Leap Of Faith Pays Off Once Filled With White Hair, Changes Bring New Life, Younger Members To Aging Congregation

A year ago, the worshipers at Salem Lutheran Church in Spokane longed to hear babies cry during their services.

The silence in the pews was a gloomy reminder that the congregation was aging - and slowly dwindling. There were no fussy babies, no fidgety school children.

Out of roughly 100 active church members, 85 were retirement age.

This summer, Joseph Johnson made them smile.

The 7-month-old boy’s frequent gurgles and occasional screams brought a welcome disruption to the somber sanctuary.

The baby, along with his parents and big brother, are among the nearly 100 people who have joined Salem in the last year, doubling the weekend worship attendance.

The new members are the first fruits of a dramatic conversion taking place in the 108-year-old congregation.

On Sunday, church members will install 30-year-old Terry Kyllo as their new pastor. The father of 14-month-old twins embodies the congregation’s aspirations to flourish.

The church has been at the corner of Broadway and Walnut since 1889. It burned down in 1949. Members built again in the same spot.

Founded by Swedish immigrants, the church retained a Swedish-language service for more than 50 years. Norwegians and Germans also started Lutheran churches in Spokane. Both congregations are still intact.

But Salem, in the heart of the West Central neighborhood, became a popular and prestigious social organization, as well as a church.

In the mid-1960s, it counted more than 1,300 people on the rolls. More than 1,000 families attended the annual smorgasbord. At Christmastime, teenage girls anxiously waited to see who among them would play the coveted role of St. Lucia in the yearly pageant.

The church offered sports leagues, baking clubs, youth organizations.

Then America went through a cultural shift, from a nation centered around community to one where individual wants and needs were the priority. Churches, fraternal clubs and other social organizations saw their memberships decline.

By last year, only four teenagers attended regularly - and then mostly in deference to their parents.

“Frankly, I didn’t think they would survive,” said Bill Williams, a Seattle consultant brought in to help revive the church. “I looked at all the white hair and I thought, ‘There’s no way they will emotionally be able to go through what they have to go through to survive. No way.”’

To attract more people, Williams told church members they would have to provide contemporary worship and solid youth programs.

More importantly, he told them, they would have to let go of old traditions and change their understanding of what it means to be Lutheran.

“I thought people should enjoy what we have,” said Ken Strong, 66, whose grandmother was among the charter members of the church. “If they don’t like it, they could go somewhere else.

“The message I got was, that’s exactly what people were doing, going elsewhere.”

Strong and others cringed at Williams’ suggestions of adding an electric keyboard and a new sound system. They rolled their eyes when he told them to talk more openly about their faith and their relationship with God. They groaned when Williams suggested remodeling the sanctuary and getting rid of the old altar.

“When we picked up that altar and moved it into the basement, I felt like we were locking away a part of me,” Strong said.

But gradually, painfully, the congregation reached a consensus to try. Naysayers like Strong vowed to participate in earnest.

“These people had an incredible, abiding faith,” Williams said. “They wanted an alive, vital church more than they wanted personal comfort.”

Williams is the founder of Reformation Resources, a non-profit organization that consults with churches on planning and change.

He lived in Spokane for 10 months while he advised the congregation on hiring a new pastor, revamping the worship and music and revitalizing the youth programs.

“I think we (Lutherans) got our theology misplaced somewhere along the line. We started assuming our theology is inherent in our liturgical worship form,” he said. “It’s a beautiful form. The problem is, it’s not the Word.”

Williams recommended and the members agreed to add a contemporary worship service in addition to the traditional liturgy on Sunday mornings.

Instead of creeds, formal prayers, confessions and sermons, worshipers would praise God through song, hear short prayers and a “message” from the pastor.

Williams likens the changes to what Roman Catholics went through when they switched Mass from Latin to local languages.

“As an art form, that’s lost. But in reality, it probably needed to go,” he said.

At 11:15 a.m. every Sunday, more than 60 people belt out contemporary songs of praise. Many who attend the service are lifelong members, like Strong. He goes to the liturgy at 9 a.m., then attends the contemporary service.

“I still feel a little uncomfortable at being so casual,” Strong said. “It’s totally open and free and cheerful and beautiful, but it isn’t what I’m used to.”

But the cosmetic changes were just a small part of the makeover. The people of Salem had to re-examine their own beliefs about faith and society.

“Lutherans respect God so much, they don’t talk about Him,” said the Rev. Kyllo. “We are so offended by conversations that are coercive and manipulative, we simply don’t discuss our faith at all.”

That had to change.

To get new people in the door, members had to invite them, talk about their church, about what it means in their lives.

“If it means anything to me to belong to the church, it should be meaningful to people who aren’t going,” Strong said. “That was hard to learn.”

Later this fall, when the new music director and youth director are in place, members hope visitors will find the church irresistible, said Cheri Nelson, also a lifetime member.

Results are already apparent. There are more worshipers, more babies. The core youth group is up from four to 20.

But the risks are enormous.

Members voted to pay for the renovations and new salaries with an endowment fund that had been tucked away. The money will run out in 12 to 18 months.

“If we are faithful, God will not let us down,” Nelson said. “Whether that means our church will be there or not, I don’t know. But God will always be there.”

, DataTimes ILLUSTRATION: Color photo