By J.C. Mitchell
Growing up in New England, I remember going to Woolworth’s counter and spinning the seats, but generally my mother would take us to a different store called Caldor. It was a regional discount department store that originally started as a 5 & Dime. It was where I am sure most of my toys and clothes were purchased. I even remember the tent that I picked out when I turned ten was from this predecessor to Wal-Mart. There were stores throughout the East, but the one in Ridgefield and Norwalk were the two I knew like the back of my hand.
Caldor is no more than a fond memory, for the Ridgefield store is now a Kohl’s, and in Norwalk, a Wal-Mart. Honestly the items are not very different, especially since fashion seems to repeat itself, and retro is currently quite popular. Therefore I have been known to say to Mindi often, “Let’s go to Caldor,” referring to Kohl’s, Wal-Mart, or Freddies. Her correction has turned to a laugh, for it is generally all the same thing anyway.
Caldor and Woolworth’s both came to end in the same decade, but the former was the one where I had the stronger memories. Today I compare any department stores to my Caldor. I say “my” for it is actually an idealized memory. Kohl’s and Wal-Mart are the successful competition, yet I can’t shake my boyhood memory.
Living in the past can keep stuck us in the present: it is not the past because you actually cannot go back, but you cannot go forward as well. We all have our Caldors and the church is often one of our strongest. Of course, a store is not nearly as emotional as a church, but it is easy to see how hard it is to progress when we only have the conversations that start with, “I remember….” Or “What if…” Well, the reality is I now shop at Freddies (Fred Meyers) and I still have the essentials and some things I want and do not need.
So upon reflecting on my Caldor memory, I realize it was not their prices or logo, but that my mom would bring me there with my sister. That when I put on a new shirt, even if it wasn’t bought at a fancy store, I knew of my mother’s love. I worry less about remembering the store or trying to figure out how they could have stayed competitive. I am fine with knowing the store was for a season, but the memory lasts a lifetime, compelling me to make similar memories with AJ, my son.
Early in this millennium the church has seen a lot of attempts of change. We are not a business, which I cannot over emphasize, but I do believe we can learn from the reality of these “failed” department stores. Of course I am sharing how my memory is often trapped by our idealization of our past. This is a very real problem and we need to be aware of this when looking to implement new ways of being church, be it in worship, study, programs, or space. The other key is to remember that we can also learn from “failed” ministries. I put that word in quotes, because is it a failure to have served people but only for a specific time? I do not think so.
If we are looking to create new churches and new programs to serve people that have felt the church is not relevant, we need to understand we are not to create an institution that will last for eternity. That is for the Divine, not us. I want to be clear that we should not make the Gospel relevant: the Gospel is relevant. However, the reality is there are many people that are suspicious, bored, or mad at the human institution we wrap the relevant Gospel within. So if we criticize the traditional model and believe it must change, and even die to make room for a Resurrection--we must be ready that our new emergent programs, churches, thoughts, and ways will not last forever, either.