In 1940, more than 1,100 people worshiped at Central Park. In 2000, when Campe arrived, the congregation had hit rock bottom; only 11 elderly members worshiped regularly. Today there are more than 600 people in church—and 95 percent of them are involved with some kind of 12-step group.
According to the church’s website, after the congregation was forced to relocate decades and decades ago it went through a period of steep decline. The “11 elderly members” mentioned in the article are apparently now gone. The funny thing, to me, is that the website claims the entire church’s history as its own, despite the 100 percent membership turnover and the old relocation. This goes back to questions I’ve raised about how a church can be considered the same church over the course of years, despite changes in name, location, members and possibly even doctrine.
Many churches are adding ministries for people with addictions, but the Recovery Church blends 12-step principles with Christianity to inform and define its entire ministry. The congregation is one of a handful of such churches across the country, says Dale Ryan, director of the Fuller Institute for Recovery Ministry. "These kinds of churches aren't started because the fear is we're going to have really broken people here, and we're going to need some healthy people to balance them out."
When I first read this I hesitated over the word “blends.” It smelled a little like syncretism. However, the fact is that 12-step principles can be considered a neutral methodology used as a tool of the Gospel to restore people who are broken by addiction. It’s not necessarily a matter of changing the message to fit the method, but using the technique to apply the cure.
The Recovery Church celebrates communion every week. As the church grew, Campe explains, half of the new congregants were former Catholics, so celebrating communion every Sunday seemed appropriate. "We often have people in tears at the rail," he adds. Just as at a recovery meeting, the service concludes with the entire congregation holding hands and reciting the Lord's Prayer.
Coming from a church tradition (Stone-Campbell Restoration Movement) that celebrates weekly communion, I like seeing that Recovery Church has the Lord’s Supper every Sunday. The reason for it, though, is not a thorough study of early church history, but the practical matter of many members having been Roman Catholics. This is a bit ironic, considering that most Protestant denominations do not have weekly communion due to the medieval infrequency of participating in the Eucharist.
When the Reformers came along most Catholics ate the bread (but never drank the wine, it was withheld) only once a year. This was due to the extreme popular reverence for the body and blood together with a perception of being unworthy. The Reformers, not having the custom of celebrating the Lord’s death in communion weekly as did the early church, and also wanting to reject anything they considered “works righteousness,” turned to infrequent communion. For whatever reason they have it, I am glad the members of Recovery Church are reminded weekly of the victory of Jesus over the powers.
People can become members the first time they attend. "They could have been drunk last night, and they can become a member here today," Campe says after a service in which at least a dozen had raised a hand to accept the invitation. "These people have been rejected so much. We want them to know they are welcome here."
What to do with this? Wow. On the one hand, I want to support membership standards that are not merit-based but rather grace-oriented. People need to understand that all are welcomed by God. At the same time, discipleship has a price. We are called to take up our cross daily and follow. Further, in the Book of Acts we find that the early church consistently called people not only to faith and repentance, but also to baptism. That, however, is a topic I’ll need to deal with later.
Welcoming people at the Recovery Church means making room for religious viewpoints that range from the very liberal to fundamentalist and include vague spirituality and even non-Christian beliefs. Living with the differences can be difficult. Campe's theology is rooted in mainline neo-orthodoxy, but he says he avoids being a stickler on certain theological points. "We tell people to take what works and leave the rest."
With this, matters become a bit more complicated. Again, I like the extravagant welcome extended to all. Also, I appreciated that Campe teaches from his perspective the Christian faith. It is the acceptance into membership of people who are not necessarily even attached to basic tenets of the Christian faith that concerns me. Yes, all are welcome and none should be attacked. Yes, it is good that the minister teaches according to the Christian faith. Why, though, accept into full membership those who are not even Christians?
"I don't tell people they need to get saved," Campe says. He believes, however, that within a year of arriving at the church, many of the attendees have a better understanding of the Christian faith than people in some of the other churches he's served. A strong emphasis on grace helps. "We keep the main thing the main thing," he explains. "We're here to celebrate and carry the message of God's love to all people in recovery."
The grace of God revealed in Jesus is the main thing. We frequently tell people they need to be “saved” but offer it only as a spiritual solution to a problem they may never have considered, rather than as a real-world blood-and-guts path through their personal trials and darkness. What I get from this article about Campe’s approach is that they eventually get around to learning the basics of the Christian faith. How could they not, if they can see it in action?
At six-foot-five, with the build and gait of a former football lineman, Campe fills a room with charisma. His two golden retrievers accompany him to the church office each day. Church members give him some credit for the church's growth, but not too much. "It's because of Jo, and it's in spite of Jo," says Swoverland.In other words, Swoverland and the other members harbor no illusions about their pastor's humanity. They have encouraged, comforted and admonished him through a divorce and other difficult times. They know his frailties. "They know I could take a drink anytime," Campe says."As a member of the church, I must accept the pastor as he is," Swoverland says. "He's come to me; he's come to Terry to ask for help. He's not God. He'll screw up royally. But as long as he keeps learning, that's the important thing."
This is the healthiest perspective I’ve ever seen on people in ministry. Normally, the “pastor” is supposed to be someone above the fray, a person untouched by sin and incapable of moral error. It isn’t a good way to view clergy people, although indeed they should be held to a higher standard.
Overall, I am impressed by this “Recovery Church,” and this article about it has sparked my interest in recovery ministries. People who struggle with addictions are on the margins of society, despite their perceived social status (alcoholic executive or down-and-out druggie), and it is people on the margins to whom God most spoke and with whom He most worked in the scriptural narrative.
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