Many congregations must decide between ministry, preservation

The choice is difficult for leaders, who try to keep their congregation vibrant.
KNIGHT RIDDER NEWSPAPERS
The Holy Spirit is alive every Sunday for members of the Olivet Baptist Church, but the old house that holds them is weary.
As sunlight pours through the immense stained-glass windows of the historic church, soulful hymns and shouts of "Hallelujah" echo against walls showing signs of water damage and chipped paint. The Rev. Michael Noble preaches with power amid intricate old woodcarvings, but gaping holes in the ceiling cry out for replacement.
Inside grand sanctuaries that embody victories over slavery and struggles for civil rights, leaders of historic black churches confront the dilemma faced by Pilgrim Baptist Church before it burned last month: how to keep people in the pews and roofs over their heads while wrestling to define the role of the 21st century black church.
"While we value the architecture, it should not be at the expense of ministry and oftentimes that's the dilemma that we're faced with," Noble said.
Congregation or museum
Organized in 1850, Olivet is the oldest black Baptist church in Chicago. The limestone building, with its soaring bell tower and steeple, was built in 1875. Though its history likely would justify landmark status, Noble has decided not to seek it.
"The challenge is when you have to allocate so much with limited resources towards trying to keep the church vibrant as a congregation and trying to maintain the church as a museum," said Noble. "It's very difficult to do both."
Not all church leaders make the same choices. A little farther north, the Rev. James Moody is trying to restore the full glory of Quinn Chapel A.M.E., a limestone Gothic structure that has stood for more than a century. This year Moody launched a $5 million capital campaign to improve his landmark building.
Across the nation, scholars say, historic black churches are grappling with the same issues: changing demographics and new social demons to fight.
Churches have largely lost the vibrant community of middle-class blacks who built them up and now are struggling to attract a younger generation. Instead of civil-rights issues, many are faced with urban ills such as crime, gangs and poverty.
"The world around us is changing," said Rev. Moody, pastor at Quinn for the past four years. "How do we make sure we're opening the doors of service to the new generation? I don't have the answers yet."
"Change sneaks up on [some churches] and overtakes them unaware," said Drew Smith, a Baptist clergyman and political scientist who has studied the influence of the black church at Morehouse College in Atlanta. "By the time they recognize what has happened it may be too late to reverse their decline."
Accepting change
At Quinn, Rev. Moody is trying to find solutions. When he arrived in 2001, he set up the church's first Young Adult Ministry for members aged 20 to 45. He rolled out a money management ministry for first-time homebuyers and investors and transferred much of the Sunday bulletin to a revamped church Web site.
All but one of the officers selected in the past three years has been younger than 40. "He's really passing the baton to my age group because we're the church," said Mona Eskridge, 42. "He has that vision."
Students from Moody Bible College were enlisted to canvass neighbors about what they want from a church and found the area's young professionals wanted opportunities to volunteer. They can do so at Quinn's food pantry and ministries for ex-offenders, Rev. Moody said.
"We are charged with being a bridge where people socialize and people receive social services," he said. "A bridge between the old Chicago and the new Chicago."
What black churches stood for in the past and what they stand for now are different, scholars said.
While the black church historically was seen as a guarantor of freedom, its mission today is not as clear, said Alton B. Pollard III, director of the black church studies program at Emory University's Candler School of Theology.
"I think the mission today is still freedom. I think it's still respect of persons and I think it's still equality," Pollard said. "But those terms have to be broadened. Freedom is not simply freedom to participate in the social order as it is. But it is freedom to challenge that social order, to redefine it so it becomes more inclusive."
Collaborative effort
Some congregations cannot position themselves for the future because of what still lingers in their collective memory, said Morehouse's Smith. "When the traditions are no longer responsive to the needs of the people they're serving, that could become a liability rather than an asset," he said.
Pollard said black clergy in urban neighborhoods should collaborate with Latino churches as well as seek better education in theology, finance and economics.
"Without that, our churches will falter, they will crumble, quite literally, as we see with buildings in disrepair, because we have so many pressing concerns and issues that sometimes we let go of all this," he said.
The decision by Quinn's congregation to stay in its historic building has indeed been costly. Weekly collections maintain the daily operation of the church, and about 15 percent is set aside for the building.
Rev. Moody said he is proud of Quinn's congregation for making the difficult choice to stay with the old building. City and state landmark status has enabled the church to acquire $128,000 in grants from nonprofit restoration groups this year.
"The building itself is a monument, having been built in the worst of Jim Crow," he said. "The spirit of power and love and self-discipline is our legacy. ... Why give that up?"