“If you walked into a church, you’d instantly go up in flames!” My old boss laughed at her tongue-in-cheek assessment of my 25 year-old self. A practicing Catholic, but a tolerant and accepting person, Christine and I had a great working relationship and friendship. I laughed just as hard, fully acknowledging my lack of any religious discipline. It was a running joke between us, and one that brings a smile to my face to this day.
I’ve never been a person of faith. Not that I am arrogant enough to say I have all (or any of) the answers of life and the universe, but I believe in the discipline of science, skepticism and peer review rather than the unquestionable doctrine of religion. I would be a fool, however, to say that there weren’t times in my life where I felt like a higher power intervened.
Regardless, I have always been fascinated by and appreciative of the role of the community church. My mother was raised Christian, and while she did not raise me with the same adherence to a system of faith, we would attend church on Christmas Eve with family, and have close connections with local churches (mostly because my mother was born into a family of musicians, and thus was asked to play on special occasions). And I liked it… I really enjoyed attending church with family and my mother’s students on occasion. It was nice to see people sharing a common bond and a moment of togetherness and community that was so warm and meaningful.
But religious attendance has been on the steep decline for some time, especially in the last few decades. In the year 2000, Robert Putnam published the groundbreaking book “Bowling Alone,” a commentary on how we as a nation have withdrawn from the former norms of civic engagement. Churches, community centers and yes, bowling alleys (as a lifelong bowler, I can attest to the social cohesion that league bowling creates) have shuttered their doors. Fewer and fewer Americans are participating in civic organizational interaction, and thus limiting the possibility of connections with people or experiences that might challenge their worldview.
In fairness to Putnam’s narrative of eroding social cohesion, others have pointed out that Bowling Alone fails to address many groups where community pride is still strong, and other unappreciated social factors that have contributed to what appears to be less engagement.
The staggering number of community churches that have closed is alarming. These have traditionally been anchors for a community, bastions of togetherness, and a connection to a social fabric that we seem to have lost sight of. Churches have always been community resources for those who are less fortunate. And not to be forgotten, they very simply represent a frequent reminder of basic values.
And yes, in large part, they have been places where exclusion of specific groups, ideals and ways of life have been the norm as well.
But as churches have shuttered and fewer people attend services or participate in church-driven community activities, the question is, “what has replaced this?” What has secularism done to create its own sense of community cohesion?
This is more of an open-ended question than one that I can find any answer to. I looked to academia to see if the narrative that loneliness has been on the rise is true, even before the pandemic, but interestingly enough, until relatively recently, there just wasn’t that much research on the matter. What we do learn about from any Sociology 101 class is the research of Emile Durkheim, who found that suicide rates were higher in lower-density areas. The thrust was that social connectivity and a sense of meaning makes us all feel like we are an important part of a bigger puzzle. When we lose those ties to social cohesion, we lose our sense of meaning and identity.
So as fewer Americans regularly attend religious services, what community-based outlet has taken its place? Soccer tournaments 200 miles away? Watching TV or playing video games? Creating online content (yes I see the irony)?
These are admittedly one-dimensional answers to the question of what has replaced religious attendance. Those of faith will likely claim that the secularization of society has done irreparable damage to our values and sense of community. Others would say that it has removed the restrictive societal barriers of an institution that is steeped in prejudice and judgment. Either way, it’s one more place that used to bring (many) people together that is swiftly fading into the background of society.
This is why I write about concepts like population density, placemaking and walkability, blended with inclusive infrastructure and a thriving small business culture. We advocate for communities that re-knit that sense of being a part of something beautiful and meaningful. And if you are religious, I believe places of faith can play a huge role in these community design concepts. After all, how nice would it be to leave Sunday service and walk to lunch, or to shops where you can buy a loved one gifts?
Religion is central to our uncertain political realm today, and understandably so in many ways. But churches, at their core, brought people together, and while it’s early on in this transition, we have not found a consistent way to rekindle the idea of community that churches inherently created for centuries.
***I am an urbanist influencer and do not have a formal degree in urban planning. While I am deeply passionate about urban design, trends, issues and topics, I believe in this time of undisciplined media to be honest and transparent regarding my lack of any kind of formal journalism or urban planning education. I still believe in my ability to present my viewpoints on interesting topics, but I fully admit that I have not been trained in the higher-educational rigors of expertise on such perspectives. My goal is to challenge people to think differently, not to be the the cited source of unquestionable truth. This footer will now accompany every Urban Phoenix piece, and I am proud to offer this transparency in a time when opinion is often coveted over rigorously-tested fact.***