheran, or what have you. That's a net good, inasmuch as it gives seekers a baseline when they're looking for a church home. And it's a big part of the reason I don't want to see these old traditional churches fade away. 

Maybe their demise is inevitable, given the seismic social shifts we're experiencing. But I hope not.     

Churches of the Silver Valley: Cornerstone Church, Silverton

(Part four in an ongoing series.)

Cornerstone is a self-proclaimed nondenominational church that worships in the former Seventh-Day Adventist building in Silverton, the next town over from Wallace. If you're cruising by on I-90, you'll see the back of the brick church situated right next to the Wallace High School football field.

Knowing what I do of nondenominational churches, I had a pretty good idea of what to expect from the service. For churches that shy away from formal liturgy, I find that their worship services follow a fairly predictable pattern of singing a few contemporary praise songs and then settling in for the sermon. 

However, I was pleasantly surprised to find the worship band leading us in something that wasn't a contemporary praise song that I knew nothing about, but rather an old, familiar spiritual hymn: "Amazing Grace." 

That was one of my adoptive mom's favorite spiritual tunes, and I've always been fond of it for its ties to Chris Squire of Yes, who made it part of his bass solo on a few tours.

Another surprise came during the doxology, when the band led us in singing "Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow," a song that's been played in many a Catholic Mass. Again, something I'm familiar with!

I looked through the church's Facebook page before my visit and saw that Cornerstone's pastor, Cody Karst, has been preaching on the first epistle of John for the past month or so. Today, he wrapped up his series with the epilogue of Chapter 5. I always liked 1 John for its emphasis on God as light and love. The letter is hopeful and encouraging rather than preachy, judgy, and glum, and I think it gives Christians a solid basis for centering their religion on things that are good and hopeful and uplifting, rather than focusing their spiritual journey on what's wrong with the world. As an adjunct to the Gospels, 1 John and the epistle of James -- the latter a brilliant but often overlooked piece of New Testament wisdom literature that I think of as a kind of Christianity for Dummies -- are in my view all that a person really needs from the Bible to build a solid foundation of Christian faith. 

Pastor Cody shared a little bit about how he came to his own Christian beliefs, saying that he wasn't raised Christian but was led to the faith through a dogged pursuit of truth, as he examined why one religion would be true while another wouldn't be. The rest of his talk, in its own way, built on how that kind of faith relationship works, with an emphasis on the importance of aligning one's will with God's. I think that's a point a lot of folks miss, inasmuch as many people seem to treat God as a kind of wish-granting genie, unaware that one's relationship with God is not about what we want, but accepting what God wants for us. 

That perspective, in turn, also means you can't read a Bible verse and ignore it because you dislike its implications for your life. You have to go all in. And one of the things 1 John does well is give struggling believers hope: You will stumble because you're human, but an enduring faith and the prayers of your Christian brethren will help you through the rough spots. 

I liked that Pastor Cody took the time to offer different interpretations of verse 18, in which the author of the epistle encourages people to pray for their brethren caught in sinful ways but adds that "there is a sin that leads to death, and I am not asking you to pray about that." Pastor Cody noted that whether you believe in the theological concept of "once saved, always saved" (i.e., you can never lose your salvation, no matter what) or you have a more Arminian view (i.e., you can lose your salvation, which is not unlike the Catholic and Orthodox viewpoint) will determine how you understand what the author is saying in this verse -- either you believe the person is unsaved and too hardened of heart to reach, or you think he's blasphemed against the Holy Spirit and is therefore a lost cause (see Matthew 12, Mark 3, or Luke 12 for more on the unpardonable sin), or you might even assume that the person is so far gone that God will strike him dead in a matter of time, so there's no point in praying for him anyway. 

The fact that the pastor didn't give a prescriptive view on the verse is, I suppose, something that comes with the territory of being nondenominational, since that means there's no central ecclesiastical hierarchy dictating meanings down to its member churches. That approach also seems to be keeping in the greater spirit of Protestantism and its dedication, to a point, to interpretive flexibility. But naturally, even the churches most lenient on interpretation will draw the line somewhere between orthodox belief and heresy. It's not a free-for-all. If it were, people could find a way to rationalize away all those problematic verses that they don't want to conform their lives to.

Lastly, I appreciated that Pastor Cody talked about the idolatry that the author of 1 John warns about in the letter's final verse. I've run across religious people who have a very narrow view of idolatry, one that usually has something to do with specific forms of Catholic worship, seemingly unaware of how idolatry might affect their own lives in ways that are not always so obvious. I've always contended that anything a religious person places above God is idolatry, whether it's money, celebrities, sensual pleasures, or what have you. In his own way, Pastor Cody was in agreement with that view. Idolatry isn't just about religious statues or icons; it's a state of mind. As he put it, everyone has a hierarchy of values, and whatever is at the top of that hierarchy is what you worship. So if you're a Christian, you'd better make sure that God is at the top of your personal pyramid. 

Pascal made the point long ago about the God-shaped vacuum that longs to be filled, and social psychologist Jonathan Haidt made a similar observation much more recently that we all have a God-shaped hole in our hearts. That hole will always be filled with something. Far better, then, to fill it with something that directs us toward the good and uplifting -- which is a big part of the reason I'm doing this series on local churches and why I encourage religious belief in general. Despite the occasional shortcomings of religion, I think that religious belief is a net good for both us and our society.     

Moving on to some general observations: The congregation in attendance today numbered somewhere between 70 and 80, with a vibrant mix of young and old. There were lots of kids present, as well as a few babes in arms. That was quite a contrast to, say, the UCC church in Wallace, which had only a handful of folks in attendance when I visited and a minister on the verge of retirement. The difference, even here locally, reflects the greater trends in American Christianity, whereby mainline Protestantism is in steep decline while Catholic and evangelical numbers are holding more or less steady, and in some cases slightly rising. I think that says something about the kind of church Christians want -- or at least what those want who haven't given up on church and belief altogether: They either gravitate toward ancient reverent tradition or want a vibrant faith that isn't watered down to cater to contemporary social and cultural trends. There's something to be said for either, even if the overarching Christian belief structure isn't something I can embrace anymore.

One thing I will say is that old liturgical churches like the Catholics could take some pointers from more contemporary churches on how to make people feel welcome. My daughter and I were warmly welcomed today by Linda, Cornerstone's greeter. We had a nice talk about the Valley, homeschooling, and some of the events taking place at the church, including an ongoing youth group and an upcoming vacation Bible school. She even gave me a little welcome bag. 

I can't emphasize how important things like this are to make people feel welcome. Aside from one person who in the end couldn't do much to help, I was completely ignored at the Byzantine Catholic church in Spokane Valley when I asked if I could change my canonical status from Latin (Roman) Catholic to Byzantine and get my daughter baptized there. I was excited about becoming part of the community, and for all my efforts I was treated as if I were a leper. It was a depressing and shockingly negative experience, and I would never set foot in that church again. Cornerstone, in sharp contrast, made me want to come back, even if it's probably not a faith community I could ever personally call home.

Out front there was self-serve coffee...

Inside the sanctuary were Independence Day-themed doughnuts... 

And there was even a little merchandise stand where you could buy hats, shirts, and other items emblazoned with the church's logo. 

For those who want to follow along with Pastor Cody and didn't bring a Bible, Cornerstone even has you covered there, with ESV Bibles tucked under the chairs in front of you. 

I'd brought along my Third Millennium Bible, to try to fit in with the Protestant vibe. (I figured it best to leave my thoroughly Catholic Word on Fire collection of Acts, the epistles, and Revelation at home.) But with the Cornerstone-provided Bibles, it turned out I didn't need it. This church covers all the bases and does it all very well.

We happened to show up during the week Cornerstone was celebrating communion. Unlike the Catholic church, where communion is the central focal point of every Mass, it's something observed only occasionally in most Protestant churches, sometimes monthly or quarterly. Pastor Cody says Cornerstone celebrates communion so that we don't become complacent about the sacrifice Christ made for believers -- and also because Christ did ask us to partake of bread and wine in his memory. 

However, as I expected when the ushers passed around the tray, communion consisted not of bread and wine but a tiny cracker and some grape juice. 

I've been there and done that in past Protestant communion services, and honestly, I think it's a little weird. But on the other hand, Pastor Cody went out of his way to point out that Cornerstone's communion was open to everyone, which is exactly as it should be, not fenced off the way it is in the Catholic church until you meet the proper requirements for receiving. I'll take an oyster cracker and a shot of Welch's that's offered to everyone over transubstantiated bread and wine that's off limits to all but "properly disposed" Catholics. 

Overall, I was impressed by Cornerstone, and I can see why the church is, by all appearances, doing well in this Valley.