Seeking the Shalom: A Wholistic Approach to Adventist Urban Mission in the United States Drawing on Ellen White’s “Centres of Influence” Concept.

Gary David Krause Masters in Journalism B.A. (Hons)

A thesis submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy at The University of Queensland in 2020

School of Historical and Philosophical Inquiry ii

Abstract

In this thesis, a work of practical theology, I explore Seventh-day Adventist urban mission in the United States within the context of the church’s own history, theology, and practice, and also within the wider settings of Protestant Christianity and American society in general. The thesis includes a proposed theology of Adventist mission, a correlational dialogue with urban studies, and an examination of current Adventist practice in urban mission, including selected case studies of urban centres of influence currently operating in the United States.

In developing a new theoretical model for Adventist urban mission, I draw from the resources of Adventist theology and experience, including an Adventist wholistic approach to mission that marries the spiritual with the physical, theology with health, and beliefs with lifestyle. In doing this I explore the concepts of shalom, compassion, salvation, and incarnation. I frame this within the wider context of the historic negativity Adventists have felt toward the city. I examine how this arose, and how an Adventist preference for rural living has led to a reluctance to engage in sustained ways in urban mission. I also draw from the insights of urban studies, particularly in the areas of resilience, sustainability, social and spiritual community, and urban quality of life.

Further, I look at how “centres of influence,” a concept drawn from Ellen White’s writings, could be reinvented as a twenty-first century model for Adventist urban mission. I suggest a practice framework for how such centres can serve as a vehicle for Adventist mission in urban areas. I conclude that centres of influence should build on the strengths of Adventist theology and experience as well as the insights of the social sciences, and rather than being event-based, they should be long-term, wholistic, and embedded in the community. These centres should also serve as urban “third spaces,” and serve as platforms for connecting with and serving urban community needs—social, physical, and spiritual.

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Declaration by author

This thesis is composed of my original work, and contains no material previously published or written by another person except where due reference has been made in the text. I have clearly stated the contribution by others to jointly-authored works that I have included in my thesis.

I have clearly stated the contribution of others to my thesis as a whole, including statistical assistance, survey design, data analysis, significant technical procedures, professional editorial advice, financial support and any other original research work used or reported in my thesis. The content of my thesis is the result of work I have carried out since the commencement of my higher degree by research candidature and does not include a substantial part of work that has been submitted to qualify for the award of any other degree or diploma in any university or other tertiary institution. I have clearly stated which parts of my thesis, if any, have been submitted to qualify for another award.

I acknowledge that an electronic copy of my thesis must be lodged with the University Library and, subject to the policy and procedures of The University of Queensland, the thesis be made available for research and study in accordance with the Copyright Act 1968 unless a period of embargo has been approved by the Dean of the Graduate School.

I acknowledge that copyright of all material contained in my thesis resides with the copyright holder(s) of that material. Where appropriate I have obtained copyright permission from the copyright holder to reproduce material in this thesis and have sought permission from co-authors for any jointly authored works included in the thesis.

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Publications included in this thesis No publications included.

Submitted manuscripts included in this thesis No manuscripts submitted for publication.

Other publications during candidature

Peer-reviewed papers Krause, Gary. 2014. "Seeking the Shalom: Wholistic Adventist Urban Mission and Centers of Influence." Journal of Adventist Mission Studies 10 (2): 49-61.

Krause, Gary. 2019. "Toward an Adventist Theology of Urban Mission." Journal of Adventist Mission Studies 15 (1): 1-22.

Contributions by others to the thesis No contributions by others.

Statement of parts of the thesis submitted to qualify for the award of another degree No works submitted towards another degree have been included in this thesis.

Research involving human or animal subjects No animal or human subjects were involved in this research.

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Acknowledgements

I am deeply grateful to my father and mother for creating a home environment where reading, education, and study were given a high priority. Their encouragement and support set and kept me on the path of learning. And thank you Wayne, my brother, for always believing I had a PhD thesis hiding in me somewhere.

Thank you Neil Pembroke for guiding me through the process. You made my studies a pleasure and a terrific learning experience the entire way. Les Ball, thank you also for your help and guidance.

Thank you Jean Silver-Eisenstadt, David Trim, and Reinder Bruinsma for looking at various chapters and giving me helpful feedback. Jean, it’s a privilege to have a gracious scholar such as you as a neighbour. David and Reinder, thank you for your friendship and support.

Thank you Monte Sahlin for your long-time focus on urban mission and your ongoing encouragement. Thank you Mike Ryan for helping me translate urban mission ideas into practice. And thank you, G.T. Ng, for approving my study program.

Finally, all my love and thanks to you, Bettina and Bethany. Bettina, thanks for reading through the thesis. You are the best editor. You both are my home and my support, and mean everything to me.

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Financial support This research was supported by a grant from the General Conference of Seventh-day Adventists.

Keywords centres of influence, church, Seventh-day Adventist, shalom, urban, city, wholistic, practical theology, community

Australian and New Zealand Standard Research Classifications (ANZSRC) 220401 Christian Studies 50% 220405 Religion and Society 40% 160810 Urban Sociology and Community Studies 10%

Fields of Research (FoR) Classification 2204 Religion and Religious Studies 70% 2202 History and Philosophy of Specific Fields 30%

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Table of Contents

ABSTRACT ...... II

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ...... V

INTRODUCTION ...... 1

DEFINITION OF TERMS ...... 3 Centre of Influence ...... 3 Mission and Ministry ...... 4 Christ’s Method ...... 4

BACKGROUND TO THE CENTRE OF INFLUENCE CONCEPT ...... 4

A RENEWED INTEREST IN CENTRES OF INFLUENCE ...... 9

RESEARCH QUESTION ...... 11

SUMMARY OF RESEARCH METHODOLOGY ...... 12

CHAPTER 1: METHODOLOGY ...... 14

CLEARING THE WAY FOR UNDERSTANDING ...... 15

LOCAL AND GENERAL HERMENEUTICS ...... 17

WIDE THEOLOGICAL ENGAGEMENT ...... 18

ADVENTIST HERMENEUTICS ...... 21

GUIDING DIALOGUE METAPHOR ...... 25

OSMER’S FIRST AND SECOND TASKS ...... 26

OSMER’S THIRD AND FOURTH TASKS ...... 30

TWO NOTES: PERSONAL REFLEXIVITY AND USE OF ELLEN WHITE ...... 31 Personal Reflexivity ...... 31 Ellen White ...... 32

CHAPTER 2: BROADER CONTEXTS FOR AND INFLUENCES ON ADVENTIST URBAN MISSION ...... 33

MISSION TO THE CITIES ...... 34

A CHILD OF ITS TIMES ...... 35

THE SECOND GREAT AWAKENING ...... 36

MILLERITE MILLENNIALISM ...... 37 viii

URBANISATION AND CHANGE ...... 39

PHILOSOPHICAL CHANGE ...... 41

ATTITUDES TO THE CITY ...... 43

RESPONSE TO URBAN NEEDS ...... 45

THE RISE OF FUNDAMENTALISM ...... 49

OPPOSITION TO THE SOCIAL GOSPEL ...... 50

SOCIAL ACTION AND EVANGELISM ...... 52

RENEWED EVANGELICAL MISSION FOCUS ...... 54

SUMMARY ...... 57

CHAPTER 3. ADVENTISTS AND THE CITY ...... 59

RAPID URBANISATION ...... 60

A COUNTRY-LIVING DISCOURSE ...... 61

COUNTRY LIVING: AN AID TO MORAL AND SOCIAL SECURITY ...... 64

ADVENTIST COUNTRY LIVING SURVIVALISM ...... 67

THE RISE AND RISE OF PUBLIC EVANGELISM ...... 69

A MORE NUANCED APPROACH ...... 73

THE CHICAGO MEDICAL MISSION ...... 74

LOSING THE WHOLISTIC APPROACH ...... 78

CHIPPING AT THE DISCOURSE ...... 83

SIDELINING ADVENTIST URBAN SOCIAL ENGAGEMENT ...... 85

ADVENTIST SOCIAL ENGAGEMENT IN THE CITIES ...... 87

A RENEWED URBAN MISSION EMPHASIS ...... 89

SUMMARY ...... 90

CHAPTER 4. CURRENT PRACTICE IN URBAN MISSION ...... 92

ADVENTIST COMMUNITY SERVICES ...... 95

CASE STUDIES OF CENTRES OF INFLUENCE ...... 96 A. REACH Philadelphia, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania ...... 97 REACH Philadelphia Begins ...... 99 Incarnational Ministry ...... 100 Reflections on REACH Philadelphia ...... 101 ix

B. Simplicity Outreach, Allentown, Pennsylvania ...... 103 Spiritual Component ...... 105 Reflections on Simplicity Outreach ...... 106 C. Paradise Valley, San Diego, California ...... 108 A Spiritual Calling ...... 110 Reflections on Paradise Valley ...... 111 D. Veg Hub, Oakland, California and Olive Branch, Lewiston, Maine ...... 112 Veg Hub, Oakland, California ...... 112 Olive Branch, Lewiston, Maine ...... 113 Reflections on Veg Hub and the Olive Branch Café ...... 114

SUMMARY ...... 116

CHAPTER 5: ADVENTIST MISSIOLOGY AND SOCIAL SCIENCE IN DIALOGUE . 118

A CHRISTIAN WITNESS IN THE CITY ...... 120

POSITIVE IMPULSE TO URBAN LIFE ...... 124

CONTESTED ROLE FOR RELIGION ...... 125

PROBLEMATIC ASSUMPTIONS ...... 127

RANGE OF PROSELYTISM ...... 128

VALUE-NEUTRAL SOCIAL CARE ...... 129

UNDERSTANDING THE CITY ...... 131

LISTENING AND LEARNING ...... 133

URBAN STUDIES ...... 134

ENGAGING WITH URBAN STUDIES ...... 136

BUILDING RESILIENCE ...... 140

URBAN QUALITY OF LIFE ...... 141

SUMMARY ...... 143

CHAPTER 6: TOWARD AN ADVENTIST THEOLOGY OF URBAN MISSION ...... 147

STARTING POINT ...... 148

A THEOLOGICAL WINDOW ...... 149

COMPASSION ...... 151

INCARNATION ...... 154 x

SALVATION ...... 157

SHALOM ...... 162

SUMMARY ...... 170

CHAPTER 7 CENTRES OF INFLUENCE IN A NORTH AMERICAN CONTEXT: A CONTEMPORARY APPROACH ...... 172

TOWARD A PRACTICE FRAMEWORK ...... 172

“BEING WITH” ...... 173

THREE MAJOR COMPONENTS ...... 174

VISION STATEMENT ...... 175 1. Follow Christ’s Method of Ministry ...... 175 2. Ongoing, Long-term Commitment...... 177 3. Be Guided by Fundamental Themes and Goals ...... 178 a. Shalom—Helping Make Things Right ...... 178 b. Incarnation—Engaging Locally ...... 180 c. Salvation—Sharing Present and Future Hope ...... 182 d. Compassion—Doing Something ...... 183

SUMMARY ...... 185

CONCLUSION ...... 186

AUTHENTIC MISSION ...... 186

MISSION IN THE CITY ...... 187

AN OUTWARD FOCUS ...... 189

A WHOLISTIC MISSION ...... 189

LIMITATIONS OF THE RESEARCH ...... 191

SUGGESTIONS FOR FURTHER RESEARCH ...... 191

LIST OF REFERENCES ...... 194

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List of Figures BA Richard Osmer’s Model of Research (page 12) Figure B Historic Overview (page 36) Figure C Historic Approaches to the City (page 45) Figure D Healthy Cities (page 137) Figure E Adventist Urban Vision (150) Figure F Centres of Influence Practice Framework (page 174)

List of Abbreviations GC General Conference of Seventh-day Adventists KJV King James Version NAD North American Division of Seventh-day Adventists NIV New International Version NRSV New Revised Standard Version RSV Revised Standard Version 1

Introduction

For a global church with a baptised adult membership of more than 21 million (1.2 million in North America), the Seventh-day Adventist Church has done surprisingly little academic work on a theology of city or of mission to the city. The landscape of Adventist urban mission studies in general has not been crowded (Walemba 1988, Santos 2014, Bell 2014, Goncalves 2014, Moon 2014, Chamberlain 1973, Goncalves 2005, Sarli 1983), and Adventist urban mission studies regarding the United States in particular are also limited (Wilson 1981, Sahlin 2007, Mace 1974, Park 1996), although extensive work has been done on John Harvey Kellogg and the Chicago Medical Mission (Wilson 2014, Markel 2011, Schwarz 1964b, Schwarz 1964a, Butler 1970). A renewed interest in urban mission studies in recent years is seen in entire issues of the Journal of Adventist Mission Studies in 2014 and 2019 being devoted to this topic. Much of Adventist popular literature regarding mission to the cities discusses the views of Ellen White, co-founder and prophet of the Seventh-day Adventist Church, who more than 100 years after her death continues as the dominant Adventist voice on mission to the cities. As will be shown later, a compilation of her writings entitled Country Living (White 1946) and published posthumously, is the most influential work to guide Adventist thinking in this area.

Adventist thought and attitudes have, to a large extent, mirrored concerns of the wider Christian church and, indeed, society in general, which has had a problematic and ambiguous relationship with the city (Mulder and Smith 2009). However, Mark Wild argues convincingly that academic studies have tended to overlook the crucial role churches have played in shaping modern American cities, despite this historic tension (Wild 2011). During the 1990s there has been renewed evangelical emphasis on urban ministry in the United States, which is reflected in such things as efforts to start more urban churches, a proliferation in courses on urban mission in evangelical tertiary institutions, and a vast amount of writing on the subject (see, for example Keller 2012, Elisha 2008, Conn and Ortiz 2001, Mulder and Smith 2009, Fuder and Castellanos 2012, Elisha 2011b). To a certain extent this is being echoed within the Adventist Church with the Adventist Theological Seminary starting an urban ministry cohort in its Doctor of Ministry program in 2008, and both the General Conference (GC) and the North American Division of Seventh-day Adventists (NAD) placing mission to the cities as a high priority on their mission agendas.

2 Urban mission is often defined in significantly different ways. One wing of urban Christian mission, for example, has focused mainly on addressing social justice issues and advocating for the poor and marginalised. The other wing, mainly made up of more conservative churches, has tended to focus on personal moral issues and proselytising. In many ways the Adventist Church fits more comfortably in the second group, but the tension between these two approaches within the denomination is an underlying theme that helps shape much of what will be discussed in this thesis. Evangelism in various forms still dominates the Adventist Church’s agenda, and the church focuses on belief in a Second Coming of Jesus that will usher in peace and justice, which can lead to a lack of importance being placed on the church’s role in social issues. And yet in significant ways the Adventist denomination is extremely active socially and is heavily invested in schools, hospitals, humanitarian work, religious liberty advocacy, and public health initiatives. Adventist theology places a priority on physical and spiritual healing, and the church’s official mission statement lists “healing” as one of its four major tasks (GCC 2009).

In this thesis I will suggest ways in which Adventist history, practice, and doctrines can be brought together into a unique package marrying the spiritual with the physical, and that this can be its strength for urban ministry. This will mean a stronger investment in long-term wholistic mission, embedded in the urban community, which does not downplay the social dimensions of the gospel. It will also include a revised approach to centres of influence; spaces in cities that serve as springboards for wholistic mission.

Centres of influence is an old concept with surprisingly contemporary resonances in the corporate community. Kerstin Sailer, for example, describes how Apple Stores around the world aim “to form strong community links and a feeling of belonging to a club.” She also points to a bike shop that has combined a “cycle workshop, community meeting point and café in Edinburgh” (Sailer 2014, xxi, xxii). Similarly, in the United States, banks such as Capital One have started cafés that basically function as centres of influence for the bank. Capital One senior vice president Lia Dean says the cafés try to connect finance professionals to millennials in a "relaxed" and "stress-free" environment. The cafés offer co-working spaces, coffee, food, free wi-fi, and an attractive space. “It’s a lot more than just providing the community a coffee shop,” says Mike Friedman, market lead at Capital One. “It’s about allowing the café to provide those human connections.” Ryan Laudenbach, Seattle Market Lead for Capital One Cafés, says the layout is “designed to facilitate discovery, conversations, hospitality, 3 education, and community events” (Pilcher 2016). Capital One cafés also provide free committee room space, complete with video conferencing facilities, for non-profit community groups.

The following are key terms used in the thesis: church, centre of influence, ministry, mission, and Christ’s method. These are defined below.

Definition of Terms

Church The Seventh-day Adventist Church is an international Protestant denomination with 21.5 million baptized adult members in 212 countries and areas of the world. In North America there are 1.2 million members. The denomination describes itself as having a “representative” system of governance with four levels of church organizational structure, with leaders being elected to their respective positions.1 In this thesis the words “Adventist” and “church” generally refer to the denomination or its various expressions—institutions, services, and local congregations. It will be obvious in context when I refer to other Christian churches and initiatives. I will argue for a view of church as an outward-looking service agent rather than an institutional identity concerned with numbers and maintenance. I describe a wholistic movement in urban areas, rather than a collection of religious buildings and institutions. The vision of church in this thesis is one where the compassionate example of Jesus is expressed in fresh ways, showing no-strings-attached care for people’s physical, social, emotional, and spiritual needs.

Centre of Influence This is a term widely used today in marketing and sales, mainly to refer to key people who can help refer clients and boost business (see, for example, Leyes 2011, 34, Sanders 2019). In Ellen White’s time it was used to refer to countries, cities, and individuals. White herself used the term for a range of

1 1. The local church. 2. The local conference (or field/mission)—made up of churches in a region. 3. The union conference (or union field/mission)—made up of conferences in a region. 4. The General Conference, made up of all unions worldwide. Thirteen world divisions are regional sections of the General Conference. 4 subjects including individuals (White 1998, 296), cities (White 1903), institutions such as food stores and restaurants (White 1923b, 493), Jesus Christ, and even Satan (White 1901a, 1). White never proposed a particular model of centres of influence. Rather, she used the term to refer to Adventist institutions and entities that could have a strong influence in reaching out to the public. She had a particular burden for small centres to be established in the rapidly growing cities of the time and saw them as platforms for teaching Adventist beliefs, caring for the needy, and sharing health principles. In this thesis, I adopt and adapt the term to refer to a particular model of wholistic urban mission.

Mission and Ministry In Christian circles the words “mission” and “ministry” are often used interchangeably. In this thesis, I typically use the word “ministry” to describe specific Christian activities to help people spiritually. I use the word “mission” to refer to a broader vision of purpose and activity that involves caring for people’s social, physical, emotional, and spiritual needs, including sharing Christian beliefs and worldview.

Christ’s Method This refers to a 1905 statement by Ellen White summarising Jesus’s method of outreach: “Christ’s method of ministry alone will give true success in reaching the people. The Savior mingled with men as one who desired their good. He showed His sympathy for them, ministered to their needs, and won their confidence. Then He bade them, ‘Follow Me.’ There is need of coming close to the people by personal effort. If less time were given to sermonizing, and more time were spent in personal ministry, greater results would be seen. The poor are to be relieved, the sick cared for, the sorrowing and the bereaved comforted, the ignorant instructed, the inexperienced counseled. We are to weep with those that weep, and rejoice with those that rejoice . . .” (White 1942, 143).

Background to the Centre of Influence Concept On November 10, 1956, Seventh-day Adventists proudly held the official opening of “The New York Center,” a six-storey building located at 227 W. 46th Street, in the heart of the New York Times Square entertainment district. A plaque installed in the building’s foyer stated, “This building and its program for better living are dedicated to the people of New York . . .” Describing the opening of the centre, the Advent Review and Sabbath Herald stated that the building “has been transformed into a religious, 5 educational, and cultural center to serve the many classes of people who throng the area” (Smith 1957, 1). The centre would provide a venue for dozens of different activities offered to the community: health and vegetarian cooking seminars, stop-smoking programs, public meetings in its 900-seat auditorium, prayer and reading rooms, panel discussions, films, a nursing service, and much more. Some years later the public relations director for the centre described the centre and its programs as providing an “. . . aggressive three-pronged mental, physical, and spiritual evangelistic emphasis . . .” (Hass 1964, 1).

Church leaders saw this new investment as a “centre of influence,” a phrase widely used at that time to describe everything from a country, to a city, to a notable person. But the term had a particular resonance for Adventists who were aware of repeated statements that Ellen White had made more than 50 years earlier about the urgent need to establish centres of influence that would function as wholistic urban ministry centres. The New York Center in the heart of Manhattan was a significant purchase for a denomination that was still encouraging church members to leave the cities for the safety and better quality of living afforded by rural living. This rural living theme is a dominant discourse within Adventism that has endured throughout its history and, as will be seen in this thesis, any theological reflection on Adventist urban mission today must somehow engage and come to terms with this narrative.

For the two decades following the New York Center’s opening, official church papers presented glowing reports of the centre’s influence. These reports highlighted its service to the community, the positive image it projected for the denomination, and the number of people who became interested in Adventism, some of whom even decided to become church members. Not since John Harvey Kellogg’s famous Chicago Medical Mission in the late 1800s and early 1900s had so much been invested in an Adventist urban centre of influence, and hopes were high that the New York Center would prove successful and usher in a new era of city mission. Helen Smith called it a “light at the crossroads” and an “Adventist Lighthouse” (Smith 1956, 1). The first director, Joseph Barnes, wrote, “Yes, here, at last, is an institution within this great population area that will give character and standing to the cause we love” (Barnes 1956, 2). And yet all did not go to plan. John McClarty, fresh out of seminary, was asked to join the Adventist Metropolitan Ministries team in New York in 1978. Many years later he recalled: “While in seminary, I had read all the articles in the Atlantic Union Gleaner and the Adventist Review that mentioned the New York Center. They followed a pattern. A new director would arrive. The papers would publish glowing articles detailing his plans for creative 6 outreach to the city. A few years later, another set of articles would appear detailing another incoming director's dreams and plans. There were never any articles about the realization of any of these dreams” (McLarty 2011). McLarty overstates the lack of action, as the centre was in fact kept extremely busy with a variety of programs. But there was obviously growing dissatisfaction among church leaders regarding its role and function and in early 1980 the denomination sold the centre.

The fact that all may not have been well was signaled 14 months earlier when plans were announced to repurpose and remodel the New York Center into “the New York Adventist Health Center,” which would become a “health evangelism facility” complete with vegetarian restaurant and an expanded health food and book store (General News 1978, 3). This refocusing of the centre may have reflected growing pressure from church leaders who felt it needed to more closely follow Ellen White’s call for centres of influence such as “health food stores, hygienic restaurants, and treatment rooms” (White 1948b, 234). However, the centre was shut down before these new plans were put in to place. In explaining the closure of the centre, Earl Admundson, then-president of the Atlantic Union, the administrative body overseeing the Greater New York Conference of Seventh-day Adventists2, reported that “changing conditions have indicated for some time now that the center is not fulfilling its function as originally planned.” In fact, according to Admundson, for at least the past 10 years denominational leaders had felt it should be sold. His announcement came with an assurance that funds from the sale would be “used to strengthen the work” and that an “even stronger evangelistic outreach is being planned for the city, but from a different approach than the one the center offered.” Admundson gave no details as to what the different approach would look like, or what had been found at fault in the approach of the centre (Admundson 1980, 10).

Kenneth Emmerson, then-treasurer of the GC, conceded that the centre of influence had met with “some success” but that overall “the results have been disappointing.” Again, the disappointing results are not identified, but in all probability he was talking about baptisms and accessions to the church. Emmerson indicated that proceeds from the sale would “be used in programs and approaches that promise a higher degree of success.” He also suggested another factor leading to the sale was that its location was becoming “less and less desirable” (Emmerson 1979, 24). Here he alludes to the well-

2 Conferences are local administrative units of the denomination, which employ pastors and teachers, and operate schools and other ministries within their territory. 7 documented social and economic decline in the area around Times Square associated with a rapid rise in prostitution and drugs. Ironically, within a decade of the building being sold, Times Square started to be cleaned up and property prices soared (Stern 1999).

There is no record of any substantive appraisal or reappraisal of the multi-million-dollar experiment that was the New York Center centre of influence. Ted Wilson, then-director of Metropolitan Ministries in New York City, which was based in the New York Center, found something positive in the sale, concluding, “I feel God is using this move to scatter us so there can be more lights for Him in different parts of Metropolitan New York” (Williams 2013, 187). So what had gone wrong? Had millions of dollars been poured into a failed experiment? Was Ellen White’s concept of inner-city centres of influence a flawed one? Or had the implementation been at fault?

White had written about ministering to the cities and centres of influence at a time when phenomenal urban growth was forcing Christian denominations in the United Sates to reassess their motivations and priorities. In fact, the history of Christianity in America in the late 1800s and into the early 1900s can, in part, be seen as the story of churches trying to come to terms with rapid urbanisation and the myriad social, economic, and demographic changes accompanying it. The predominantly rural religious landscape of the United States was upended by the industrial revolution in the 1800s and by the early 1900s more Americans were living in cities than in the country. This trend has continued until today where more than 80 percent of the American population live in cities (Martins, Guo, and Swanson 2018, 160), which presents a challenge to the historically dominant Protestant prejudice against the city. The Reverend Henry Morgan’s comments in 1883 could have been made by any number of Protestant ministers of the time: “Flee the great cities! Oh young man, happy in your country home, come not to the great city. . .” (Morgan 1883, iii, iv). This perspective was particularly strong in the Seventh-day Adventist Church, which was born and nurtured in nineteenth century rural America. For Adventists, inspired by the teachings of White, cities were places of temptation and evil, and best avoided. The rallying call was for Adventists to leave the cities for the country where it was better to raise a family and more conducive to leading a spiritual life. The church’s prime method of outreach was starting new groups of Adventist believers by holding evangelistic tent meetings in country towns and villages. This is where the denomination and its preachers felt most comfortable and where Adventist evangelists could more easily gain crowds and converts (Schwarz 1979, 157). But 8 now the church was faced with how to relate to rapidly growing cities that were totally foreign to its experience and understanding.

Juxtaposed against the country living narrative was another call, also from White, to minister in the cities. Her vision for city work included a variety of activities such as literature distribution, visiting homes, public meetings, caring for the poor, and health work. It was among the hundreds of pages she wrote about city ministry that White also promoted the small ministry centres that she called “centres of influence,” which she envisaged being spread by the dozen through metropolises across the country. In 1898 White wrote to church leaders at the denomination’s headquarters in Battle Creek, Michigan, asking them why they were keeping so many resources tied up in Battle Creek, and why they were ignoring her counsel. “Why do you not take decisive steps to establish centers of influence in many of the large cities?” she asked (White 1948a, 76). The tension between the call to city ministry and the pull of country living was partially addressed by her concept of “outpost centres” where those serving in urban ministry would have a rural “outpost” base. This concept will be explored later in the thesis.

In response to White’s counsel, in the late 1800s and early 1900s a variety of enterprises were started that would fall under the centre of influence umbrella. Health treatment rooms using hydrotherapy were popular, city missions of various types were started, and dozens of Adventist-run restaurants and cafés were established across the United States. In March 1899, The Pacific Health Journal reported on “The Vegetarian,” a restaurant that had just opened in San Francisco, a few blocks from city hall, by St. Helena Sanitarium, which was owned and operated by the Adventist Church. “It is standing as an exponent of general dietetic reform,” the journal stated, “advocating temperance in both eating and drinking” (Visiting Nurses 1899, 52). Two years later, Willie White, Ellen White’s son, reported that Adventist vegetarian restaurants and cafés were proving financially successful and were “centers of missionary influence” (White 1901b).

But in 1903 Ellen White started to sound a little equivocal about the benefit of these centres of influence that she had championed. “Some good is being done by the restaurant work,” she wrote. “Men and women are being educated to dispense with meat and other injurious articles of diet. But who are being fed with the bread of life? Is the purpose of God being fulfilled if in this work there are no conversions?” (White 1967, 3). Obviously for White the highest priority of a centre of influence was to lead people to faith and if it did not succeed in this, it was a failure. Nevertheless, three years 9 later the denomination’s official yearbook reported 37 “treatment rooms” and 20 Adventist-owned restaurants and cafés in 13 states and Washington D. C. (Yearbook 1906, 124, 125). After this date, cafés and restaurants were no longer recorded in the yearbook, Adventist interest in cafés and restaurants started to subside, and little happened with Adventist-run vegetarian restaurants in following years.

A Renewed Interest in Centres of Influence

A renewal of interest in these types of urban centres of influence can be seen, ironically, around the time of the demise of the New York Center. In 1984, Suzanne Schüppel-Frey wrote that Adventist-run vegetarian restaurants were “mushrooming across the country” with at least 25 in operation with plans to start more (Schüppel-Frey 1984, 62). In the late 1970s the Adventist New York Metropolitan Ministries had begun laying plans to establish and operate a vegetarian restaurant in Manhattan and an associated rural health retreat, or “outpost centre” (Williams 2013, 187), and in 1980 the Appleseed restaurant was opened near the World Trade Center in the heart of New York’s financial district (Appleseed Restaurant 1980, 15-17, Fly 1987, 10). About a year later, the denomination asked leaders of Country Life, a network of Adventist restaurants, to take over management of Appleseed (Fly 1987, 10). The name Country Life applied to urban restaurants may seem ironic at first glance, but it was a deliberately chosen name and speaks to the longstanding tension within Seventh-day Adventism regarding how to relate to the cities.

The Adventist church members operating Country Life restaurants, which in their heyday in the 1980s were located in the heart of metropolitan centres such as Los Angeles, New York, Prague, London, and Paris, took seriously White’s concept of centres of influence. They saw these not-for-profit restaurants as opportunities to educate urban-dwellers regarding healthful nutrition and lifestyle, and to share Adventist faith. They also took her concept of “outpost centres” literally. New York City Country Life restaurant staff lived on a 250-acre farm in the adjoining state of New Jersey. In an Adventist Review article entitled “New York City—The Apple of God's Eye," James Fly supported this approach and took issue with the idea of Adventists remaining in or moving into large cities, and with the idea of “identifying” with the people in the cities. Instead he urged what he saw as God’s primary plan of “working the cities from the outside.” He gave the example of young Country Life workers who “live in the country to maintain the freshness, cheerfulness, and calm spirits they need to witness to their 10 customers effectively” (Fly 1987, 9). He does not mention their exhausting 90-minute commute each way, on a light-traffic day, to their restaurant in Manhattan. Or the 80-kilometre commute each way from a rural retreat in the foothills of the Berkshire mountains made by staff at the Living Springs Vegetarian Buffet and Natural Foods Grocery, located between Lexington and Park avenues in Manhattan. (This centre of influence came complete with a doctor’s office and space for seminars and basic health treatments.)

D. Robert Kennedy, an administrator in the Greater New York Conference of Seventh-day Adventists, took issue with Fly’s article. In a letter to the editor of the Adventist Review he argued that Fly had overlooked facts and was defending an outdated idea. “To say Ellen White counseled working the city from outside is only half the truth,” he wrote. According to Kennedy, White also counselled that church members build relationships with neighbours in the city where they were working. “Where are they expected to live?” he asked. Kennedy then referred to an Adventist ministry in New York that consisted of vans traveling through the city with volunteers and paid staff providing free health services to the community. “The van people are not working the city from outside but from inside,” Kennedy wrote, “where they are coming to know the pain, hurt, language, and culture of city folk” (Kennedy 1987, 2).

The van ministry to which Kennedy referred began in New York in 1975, with one van and one student volunteer. Seven years later it had grown to five vans and up to 25 full-time and part-time staff operating five to six days a week. These vans would cruise through New York’s five boroughs and Long Island, pull up to the curb, and open their doors. Their main service was to offer free blood pressure screening, notifying their clients when they needed follow up with their doctor. But along with the free screening they also gave basic counsel on good health including information on nutrition and how to stop smoking. They also provided a listening ear and an opportunity for prayer for any who wanted it, and distributed tens of thousands of books and pamphlets on spiritual themes. Their ministry expanded to also include providing clothing and other items to families who had suffered from fires and other emergencies (Troy 1982, 16, 17). According to John McLarty, the van ministry “was the most effective outreach the church had ever done, touching far more people than the New York Center and the Adventist-owned vegetarian restaurants and book stores combined. . . . The Van Ministry made friends for the church and helped the church turn its face outward” (McLarty 2011).

11 After founder and director Juanita Kretschmar retired, the van ministry started to slow down. However, the idea was resurrected in 2015 with a new purpose-fit van and a new name, “Wellness on the Go,” which has the goal of being “a Mobile Center of Influence” (Van Ministries No date). Indeed, in recent years there has been a renewed interest in centres of influence in North America with the NAD announcing a plan to establish 50 urban centres of influence over five years—2017-2021. “The purpose of this initiative is to bless the people of our cities, as Jesus did, by loving them, meeting their needs, gaining their confidence, and sharing our hope with them,” writes José Cortes Jr., associate director of the division’s Ministerial Association. Cortes does not give any definitions of a centre of influence, but offers a plan for financial assistance, and invites expressions of interest from churches. He concludes, “It is time to reach the people of our North American cities with Christ’s ministry and message of compassion, hope, and wholeness” (Cortes Jr. 2019).

Now that the main concepts have been introduced, it is time to state the research questions guiding the work of this thesis. There are two major questions.

Research Question Public evangelistic meetings, the van program, and centres of influence such as restaurants, health centres, and the New York Center are expressions of a variety of Adventist responses to the call of Jesus, often referred to as the Great Commission, to go into all the world and make disciples, or followers (Matthew 28:18-20). But are all responses equally efficacious in an urban environment? The two major research questions to be addressed in this thesis are first, what should meaningful Adventist urban mission in North America look like today, and second, how could a reworked version of the centre of influence approach fit into that picture?

In order to pursue these research questions, I will use Richard Osmer’s four-phase model of research in practical theology. A full discussion of this research methodology is provided in chapter one. Here I present a brief overview of that approach, which fits under the umbrella of practical theology.

12 Summary of Research Methodology In this thesis, I will seek to develop an improved approach to urban mission in North America, and this will involve critical theological reflection on the Adventist Church’s current practice. Central to this reflection will be a critical review of case studies of current centres of influence.

Richard Osmer's Model of Research

TASKS 1 and 2 TASK 3 TASK 4

What is currently What ought to be How might we respond? happening and why? happening?

Chapter 2. Chapter 5. Chapter 7. Sociohistorical context Engaging with urban A practice framework studies for centres of influence Chapter 3. Practice and Chapter 6.

self-understandings A theology of wholistic urban mission Chapter 4. Examples of current practice

Figure A

In navigating this theological project, I will rely on four methodological tasks that Richard Osmer suggests for a practical theological project (Osmer 2012a). Osmer’s first task is to analyse the current situation, and so three chapters are devoted to examining and assessing the Adventist Church’s current understanding and practice of urban ministry. In chapter two I will explore the sociohistorical context that has helped shape and provide context for the Adventist Church’s approach to the cities. In chapter three, I will look at Adventist practice in the city in the context of its own self-understandings. This includes examining key historic tensions within Adventism regarding urban mission such as the Adventist ideal of living in the country against the call to minister in the cities; event-based and program-based ministry against long-term organic ministry; “attractional” forms of ministry against serving types of ministry. In doing this, I also move into Osmer’s second task of not only asking what is happening, but why it is happening. In chapter four I analyse specific examples of what is happening in contemporary Adventist urban mission today, including several case studies of centres of influence.

Osmer’s third task of practical theology moves from the question “Why is it going on?” to ask “What ought to be going on?” What norms can be constructed to describe what should happen in this particular Christian practice? In order to answer these questions, in chapter five I first look outside the Adventist faith tradition. This involves consulting with the social sciences, particularly urban studies, 13 for suggestions on how urban mission can be more effective, and how the centre of influence concept can be enhanced or modified for a more effective urban mission for the twenty-first century. Then, in chapter six, I look inside Adventist faith tradition and understanding to suggest a theological approach to the city that could help guide more effective practice.

Drawing on the findings of chapters five and six, I will conclude in chapter seven with Osmer’s final task for a work of practical theology, which asks, “How might we respond?” This final stage advocates improved practice by describing a role for centres of influence and developing a practice framework to support them.

14 CHAPTER 1: Methodology

This thesis is a work of practical theology, a discipline that seeks to connect Christian texts, teaching, and other relevant intellectual thought with human action in a way that helps bring about positive change in practice. Practical theology starts not with theology, theory, or tradition, but with lived experience. However, practice is never devoid of theory (Browning 1991, 7), and so the movement is from theory-infused practice, to critical theory, and then to a renewed theory-infused practice. A simple and helpful definition of theory is “a set of ideas” that help us see more clearly (Rod Hunter quoted in Miller-Mclemore 2016, 4), and a key purpose of practical theology is to see theory guide everyday practice. Though practical theology is a rigorous intellectual enterprise, its purpose is to connect with ordinary lived experience. As Bonnie J. Miller-McLemore says, the bottom line for practical theology is that it “either has relevance for everyday faith and life or it has little meaning at all” (Miller-McLemore 2012, 105). In an important sense, practical theology is an incarnated theology; it does not begin to function until it puts on human skin in some kind of human situation. It is a theology that speaks from and into tangible experience; it is an embedded theology. Christopher Rowland argues that the Bible itself “is about a way of life lived in ‘the public space’ contributing to the common good, not shut off in sanctuary or study” (Gorringe and Rowland 2016, 105).

The purpose of the methodology described in this chapter is to provide a logically coherent framework for pursuing the theological task of this thesis. It can be compared to a provisional travel route that has been roughly plotted on a large-scale map. It identifies the point of departure and the hoped-for destination, but cannot show the exact details of the route, or exactly what the final destination will look like. The plotted route, which goes through familiar and unfamiliar territory, gives a general overview of how to go about getting from Point A to Point B. Navigating such a physical route may involve some unexpected detours, stopping to ask for local knowledge and directions, and the use of a variety of means of transportation. In a similar way, the methodology of this thesis is the procedure that is proposed for navigating the research route. The methodology outlines the general route of the research inquiry, while the methods are the specific means of transportation, as it were, that will be used to travel the route. Methodology includes philosophical assumptions, selected research methods, and engagement with various sources of information and authority.

15 In this thesis, the “lived experience,” the starting point for the theological reflection, is the way that the Seventh-day Adventist Church in North America is currently approaching and conducting urban mission. After analysing this current practice, ways will be explored for strengthening that mission. A central part of that discussion will be an examination of how an old Adventist approach, called centres of influence, can be reinvented for a more vigorous and effective mission to American cities in the twenty-first century.

Clearing the Way for Understanding This thesis involves interpreting current Adventist practice in the cities and proposing a better understanding for moving forward. It seeks to understand historical and sociological constraints and motivations that have led Adventist urban mission to where it is today. In seeking to find the best ways to obtain robust theological understandings about urban mission, the critical theological reflection of this thesis will draw from many sources including the Bible, Christian tradition, social sciences, experience and practice, and case study data. This will involve textual analysis, where “text” has a wider meaning than just written words and includes all varieties of human action. Sally Brown, for example, talks of “living texts of human action” (Brown 2013, 31), and Kathleen Cahalan refers to “the living text of human lives and faith communities” (Cahalan 2005, 93). Theological hermeneutics is concerned with trying to clear the way for theological understandings that will clarify, direct, and enhance practice. This means as much as possible acknowledging and declaring predispositions to hear and interpret texts in certain ways. It means evaluating whether that hearing is “appropriate to the text” (Kloha 2012, 6).

Opinions differ on how hermeneutics should be brought to the table. Some argue for a “general hermeneutics,” where theologians must make their hermeneutics clear up front, and make sure to align it with their theology, methodology, and methods. Otherwise, it is argued, practical theology will be tainted by what Alexander Jensen calls “unacknowledged prejudices” (Jensen 2007). Theologians such as Gordon Kaufman and James Barr argue that theology must be part of “a general philosophical scheme” (Treier 2008, 24). Thus, Seventh-day Adventist theologians taking this approach could conduct their theological reflection through a framework of what Adventists call “the great controversy,” or the cosmic conflict between good and evil, which is a rich theme in Adventist theology. Or perhaps the concept of “Sabbath rest” could provide a lens for biblical interpretation. In 16 chapter 6, I will propose another theological framework that draws on several biblical themes that can help focus and clarify an Adventist vision for urban mission.

Other theologians argue for “local hermeneutics,” which focuses on a narrower field of inquiry. Kevin Vanhoozer, for example, argues that interpreting the Bible theologically does not mean imposing a general hermeneutic or theory of interpretation onto the text (Vanhoozer 2008, 22). Postmodern approaches to hermeneutics claim there are as many legitimate ways of reading a text as there are readers. Some theologians such as Donald Wood question the value or even the possibility of establishing any type of general hermeneutics. He sees theological hermeneutics as a distinct enterprise described in theological terms from start to finish (Wood 2002, 113, 170). Stephen Fowl and Gregory Jones go further and argue that the Bible can only make sense in specific contexts, finding its meaning in local communities through the work of local interpreters. They deny the possibility of a “context- independent interpretive method” and argue that it can only make sense in the framework of some type of community reading and application (Andrews 2010).

Much of the debate and controversy about the role of theological hermeneutics in practical theology revolves around this interaction between the author and her explicit and implicit intentions, the text and its historical-social context, and the interpreting theologian’s own conditioning and current situation (Porter and Robinson 2011). On the one hand there are those who seek to recover the meaning of the author (for example, Vanhoozer, Smith, and Benson 2006). Ellis Brotzman says that this is the task of the reader, to discover what the author meant when she wrote the text (Brotzman 2010). For others such as Hans-Georg Gadamer, authorial intentions, even if recoverable, are largely irrelevant. According to Gadamer’s non-intentionalist hermeneutics, not only is understanding “interpretative,” the fuller meaning of a text is found only in its application to a current situation. As Vessey explains, for Gadamer the only way to fully understand a law was to understand how it would be applied. In the same way, we can only understand a moral principle or divine command if we understand how our behaviour would change if we lived by it (Vessey 2010, 648, 654). For Gadamer, a reader does not address a pre-packaged static text that contains meaning just waiting to be unwrapped and deciphered. And in the process of engaging that text the reader cannot successfully divest herself of all prejudices and biases. Rather, the very subjectivity that the reader owns and brings to the text serves as a moving springboard from which to approach that text. The “horizon” of the text and the “horizon” of the reader’s perspectives move together, and it is in their interaction and intersection that meaning and understanding arise. This is an ongoing process, sometimes described as a hermeneutical circle or, 17 perhaps more helpfully, a hermeneutical spiral. This spiraling conversation between text and reader has no final point as such; it never arrives at anything such as “a plain reading” or “the definitive meaning” or “the intended meaning” of the text.

A variety of general hermeneutic theories are now widely used to interpret a variety of different texts from the Bible to works of fiction, from politics to health care. These advocacy hermeneutics often represent minority or marginalised perspectives, and include, but are not limited to, postcolonial, liberation, feminist, ecological, ecofeminist, gay, and black theologies. And so, for example, advocates such as Ernst Conradie write of reading the Bible “through ecological lenses” (Conradie 2010, 296). Letty Russell emphasises how “where we are standing” influences our hermeneutics, which “encourages us to do interpretation from a feminist liberation perspective.” She adds that a postcolonial hermeneutic involves examining “the bias of a text in regard to its sources of oppression as well as its life-giving potential” (Russell 2004, 26). The attractiveness of a general hermeneutics is that it helps organise, categorise, and systematise. The danger is that it is easy to contort a text in arbitrary ways in order to fit a pre-determined hermeneutical scheme.

Local and General Hermeneutics Despite clear differences in emphasis between local and general approaches to hermeneutics, in this thesis both approaches are used. This is done on the understanding that they do not have to be mutually exclusive but, like two wings on a plane, can both serve to help lift and balance a theological project. James Andrews argues that in practice the distinction between general and local hermeneutics breaks down for two reasons. First, any pursuit of some type of local hermeneutics ends up at some stage appealing to general concepts. And second, both approaches have the same aim of wanting to finally achieve a local hermeneutics (Andrews 2012, 5).

Instead of talking about the categories of local and general, Andrews suggests it is more helpful to think more in terms of a continuum. He proposes what he calls a “temporal model,” which is concerned with the timing of the appeal to hermeneutical theory (Andrews 2012, 77). Is the appeal before practice, to guard it and keep it on the right track? Or does the appeal to hermeneutics occur during practice, acting as an assistant or a guide? Is the hermeneutics a priori, viewing theory as a template, or a constraint, on the practice that will follow? Or is it a posteriori, giving practice priority over, but not at the expense of, theory? 18

Typically, a theologian taking an a priori approach comes to the text with “a hermeneutics of suspicion,” seeking a general hermeneutics to provide the parameters for his interpretation. One of his major priorities is to avoid misreading the text, so he first steps back from the text and develops generalised criteria to protect from misreading. After developing these criteria (from philosophical hermeneutics, literary theory, or other sources), he then moves into the theological inquiry, ready to interpret the text (Andrews 2012, 79). On the other hand, a theologian taking an a posteriori approach is more pragmatic. She doesn’t discount abstract theories, but starts from a concrete, localised situation and focuses on an “ongoing act” of interpretation. So if a problem or question happens to arise in a certain context, the theologian suggests a rule that helps make sense of the situation, and that will be tested and tried and become part of the ongoing interpretation (Andrews 2012, 80). The a posteriori approach does not limit the practical theologian to traditional theological pursuits but allows her to use appropriate tools from the current philosophical context, without being swept away by the ever- changing flow of philosophical currents. It allows her to use these currents “flexibly and eclectically.” Thus the balance Andrews suggests is a theological hermeneutics that is free to draw from the insights of general philosophical hermeneutics, while at the same time not being compelled to give up its local theological concerns (Andrews 2012, 115). Listening to philosophical and general hermeneutics does not necessarily mean the thesis needs to be captive to some general hermeneutical straightjacket. Rather, taking cues from Andrews’s temporal model—that is, his a posteriori hermeneutical approach—the thesis can move freely between local and general, practice and theory, and thereby engage in a richer and, ultimately, more productive practical theology.

Wide Theological Engagement Andrews’s “temporal model” is paralleled by David Tracy and Don Browning’s concept of “critical and correlational reflection.” Their hermeneutic is part of the tradition of mediating theologies that seek to “locate the scope of practical theology in its most comprehensive context, ministry to the world” (Browning 2003, 318). This theoretical approach is not content to allow theological discussion to remain internally focused, a type of insider language for believers. Rather, it calls for a theology that speaks in and to the concerns and understandings of the wider community. Practical theologians are keen to explore how spiritual texts, teachings, and tradition intersect with the culture in which they find themselves. Starting with Paul Tillich, the word “correlation” has been used by many theologians— Hans Küng and David Tracy are two of the more prominent—to describe the way they try to connect 19 these two worlds (Jeanrond 1985, 137). Browning, for example, describes the theologian’s task in terms of seeking to discover what a “mutual critical correlation” between the Bible and Christian tradition on the one hand, and secular sources on the other, can teach or contribute to a particular practice. The process is a two-way critique (Browning 2000, 93, Browning 1991, 45-47, Browning 1987, 19-21). For Browning, practical theology begins by challenging certain practices and the way they are understood (Cahalan 2005, 68). This thesis, also, will begin with practice by examining and challenging the Adventist Church’s understanding and practice of urban ministry.

Rather than bringing a general hermeneutical approach to apply to practice, these theologians first address the practice, which leads to theory and a critique of theory, which in turn leads back to practice. As Craig Van Gelder says, “Rather than thinking about theology as theory applied to practice, Browning asserts that theory is embedded within practice” (Van Gelder 2004, 147). Although it may seem counter-intuitive, particularly among communities such as the Seventh-day Adventist Church that elevate the Bible as the “Word of God,” starting with interpretation of current practice does not necessitate considering the Bible as the weaker conversation partner, the less important player. Rather it is a strategic methodological choice to ensure that the theology being done relates directly to, and is grounded in, a lived situation. In other words, that the theology is indeed practical.

Most practical theologians are eager to see the Bible and Christian teachings and tradition interact with a variety of relevant secular sources. This interaction enriches theological understanding and informs practice. It is like being on the road trip mentioned at the start of the chapter and stopping to ask a local person for directions. You may have a GPS, but it is not 100 percent reliable, and local knowledge may enhance your trip by providing helpful information on current road conditions, short-cuts, and even more-scenic routes. A mutual critical correlation approach moves hermeneutics further than Paul Tillich’s answering theology, recognising that authentic dialogue must be at least a two-way process. This highlights a tension that is resolved in various ways by different practical theologians. Some engage in critical correlation but clearly assign a higher authority to biblical sources, refusing to allow the Bible and Christian tradition to be subservient to, or the blind servants of, secular sources. Others defer to the social sciences, assigning them the possibility of not only illuminating theological understandings and the Bible, but also of correcting it. So theology critiques secular theory, and secular theory critiques theology. Most important, practical theology is not content to allow theological discussion to remain internally focused, a type of gnostic language game contained within the metaphoric four walls of the church. This is of particular importance in this thesis, which focuses 20 specifically on the urban mission of the Seventh-day Adventist Church, and how it is played out in the streets of cities and the lives of communities.

This discussion shows how far practical theology has taken Friedrich Schleiermacher’s pioneering and more limited vision of practical theology as the practical application of conclusions made by other theologians. Schleiermacher’s metaphorical theological tree had foundational and philosophical roots, a trunk consisting of historical and biblical theology, and branches and fruit that represented practical theology (Bennett 2013, 34). Today’s practical theologian is keen to address the whole tree, including the roots and trunk (in fact she looks longingly at the rest of the forest) and demands involvement in the full process of theological inquiry. The practical theologian is concerned not only with the “real life” application, but the hermeneutical processes of arriving at the application. Alexander Jensen describes hermeneutics as the bridge between theory and practice, transporting the practical theologian from epistemology to method and methodology (Jensen 2007). Again, this definition works as long as it includes the practical theologian’s interest in both sides of the bridge, not just the crossing.

Werner Jeanrond points to three current approaches to theological hermeneutics. First, there are those theologians who limit their attention to intratextual considerations of the Bible and other texts of Christian tradition, showing little interest in a wider engagement with or application of philosophical hermeneutics. Christopher Baker describes this category of theologians as those who “have withdrawn into a religiously sealed hermeneutic based on divine revelation” (Baker 2007, 69). A second group is willing to engage more widely with secular sources, but only on limited terms. It determines its specifically Christian view “predominantly from inside the church and biblical theology.” A third group conducts its theological activity in the public arena, dialoguing with philosophers and social scientists, favouring “an open-ended dialogue on method between Christian interpreters and other thinkers in hermeneutics” (Jeanrond 1991, 163-164). Zoë Bennett describes similar categories and argues that the major differentiator among the three approaches is their starting points or “trusting points and priorities.” Bennett adds a disclaimer that these are rough categories that are “ideals” and not “real and nuanced.” Her first group matches Jeanrond’s in starting with “authoritative tradition and religious belief” and then moving to practice. Her second group also resonates with Jeanrond’s second group in taking a mediating approach that acknowledges the importance of engaging practical experience in “mutual dialogue,” but on the understanding that the Bible and Christian authority hold the trump card in any engagement. Bennett’s final group, like Jeanrond’s third category, makes no 21 special appeal to any transcendent authority; the engagement and mutual dialogue is on a totally level playing field (Bennett 2013, 43-46).

Adventist Hermeneutics While all three approaches have their merits, the work of a practical theologian sits most comfortably and appropriately with the second and third, shedding the “exclusive transcendence” to which Tillich refers, and engaging with a wider world. For example, it seems a natural move to consult psychotherapeutic theory in constructing a model of pastoral counselling, or to engage with the sociology of the city in developing a new approach to urban mission. Ignoring important insights from secular theories leads to an impoverished practice model. And it is in the second category that the hermeneutics used in this thesis is located. It must be admitted that in some ways this is not a natural fit for a thesis being written in the Seventh-day Adventist tradition. Mainstream Adventist hermeneutics most naturally falls into the first category, perhaps with the occasional daring, but heavily qualified and guarded, sortie into the second category. Admittedly, the hermeneutical approach of some Adventist theologians finds no problem with the second category, and possibly not too much of a problem with the third. Adventist theologian Fritz Guy, for example, writes of the need for input from “three complementary sources: scripture, secular knowledge, and religious experience.” He adds that the similarities between this and the Wesleyan Quadrilateral3 are not accidental, given the fact that early Adventism had close connections to Methodism (Guy 1999, 98). But the closest one can come to an “official” Adventist hermeneutical approach would be from the church’s Biblical Research Institute, a group of theologians working at the church’s world headquarters, which strictly advocates sola Scriptura (see for example Donkor 2013). So if for Helen Cameron and colleagues the traditional sources of the Bible, tradition, reason, and experience can be described as “the four voices of theology” (quoted in Van den Berg 2017, 5) then, at the risk of over-simplification, within Adventism the Bible would be the star soloist with the other three sources acting as back-up vocals, humming along quietly and almost unnoticed, except when they go out of tune.

In 2012 Richard Osmer wrote how “liberal, white mainline perspectives” dominated much of the practical theology arena, and how the voices of evangelicals and others were virtually excluded. In a generous gesture he added, “we must do a much better job of welcoming individuals and communities

3 A term that refers to using the Bible, tradition, reason, and experience, in theological interpretation. 22 whose theologies are quite different from the assumptive frameworks dominating the guilds, theologies that, often, are more conservative than these frameworks” (Osmer 2012b, 68). Perhaps part of the reticence of more conservative theologians to engage in practical theology has been the sense that the methodology is incompatible with their faith. Noting the hermeneutical move among theologians such as Fritz Guy, Ekkehardt Müeller, from the Biblical Research Institute, writes that Adventists are losing “our distinctive trait of being the people of the Book . . . of being driven by sociology, psychology, missiology, and other forces instead of sound biblical theology.” He argues for a hermeneutical method “which is true to scripture’s self-testimony and does not superimpose foreign categories and tools on Scripture” (Müeller 2002, 144, 145). Adventist theologian Gerhard Hasel similarly writes, “Since there is no totally objective interpreter, the Bible’s own testimony will function as an inner scriptural control over the superimposition upon Scripture of culture-bound norms or convictions” (Hasel 1988, 51).

Accordingly, Hasel and Müeller are critical of fellow Adventist theologian Richard Rice’s hermeneutical approach. In his book Reason and the Contours of Faith, Rice writes: ". . . doctrines arise, not from the Bible alone, but from the dynamic interplay between the Bible and the living experience of the church . . ." (Rice 1991, 90). Hasel and Müeller see this as a betrayal of the sola Scriptura approach of Adventism and the Reformation (Hasel 1993, 69, Müeller 2002, 142). Likewise, Richard Davidson from the Seventh-day Adventist Seminary, criticizes what he describes as “postmodern methodologies” that lead to “a feminist reading, a black reading, an Asian reading, a Lutheran reading, etc.” The result is that “no longer is there a single objective, normative meaning of Scripture.” Davidson acknowledges that these readings have brought some valuable insights, and it is important for a theologian “to recognize his/her individual cultural context,” but his concern is when “some external norm” relativises scripture, and replaces the sola Scriptura principle (Davidson 2003, 13).

Thus, because Adventists take such a high view of Scripture as the inspired and authoritative “word of God,” Adventist theologians are reluctant to veer too far out of Jeanrod’s first category. Officially the Adventist Church does not go as far as the mainstream American evangelical belief in biblical inerrancy, but any secular source is considered a distant second-best to the Bible and must be treated cautiously and interrogated carefully. This is reflected in a statement by Ellen White: “. . . the opinions of learned men, the deductions of science, the creeds or decisions of ecclesiastical councils, as numerous and discordant as are the churches which they represent, the voice of the majority, —not one nor all of these should be regarded as evidence for or against any point of religious faith” (White 1911, 23 595). In other words, traditional Adventism would claim to hold to a sola Scriptura rather than a prima Scriptura view.

Nevertheless, in this thesis I will gladly accept Richard Osmer’s open door to those from the more- conservative wing of the Christian faith and proceed on the assumption that a high view of Scripture and a willingness to dialogue with secular sources do not need to be mutually exclusive. (Remembering, of course, that this dialogue does not take place between two static entities—namely, the Bible and other sources. Rather, it takes place between interpretation of the Bible and interpretation of other sources.) On the one hand, I assume that the principles found in Scripture are normative in a way that secular sources are not. On the other hand, I suggest a stance of humility that acknowledges the way in which secular sources can provide tools to help illuminate and deepen understandings of Scripture and their relevance for urban mission. In this scenario the social sciences are not seen as offering superior truths to the Bible, but rather as helping to sharpen and clarify the approach to Scripture, shaping some of the questions to ask it, and helping to translate what general biblical principles might be saying to a contemporary culturally shaped practice. Looking through the lens of other sources can help clarify and bring into focus things of importance that might otherwise have been overlooked. And acknowledging that God may speak through agencies other than the Bible in no way serves to negate or lessen the unique way God has communicated through the Bible. Truth is truth whether it is found within the covers of a Bible or turns up in unexpected places such as the “mouths of babes” or the holy writings read by the wise men from the East who worshiped Jesus. Ellen White wrote that these wise men were philosophers and had found out about Jesus through observing nature, consulting “priests and philosophers,” reading “scrolls of the ancient records” and dreams (White 1947, 60). Adventists also refer to nature as “God’s second book,” a concept that White’s writings reflect. She wrote: “Let our students be placed where nature can speak to the senses, and in her voice they may hear the voice of God” (White 2011, 320, emphasis added). Of course, this is not a claim that nature is as equally authoritative as the Bible, but it is an acknowledgment that there are other, even if inferior, sources for hearing God’s voice.

In The Teaching Ministry of Congregations, Osmer himself says that he “privileges Scripture” in his methodology, particularly focusing on the letters of the apostle Paul. He adds, “Yet this does not exclude attention to contemporary forms of reason and experience” (Osmer 2012b, 74). Historically, Adventist theology has largely been defined in terms of what Osmer describes as a “conversation internal to the Christian community.” And it has tended to bring a “thus saith the Lord” to social issues 24 rather than attempt a conversation or engagement with them. One of the major reasons for this emphasis is that for much of the Adventist Church’s history, Adventist theologians have stuck close to biblical shores and have tended to focus their attention on more “insider” type concerns such as biblical exegesis, soteriology, and eschatology. Direct theological engagement with issues of the wider world, whether it be secular sources or other world religions, has been a minor theme within the larger Adventist theological discourse, although that theme has started to enlarge in recent years. Not surprisingly a rich source of theological engagement with wider themes such as bioethics has come from Loma Linda University, where the School of Theology stands side by side with a prominent school of medicine. As Professor of Christian Ethics at Loma Linda University for many years, Jack Provonsha (a physician as well as a theologian), explored a more philosophical theology, searching for way in which theology could mutually engage with social and ethical issues (see, for example, Provonsha 2018). This approach has been reflected and continued in the work of later Loma Linda theologians such as Richard Rice, referenced above, who earned his doctorate at the University of Chicago Divinity School under the supervision of David Tracy (see, for example, Rice 1991, Rice 2006, Rice 2011).

Tension in the interaction of the Bible with secular sources and practice is reflected in Christopher Wright’s approach to writing his book The Mission of God. When asked what he was working on, he would answer “A book on the Bible and mission,” but he was not sure which of those words should be put first. “Am I seeking to understand Christian mission in the light of the Bible, or to understand the Bible in the light of God’s mission?” He finally settles on “probably a bit of both,” with an emphasis on the second (Wright 2006, 17). In other words, he uses a missio Dei lens as the general hermeneutics through which to view the Bible. After all, he argues, there are many interpretative frameworks people use such as feminism and psychology. He adds, “This is not intrinsically wrong since we all have to start somewhere” (Wright 2006, 26). However, even though his hermeneutical starting point is the theme of the mission of God, the discussion in fact starts with and continues to take place largely within the sealed environment of biblical exegesis.

Ironically and independently Osmer suggests that it is within this missio Dei concept, which locates the mission of the church within the universal mission of God, that an alternative approach to insider discourse can be found. He sees this approach developing in the writings of theologians such as David Bosch, Jürgen Moltmann, and Lesslie Newbigen (Osmer 2011, 5). Bosch, for example, argues that without a wider mission focus “practical theology becomes myopic, occupying itself with the study of 25 the self-realisation of the church in respect of its preaching, catechesis, liturgy, teaching ministry, pastorate, and diaconate, instead of having its eyes opened to the ministry in the world outside the walls of the church, of developing a hermeneutic of missionary activity, of alerting a domesticated theology and church to the world out there which is aching and which God loves” (Bosch 2011, 507). Although it is legitimate and appropriate for practical theology to address internal church concerns, the purpose of this thesis is to engage in the larger vision that Bosch calls for, letting the world of actual practice interact with reading of the Bible, and allowing the fruits of that ongoing encounter guide actual practice. This means focusing not just on in-house issues that may be of concern only for Seventh-day Adventists or the wider Christian community. The intended ongoing results of this approach, for the route being plotted through the methodological map, will be a more faithful and effective engagement by the Adventist Church in mission in urban areas. And navigating this route will necessarily involve dialogue.

Guiding Dialogue Metaphor The metaphor guiding the methodological approach of this thesis is that of dialogue, or conversation. Stephen Pattison refers to practical theology as a three-way “critical conversation” between the researcher’s own ideas and beliefs, those of Christian tradition and belief, and a particular contemporary situation (Pattison 2011, 135). In a similar vein, James and Evelyn Whitehead suggest that theological reflection as “conversation” is a more robust and “livelier metaphor” than theological reflection as “correlation,” but they also identify three conversation partners as faith tradition, experience of the individual and community, and contemporary culture (Whitehead and Whitehead 1995, 4, 5). Similarly, Elaine Graham refers to a “creative dialogue” between tradition and experience, and theology and practice (Graham 2013, 163). As we have seen above, some Adventist theologians have taken a similar approach in their work but have been criticized by other Adventist theologians who feel this type of approach dilutes the authority of the Bible, which should be the only source of truth. While this is certainly possible, it must be conceded that nobody can come to the biblical text from a value- and theory-neutral standpoint. As David Bosch says, “Our entire context comes into play when we interpret a biblical text. One therefore has to concede that all theology (or sociology, political theory, etc) is, by its very nature, contextual” (Bosch 2011, 433). Conceding the role context, tradition, and culture play in approaching the biblical text can actually lead to it being treated with greater respect and given greater authority. Rather than being content with some surface reading, it treats the text seriously and with diligence. 26

One of the tasks of this thesis is to analyse current use of the centres of influence approach in Adventist urban practice. There are various paths that could be taken to explore how centres of influence can best be positioned within a wholistic mission framework. The Whiteheads, for example, suggest a three-stage approach. The first is “attending,” where the researcher seeks information about a concern or issue, listens critically, but suspends judgement. The second is “assertion,” where the perspectives on the issue from personal experience, Christian tradition, and cultural resources are brought together into “a lively dialogue of mutual clarification.” The third is “pastoral response,” where the discussion and reflection moves to action; how should we respond, what should we do, how can we evaluate what we have done? (Whitehead and Whitehead 1995, 13). Osmer suggests a similar process for a work of practical theology, but breaks it down into four tasks (Osmer 2012b, 2008). In the initial phase, the researcher analyses the current situation and what is happening. Second, she asks why it is happening. In the third stage, she asks what should be happening. And finally, she explores what could be happening and what should be the best response.

Osmer’s approach, outlined in his Practical Theology: An Introduction, is mainly focused inwardly on pastoral practice, outlining how practical theological reflection can help guide practice in situations that arise in the life of the church. However, his four tasks are valuable tools that can be used in this thesis to investigate and better understand the Seventh-day Adventist Church’s action and inaction in cities. Although in practice these four basic tasks may at times blur together and overlap, they provide an overall methodological map for the thesis.

Osmer’s First and Second tasks Osmer’s first task in any practical theological project is a “descriptive-empirical” one, asking the question “What is going on?” He talks of the importance of “knowledge arising from practice” (Osmer 2012b, 74). This first task involves gathering data that can help to obtain and describe a clear picture of the current situation. Osmer describes this as a process of “attending to what is going on.” Obviously, it involves asking questions, but more importantly it requires careful listening. In some ways it can be seen as a spiritual discipline, and Osmer says it is “grounded in a spirituality of presence” (Osmer 2008, 34). In other words, it requires patience and genuine interest, rather than forcing an agenda. Part of this first task involves an informal process of listening and learning, but it should also involve a more structured process of gathering information. 27

Chapters two and three are dedicated to this first task of seeking to understand what is currently happening. Properly understanding current Adventist practice requires inquiring into the historical and sociological factors that have provided the context in which Adventist practice has emerged. In Chapter two I will look at the broad background to what is currently happening in Adventist urban mission. This will provide a sociohistorical context from which today’s Adventist thought and practice has risen. What are the larger narratives that have been at play in American society in general, and in American Protestantism particularly, that have helped shape the way Adventists think about and implement urban mission? From what sort of sociohistorical framework has the Adventist Church’s approach to the cities emerged?

Chapter three continues the first task of investigating what is currently happening and will also begin Osmer’s second task of trying to understand why it is happening. This second task is an interpretative one, moving from the question “What is going on?” to “Why is it going on?” It means exploring more deeply current Adventist practices, understandings, and expectations regarding mission in general, urban mission, and centres of influence. I will look specifically at Adventism and the city, and will explore historic and contemporary texts to help answer key questions such as the following: What has the Adventist Church already done, and what is it currently doing in this area? What “self- understandings” does the church have regarding mission to the cities? Is there a united view about the mission, or is there a variety of opinions? Further, what efforts has the church made to implement wholistic urban mission? How has the church arrived at its current situation? This section will utilise discourse analysis, where discourses are understood to be consistent, organised patterns of explaining or conceptualising what is occurring, or what some feel should be occurring. As Michel Foucault describes it, a discourse “provides a set of possible statements about a given area, and organises and gives structure to the manner in which a particular topic, object, process is to be talked about” (quoted in Cheek 2004, 1142). In any sociological group various discourses come into play and in a sense jockey for status and position. Over time certain discourses become dominant and represent almost a “group think,” if that is understood in a non-pejorative way.

How church administrators, academics, pastors, writers, and other Adventist thought leaders help construct such discourses, which Martin Stringer calls “insider” discourses, directly affects how decisions are made (Stringer 2008, 498). The dominant discourse within Adventism about cities is analysed by looking at ways that it is being supported, and ways that it is being subverted. Primary 28 sources for data collection are texts such as official church committee minutes, articles in denominational papers, official church statements, and talks and sermons by key leaders. Much of the written text is available in searchable digital archives, and only key sources that make statements about the theology and practice of urban mission have been consulted. The final stage in these first two tasks of looking at what and why things are happening is in chapter four, which analyses examples of current practice in Adventist urban mission in North America.

Much of the discussion in chapter four is about centres of influence. Selected case studies help inform discussion and, following Browning’s practice-theory-practice paradigm, allow the centre of influence experience to speak to the theology of wholistic mission, and facilitate theological and cultural insights to speak back to the practice. Primary sources of data collection for these case studies are on-location observation, and interviews with selected people involved in centres of influence. Case studies provide an opportunity for analysis of how and to what extent the theology of wholistic urban mission is translated into local lived situations through urban centres of influence, and they also allow that actual experience to, in turn, inform the theology (Schipani 2011, 96). Browning, in his landmark A Fundamental Practical Theology, nicely summarises the way he uses case studies—“to give our work concreteness” (Browning 1991, 211). The nature of the theological inquiry of this thesis is well suited to the case-study approach. As Robert Yin points out, case studies are particularly appropriate and useful when the study focuses on a contemporary situation with “real-life context,” when it is answering “how” or “why” questions, and when the researcher has little or no control (Yin 2014, 1). He compares a case study to a history, with the difference being that a case-study researcher has the additional tools of observation and questioning (Yin 2014, 8).

This practical theological approach has parallels in what social scientist Bent Flyvbjerg calls “phronetic research.” This type of research, according to Flyvbjerg, “focuses on practical activity and practical knowledge in everyday situations.” It always means focusing on “the actual daily practices which constitute a given field of interest” (Flyvbjerg 2001, 134). He defines phronesis as “practical wisdom on how to address and act on social problems in a particular context” (Flyvbjerg, Landman, and Schram 2012, 1). Significantly, Browning some years earlier employed the concept of phronesis in building the philosophical foundations for his approach to practical theology (Browning 1991, 10, 38- 40).

29 Glenn Asquith defines the case-study method as “an organized and systematic way of studying and reporting various aspects of a person, family, group, or situation utilizing a structured outline of subjects and questions” (Schipani 2011, 91). According to John Creswell, it has a “long, distinguished history across many disciplines” (Creswell 1998, 62). It provides the opportunity for gaining “deep understanding” (Woodside 2010, 6) of a “concrete slice of reality and human experience” (Schipani 2011, 91). Some social science researchers have tended to dismiss the legitimacy of this research method because of questions about the applicability of its findings to other situations (Flyvbjerg 2006, 220, 221). However, in recent times its value has become more broadly acknowledged and appreciated, and it is extensively used and particularly valued by practical theologians (Schipani 2011, 91). Flyvbjerg points out that in the end, social science has nothing else to offer than “concrete, context- dependent knowledge,” which the case-study approach is well-placed to produce (Flyvbjerg 2006, 6).

Potential pitfalls with case studies include inappropriate generalisations from the findings, and the possibility of focusing so much on one or two trees that the view of the forest is obscured. However, perhaps a greater danger is to develop theoretical understandings of the forest, without ever examining a tree. And to a certain extent it is legitimate to generalise from case studies. For example, a single case study can falsify an incorrect theory and, as Flyvbjerg points out, “formal generalization is overvalued as a source of scientific development, whereas ‘the force of example’ is underestimated” (Flyvbjerg 2006, 228, emphasis in the original). Even the most ardent critic of the case study approach should concede the value of combining case-analysis with cross-case analysis, analysing themes across cases (Creswell 1998, 63). It is also appropriate to examine how themes emerging from particular cases fit with the wider theological inquiry of the thesis.

To a certain extent, case-study research methodology may seem to overlap with that of “ethnography” or “field research” (Bryman 1988, 49). Christian Scharen describes ethnography as a way of doing theology by “direct, qualitative observation” using the techniques of “participant observation” or “intensive questioning” (Scharen 2005, 125). However, the two methodologies should not be confused. Typically, ethnography is more concerned with lengthy, in-depth observation of a local situation, and the emphasis is almost totally on observation (Creswell 1998, 16). Also, as Yin points out, case studies do not depend on data gained by observation or even participant observation (Yin 2014, 21).

30 Osmer’s Third and Fourth Tasks Chapters five and six will be devoted to Osmer’s third task, which is a normative one that asks, “What should be happening? What ought to be going on? What norms can be constructed to describe what should happen in this particular Christian practice?” Chapter five will engage the social sciences, particularly urban studies, to explore what they might say about how to enhance or modify the centre of influence concept for an effective urban mission in the twenty-first century. Chapter six will draw principles from the Bible and other Christian sources to help frame a theological vision for wholistic urban mission. This third task is vitally important because it proposes a preferred approach to Adventist urban mission, which is the central purpose of this thesis. But even more, it will suggest that the proposed approach can in some way be seen as, if not exactly God-ordained, then at least as being located within the wider framework of God’s will. According to Osmer, this task calls for our “prophetic discernment,” which includes three dimensions of reflection: theological interpretation, ethical reflection, and good practice.

Osmer defines theological interpretation as “the use of theological concepts to interpret episodes, situations, and contexts including those in which we are actors.” This is the stage of the thesis where the ought rather than the how is explored (Osmer 2008, 131, 132). It speaks to interpretation of current practice through a theological lens. How can one think theologically about human activity? What do biblical principles have to say about current practice? What does it mean to think theologically about the city? Osmer’s second dimension of prophetic discernment is “the use of ethical norms to reflect on and guide practice.” Values and norms are already embedded in current practice, and the task of the practical theologian is to develop ethical rules, principles, and guidelines to direct current practice in a moral direction (Osmer 2008, 149, 161).

The third dimension of prophetic discernment, good practice, refers to looking to past and present case studies of similar situations as models of good practice that can be used or adapted for the current situation being examined. For Osmer, this can work at two levels. The first level is simply the way an example of good practice can guide current practice. The second level is that these models can “generate new understandings . . . beyond those provided by the received tradition” (Osmer 2008, 152).

31 Finally, Richard Osmer suggests that a work of practical theology must also undertake a “pragmatic” task, which asks, “How might we respond?” It involves developing practical models and principles to guide Christian action. This stage helps avoid what Osmer calls “social science lite,” merely describing and interpreting the subject (Osmer 2008, 163). So in Chapter seven, the final stage of the thesis, I will advocate improved practice (Browning 2003, 318) by proposing a centre of influence approach and developing a practice framework for these centres. This will involve outlining a proposed contemporary approach to urban centres of influence that builds on the platform established by the first three theological tasks.

In addressing Osmer’s four theological tasks, and using a variety of methods to gather data for critical theological reflection on Adventist urban mission in North America, this thesis will be following Swinton and Mowat’s advice that the most effective approach is “eclectic and multi-method,” not using one model of research but using the best of what is available (Mowat and Swinton 2006, 50). In doing so, it is hoped that this thesis will provide a helpful contribution toward improved practice by the Seventh-day Adventist Church.

Two Notes: Personal Reflexivity and Use of Ellen White

Personal Reflexivity Personal reflexivity naturally plays a part in this project, which will be written from the perspective of someone who is partly participant and partly observer. The “insider” participant aspect of the methodology derives from my holding the role of director of the church’s Office of Adventist Mission. This means actively participating in the church’s decision-making processes regarding mission strategy in urban areas and directing the office that cares for the promotion and funding of centres of influence. However, it does not involve direct participation in on-the-ground setting up or day-to-day operation of any centres, and in this sense provides an “outsider” perspective. Being a denominational mission leader provides easy access to other leaders and to “inner” decision-making and processes that relate to the focus of this thesis. It also compromises any attempt at an “independent” study, if that were even seen as possible or desirable. Inevitably it also means having “a horse in the race,” so to speak, with a vested interest in certain approaches and preferred outcomes for approaches to urban mission. A danger is to merely look for confirmation of previously held opinions. However, acknowledging the prejudice being brought to the project, and the hermeneutical horizon from which it is being 32 conducted, as well as placing other methodological “safeguards” in place, will help protect the integrity of the project. And various levels of engagement with the situation in question can, in some ways, help rather than hinder practical theological inquiry (Macallan 2012, 135-137).

Ellen White Ellen White figures prominently in this thesis for several reasons. As a co-founder and prophet of the Seventh-day Adventist Church, she has played a pivotal role in the church’s development. At various crucial stages of the church’s history, she played a central role in decision-making. The respect with which she has been held has guided everything from the development of the church’s international medical and educational work through to how Adventists have viewed urban ministry. This is not the place to either critique or defend her prophetic gift; something which has been debated and analysed extensively elsewhere (see, for example, Numbers 2007, Butler 2014, Knight 1985, Patrick 2004). Rather, I will adopt what Neil Pembroke calls the “methodological agnosticism” proposed by Ninian Smart, which suggests that anyone studying religion “should treat the objects of religious experience and beliefs as factors independently of whether they exist/are true.” According to this approach, Pembroke summarizes, “it is not necessary to decide whether Allah actually revealed truth to Muhammad to observe that Muhammad’s inner conviction that this took place resulted in a movement that has changed the course of human history” (Pembroke 2011, 124). Likewise, despite my personal beliefs it is not necessary here to debate the existence of, or apologise for, White’s divine inspiration. The important thing for this thesis is to analyse how the extent to which White has been held as an authority figure and reliable guide within the Adventist Church has shaped Adventist attitudes to the city and its practice of urban mission.

33 CHAPTER 2: Broader Contexts for and Influences on Adventist Urban Mission

The starting point for the metaphorical dialogue of this thesis is the current situation where the Seventh-day Adventist Church in North America, historically rural in mindset and location, is facing a world that is now largely urban. In facing this challenge, various programs have been initiated and funded, and terms such as “urban ministry” and “mission to the cities” are being widely used within the denomination (see, for example, Committee 2013, Onongha 2019, Morris 2013).4 But these terms are ill-defined methodologically and theologically and operate as umbrella descriptions for a wide range of diverse and even possibly contradictory endeavours. For many, mission to the cities means an increased focus on public evangelistic events in urban areas. For others, it means stronger use of television, radio, and the Internet to share Adventist beliefs. Many favour increased distribution of literature in urban areas. Still others favour more organic, socially aware wholistic approaches, including the use of a re-invigorated urban centres of influence concept. Many advocate combinations of the above. Historically, too, in the United States terms such as “city work,” “inner city mission,” and “urban ministry,” have served as code for working for African Americans. This has sometimes led to white leadership viewing city work as low priority.

In this chapter and the next, key socio-historical contexts for current Adventist urban mission will be examined. I make no attempt at a comprehensive or chronological history of Adventist urban mission in America, but rather focus on significant events and time periods. This is not just for the purposes of a history lesson, but to help in the first basic methodological task of this thesis: to analyse the current situation in regard to Adventist thought and practice. Just as it will be important later in this thesis to examine Adventist practice in urban mission in relation to insights from the social sciences such as urban studies, so it is important to examine current practice in the light of its socio-historical context. It seems appropriate to quote Social Gospel pioneer Walter Rauschenbusch, who will figure later in this chapter: “. . . inaccurate knowledge of history inevitably creates a legendary interpretation of the course of history, and this legendary theory will again inevitably warp our comprehension of present- day conditions and frustrate our saving purposes. A doctor must understand the organic life of the body

4 See also Adventist websites such as www.missiontothecities.org, www.urbanministriesnetwork.org, www.urbancenters.org, and www.communityservices.org/csum-online. 34 and the cause of disease, if he would help the body back to healthful functioning” (Rauschenbusch 1907, 124).

The early days of the Adventist movement, beginning with the Great Disappointment of 1844 through to the 1860s when the denomination was formally established, are particularly crucial years to highlight. In many ways, essential aspects of Adventist identity and self-understanding were shaped in the crucible of that formative time. Influential also are the immediate decades surrounding the turn of the century, as Adventists positioned themselves in relation to the Modernist-Fundamentalist controversy, which had profound implications for how Christian organisations such as the Seventh-day Adventist Church would, or would not, engage in social concerns in the cities. In significant ways, these time periods established ways of thinking and acting that have served as patterns for later Adventist engagement with the city.

Mission to the Cities The Adventist Church’s most recent emphasis on urban mission is entitled “Mission to the Cities,” and was launched at the Annual Council of the GC Executive Committee in 2011. GC president Ted Wilson’s Sabbath sermon at this council was entitled “‘Mission to the Cities’—Comprehensive Urban Evangelism.” In this sermon, he describes Mission to the Cities as an initiative that “unites every aspect of church work in its approach to reaching the multitudes of the large cities.” He says that “much valiant work has been done to reach the cities,” but “many times we have given uneven, sporadic, inconsistent attention to the enormous task entrusted to our church.” In “launching an all-out evangelistic approach” to the cities, Wilson calls on the church to use “every type of outreach possible.” The examples he mentions include centres of influence, literature evangelism, small group outreach, medical missionary work, health lectures, door-to-door missionary work, community services and social work, media, counseling centres, reading rooms, book shops, and public evangelism (Wilson 2011).

To understand the current situation Wilson discusses in his sermon, and the way he describes it, requires a larger contextual understanding of Adventist history. Some of the questions that arise are as follows: Why does Wilson spend more than one third of his 2011 sermon directly quoting or referring to Ellen White, who died nearly 100 years earlier in 1915? Why does he refer at least 12 times to the Second Coming of Jesus? Why are there some 20 references to “health” and “medical,” and why is the 35 word “medical” almost always used in conjunction with “missionary,” as in “medical missionary”? Why are there no calls to political action or references to urban social needs? These types of questions are somewhat illuminated by looking at key aspects of Adventism’s history that have given shape to its current approach to urban mission.

A Child of its Times The Adventist Church has often shown itself a child of its times, reflecting and echoing attitudes and practices of society in general, Protestant churches in particular, and evangelical churches even more specifically. Adventism has also demonstrated strong affinities with the Holiness Movement that arose largely out of nineteenth-century Methodism (Schneider 1996, 27-31). These connections can be seen, for example, in the shared emphasis on “Godly behaviour” and the mutual stereotyping, fear, and avoidance of cities. But in other ways the Seventh-day Adventist Church has kept separate from some of the religious and social currents of the day, and subverted significant societal and religious discourses. Adventists have held distinctive doctrinal beliefs, and placed considerable importance on health reform, education, and the separation of church and state—issues and enterprises one would not expect, at least not on the surface, for a premillennialist religious organisation that focuses so much on the Second Coming of Jesus.

Protestant churches in America have had a problematic and uneasy relationship with the city. Historically, says Omri Elisha, the city has been a “moral conundrum” for conservative Protestants in North America (Elisha 2011a, 184). The record shows, though, that mainline churches have also struggled with the question of how to relate to the cities. Ironically, despite their historic queasiness about cities, Protestants have played a crucial role in shaping them and today many urban churches take a leading role in community organising, helping the poor and homeless, providing youth programs and jobs training, offering an experience of community, and providing education. Brian Barrett argues, for example, that religiously involved urban African American students receive “markedly better academic outcomes” than their peers (Barrett 2010, 249). And a recent study by Baylor University shows that in American cities, faith-based organisations are providing the majority of urban emergency shelter beds for the homeless, as well as leading the way in dealing with the causes of homelessness (Johnson 2017, 7). In the words of Mark Wild, “Christianity remains a vital element in urban life” (Wild 2011, 656). To better understand this relationship between Christianity and urban life, I will start with an examination of attitudes and beliefs in the 1800s. 36

NEW DARWINIAN RISE OF SECOND GENERATION EVOLUTION; FUNDAMENTALISM; GREAT THIRD GREAT OF SOCIALLY AWAKENING POSITIVISM AWAKENING OPPOSITION TO SOCIAL GOSPEL AWARE EVANGELICALS 1795 - 1835 1835 - 1875 1875 - 1915 1920s 1960s

1800 1850 1900 1950 2000

Seventh-day Adventist Majority Urban Population for RENEWED Church EVANGELICAL The Great Founded the First Time INTEREST IN Disappointment 1864 1920 URBAN MISSION. 1844 GILDED AGE 1990s (1870 - 1900)

GOLDEN AGE OF FREETHOUGHT (1875 - 1914)

PROGRESSIVE ERA (1890 - 1920)

Figure B: Historic Overview

The Second Great Awakening The Second Great Awakening of the early 1800s led evangelicals in America to a profound shift away from formalism in religion to an individualistic message, an understanding of faith as something practical and personal that influences every aspect of people’s lives. Hadley Kruczek-Aaron describes this belief as stemming from the Arminian view of the freedom of choice of all individuals; a view standing against the Calvinist view of the elect. The movement strongly emphasised the importance of personal salvation, and its revivalist tone was reflected in public conversions and testimonies (Kruczek-Aaron 2015, 5).

Personal conversion was central to the preaching and teaching of revivalists such as Presbyterian Charles G. Finney (1792-1875), but so was the concept of a new way of life that must accompany conversion, continuing to obey God’s laws and live piously, rather than returning to a life of sinfulness. These were the key themes of the Holiness Movement. Kruczek-Aaron shows how preachers such as Finney and Methodist Peter Cartwright, along with educators such as Catharine Beecher and William Alcott, “made ideas about what one ate and drank, how one decorated and maintained one’s home, and what one wore central to their belief system.” Further, they “emphasized standards of frugality, simplicity, temperance, and cleanliness, among others . . .” (Kruczek-Aaron 37 2015, 6, 7). Familiar echoes of these revivalist strains are found in Jonathan Butler’s description of how Ellen White “shaped Adventism into a domestic religion with her concern for child nurture and education, diet and health, marriage and family.” He depicts her “unmasking faults” of Adventists “in their personal child-rearing practices, their hygiene and eating habits, their outward appearance and their internal thoughts, their spiritual hypocrisy, and even their sexual improprieties” (Butler 2014, 12). The word “shaped” is well chosen, because White grew to be recognised as a prophet, and to become the leading authoritative voice within Adventism; not only in her lifetime, but in subsequent years. Today, as is clearly seen in the Ted Wilson sermon referenced earlier, it is not unusual for Adventists to appeal to the writings of Ellen White to support arguments, or to give authority to certain decisions that are made.

Naturally, a theology that emphasised personal behaviour had implications for how Christians should treat their neighbours and communities, and Protestants were eager to take the message of revival to the rapidly growing cities of America. Finney, perhaps the leading evangelical revivalist preacher from the 1830s to 1860s, was credited with closing “grog shops,” the theatre, and even the circus arena in Rochester, New York. The great cities of the eastern seaboard witnessed significant numbers of “conversions” from his preaching and that of many other revivalist evangelists. Yet, in the words of Paul Boyer, “the overall result of these early efforts to win for the church in the cities the moral hegemony it enjoyed in rural and small-town America was discouraging. . . . Protestantism found it exceptionally difficult to keep pace with the urban surge” (Boyer 1978, 9).

Millerite Millennialism The Millerite Movement was one of the final flames ignited by the Second Great Awakening. The close connection between the two can be seen in the case of Charles Fitch, first a Congregational and then Presbyterian minister, who was one of the most prominent Adventist “lieutenants” alongside William Miller, the leader of the movement. Previously, Fitch had been a fellow revivalist and close colleague of Charles Finney (Knight 2010, 88, 92). The Millerite Movement began in the 1830s in upstate New York, in an area of the United States that has earned itself the nickname “the burnt-out district” for the number of significant religious revivals and awakenings flaming and dying out through that territory. The Millerites set a precise date for the return of Jesus and attracted up to 100,000 followers. The movement was non-denominational—capturing a passionate following among 38 adherents from a range of Christian denominations. William Miller himself was a licensed Baptist minister.

Ellen White grew up in the shadow of this movement. In 1840, aged 12, she heard Miller lecture in Portland, Maine, on the topic of the Second Coming, and his message left an indelible impression. It inspired her to “seek the Lord” at a Methodist camp meeting, where she was converted and baptised. And yet she was not content, feeling that she was not ready for the Second Coming, and so she kept earnestly seeking for “holiness of heart” (Taves 2014, 32). In 1844, still a teenager, she personally experienced the devastating pain of the Great Disappointment. By the time she co-founded the Seventh-day Adventist Church a couple of decades later, in the consciousness of many former Millerites the Great Disappointment had become just a painful memory.

The failure of the Millerite expectation of Jesus’ Second Coming on October 22, 1844, the Great Disappointment, resulted in lost faith for some of the expectant faithful, and new varieties of faith for others. Some simply went back to the churches from which they came. Many joined the Quakers, some the Shakers, and still others formed new religious groups and denominations such as the Advent Christian Association, an international body organised in 1860 that today has fewer than 30,000 members in the United States. The Seventh-day Adventist Church, now numbering some 21 million baptised adult members worldwide, and more than 1 million in North America, has proven the most robust progeny of the Great Disappointment. This denomination emerged from the embers of the Millerite Movement shortly after 1844 but was not formally established until 1863, despite the great reluctance of many faithful Adventists who were sceptical of creeds and organisations. At the time of its founding, the Seventh-day Adventist Church had a total of 3,500 members and 125 churches (Butler 1974, 180).

“It may seem strange to see a church movement or body measure its birth, or rebirth, from an event called ‘The Disappointment,’” writes historian of religion Martin Marty, “but Adventism must and does” (Marty 1989, 302). The group of faithful believers who nearly 20 years after 1844 formed the Seventh-day Adventist Church in many ways harnessed the religious fervour and expectation of the Millerite movement, which continued to fuel the newly established denomination. By some adroit adjustment of certain theological understandings, this new group of Adventists managed to come to terms with the failure of Jesus to return. But more than that, despite the experience of 1844, they 39 revived the expectation of a soon return of Jesus as a central pillar of their identity and mission, even adding the word “Adventist” to their name.

As will be explored later in this thesis, this continued emphasis on the Second Coming, allied with premillennialist understandings, has played a significant role, in a variety of ways, in Adventist attitudes to and work within urban areas. The tension between preparing for the Second Coming, with the expectation that it will usher in God’s kingdom and make wrongs right, and a call to “occupy until he comes” has helped shape Adventist mission in general, and urban mission more specifically. It may seem ironic that today a church leader would reference the Second Coming of Jesus a dozen times during a sermon on mission to the cities—at the same time the denomination he represents spends billions of dollars each year on establishing and maintaining this-worldly institutions such as schools, hospitals, clinics, aged-care facilities, kindergartens, orphanages, publishing houses, and media centres. But this should not be surprising; ongoing negotiation of this tension is at the heart of the Adventist Church’s identity.

Although living a righteous life, which includes social care for the needy, is a key theme in Ellen White’s writings, it is often framed within the context of the importance of the need for personal conversion. In this, she is reflecting her roots, and that of many fellow Adventists, in Methodism and associated holiness movements. The entire international mission program of the Seventh-day Adventist Church was built on the imperative to share distinctive Adventist beliefs and lead people to baptism, and membership in the church. This evangelistic emphasis with its focus on personal salvation was reinforced during the early part of the twentieth century as Adventists found themselves spiritual, if not actual, soul-mates with the so-called Fundamentalist Movement (Campbell 2008). In the following years, despite a wide variety of Adventist humanitarian, educational, and health endeavours, the leading measurement of “success” within the church has continued to be numbers of baptisms. So, it is not surprising that the default setting for mission to the cities in 2011, reflected in Wilson’s sermon, would take the form established by the early evangelicals, focusing on such things as public evangelistic meetings, “truth-filled” literature, and “soul winning.”

Urbanisation and Change Protestant churches were also deeply affected by major changes in American society after the American Civil War. The Seventh-day Adventist Church was established two years before the war 40 concluded, and unsurprisingly the nation emerging from that unprecedented conflict was in many ways a crucially different America to what it had been just a few years earlier. The war’s end marked the beginning of a period described by Mark Twain and Charles Warner as the Gilded Age (Twain and Warner 1873), an astute designation that captured the essence of a new urban industrial America where the dollar would reign supreme, where capital and production would dominate the landscape, and where surface prosperity and abundance would dazzle. And yet beneath the surface glitter of the new urban America lay fundamental corruption of systems, processes, and structures (Teachout 2014, 174- 182). A new category of urban poor was just one of the legacies of this era (Kahan 2017).

This was a golden time of westward expansion, railroads, and manufacturing. It was a perfect storm of change with breakthroughs in a variety of human endeavour, including mass communication, transportation, manufacturing, and construction. It was the time of the telegraph, Alexander Graham Bell’s telephone, Henry Ford’s automobiles, and Thomas Edison’s numerous inventions. It was a time of mass migration to the cities—with workers flooding in from rural areas, the South, and from overseas. The burgeoning cities became a symbol of the times: places of opportunity, choice, and growth (Kazin 2017). They also came to epitomise fears among many rural-dwellers, mostly religious, of the pernicious influence of urban areas. When the Adventist movement began, America was a thoroughly rural culture and economy. In 1860 only some 800,000 people were living in New York City, the country’s largest city, and just under 600,000 in Philadelphia, which was more than five times more populous than Chicago. Within a few years these numbers had been turned upside down, and by 1920 New York had multiplied to 5.6 million people, Chicago to 2.7 million, and Philadelphia 1.8 million (Wikipedia 2017).

This was unfamiliar, perplexing, and even frightening territory for American Protestants, whose worldview had been framed and shaped in rural contexts. Urbanisation brought new complexities that Christian churches were ill-prepared to navigate, and it brought them quickly. In the noise of the new American city, how was the Christian voice going to be heard? How could churches compete with amusements and entertainments designed to capture the leisure time of urban-dwellers? In these rapidly growing centres of choice, variety, and new institutions, what role was the Christian church to play? What could churches do to address the overwhelmingly negative social fallout of the industrial age, with increasing numbers of the poor, the unemployed, and orphans? And how should the churches relate to the foreign voices, cultures, languages, and religions imported through the millions of new immigrants flooding the cities? 41

Philosophical Change Other types of tumult and change were in the air of the American society into which Adventism was born. In 1844, the same year Millerites turned their eyes expectantly to the sky, Charles Darwin turned his eyes to fossils and wrote a 230-page essay on transmutation, or evolution (Van Wyhe 2007, 188). In 1859 he published On the Origin of the Species in which he outlined further his doctrine of natural selection. “I see no good reason why the views given in this volume should shock the religious feelings of any one,” he wrote (Darwin 2006, 183), but the implication that humans might be descended from animals rather than being a special and direct creation of God sent seismic tremors through the religious world. It was a harbinger of turbulent days ahead for the relationship between science and religion. The doctrine of Darwinian evolution would play an important role in provoking the emergence of the Fundamentalist Movement in the United States in the 1920s, a movement that would, in turn, help shape the attitudes of many Protestants, including Adventists, to social involvement in the cities.

Around the same time in the nineteenth century, French philosopher August Comte constructed a “law of human development,” which outlined his theory of the progress of history and growth of human knowledge. He offered a humanist approach, dedicated to the “elevation of man” and based on science, reason, and logic; not on metaphysics or theology. Influential among English philosophers, writers, and social theorists, Comte envisaged his version of Positivism as a religion replacing all other “systems resting on the primitive basis of theology.” Under Comte’s scheme, the “only true Great Being” is Humanity, and “the conception of God will be entirely superseded” (Comte 1865, 352, 350, 349). In many ways the father of modern sociology, Comte argued that through empirical research natural laws could be uncovered to improve and govern society. American Positivist debates peaked between the 1860s and 1880s in America, and never really caught on in any significant ways. But Positivism did catch the attention of a handful of significant intellectuals and helped sow the seed for later attacks on religion and, indeed, a gradual secularisation of academic thinking. Witmer colourfully summarises Comte’s predictions as a spiritual weather forecast: “pleasantly godless, with a strong chance of lingering religious ritual” (Witmer 2008, 97, 98).

Witmer argues that the almost unanimous American Protestant response to Positivism was to counter it with “their own deeply held belief that God himself was guiding America into a brighter future.” They 42 embraced the march of progress, in which America would play a leading role, but retained the concept of God as a major player. Congregationalist professor of theology Samuel Harris referred to “Christian progress” transforming society “into a kingdom of God, in which men will realize the highest possibilities of their being, and the reign of justice and love will be extended over all the earth” (Witmer 2008, 106, 107). Although liberal Protestants were more willing than other Protestants to welcome Comte’s vision of a new era of scientific and rationalist thinking they, too, were unwilling to accept Comte’s complete dismissal of God from the picture (Witmer 2008, 104).

The secure terrain of religious belief in America came under further threat from Robert Ingersoll in the late 1800s. His was perhaps the clearest and most widely heard voice across America for what some historians refer to as a “golden age of freethought,” starting in the 1870s and ending with the outbreak of the First World War (Jacoby 2013, 6). Combining wit and humour with a compelling voice and presence, Ingersoll popularised new philosophies and thinking emerging from academic circles. “While I am opposed to all orthodox creeds,” he said, “I have a creed myself; and my creed is this. Happiness is the only good. . . . If there is another world, when we get there we can make another creed” (quoted in Jacoby 2013, 97). At a time when continental higher criticism was undermining traditional interpretations of the Bible, Robert Carter says that Ingersoll “did more to undermine confidence in the Good Book among the public than the criticism of German biblical scholars.” Stung by Ingersoll’s attacks on the morality of the Bible, liberal Protestants saw in the new biblical criticism a chance to “save the Bible” by humanising its contents, downplaying the supernatural, and stressing the moral progress contained within its pages, which reached its zenith with the ethical teachings of Jesus (Carter 1995, 17, 20).

It would have been a fair assumption that these winds of unbelief and scepticism would severely damage the fledgling Seventh-day Adventist Church, which was just a few decades old and held to conservative views of biblical interpretation including a literal reading of the Genesis account. The “Seventh-day” part of the name pointed to a strong confidence in Sabbath-keeping, a belief they sourced from the Genesis account of creation, not just from the Ten Commandments. And the second part of their name, “Adventist,” proclaimed their belief in Jesus’ literal return to earth. But rather than threaten, these winds served only to reinforce and even strengthen the resolve and identity of Seventh- day Adventists. The rise of the infidel and the sceptic were seen by Adventists as another sign that they were living in the end times, and the idea of society’s march of progress transforming society into a kingdom on earth was heresy to Adventist ears. They gladly joined what Robert Carter calls a 43 “conservative counter-insurgence” against those teaching the new biblical criticism (Carter 1995, 34). These secular and religious developments only served to confirm the small Adventist movement in what they believed was their message and mission; to focus their energies and resources to prepare the world for the Second Coming of Jesus, not to try to establish His kingdom on earth themselves. Adventist convictions led to the sending of their first official overseas missionary in 1874, and laid the foundation for rapid growth in the numbers of missionaries crisscrossing the globe to share the “Adventist message” during the first three decades of the twentieth century, a time described by one historian as the “golden age of Adventist missions” (Land 2015, 201).

Attitudes to the City If new developments in science and biblical criticism were unchartered waters for Adventists, so was the rapid urbanisation of American society with which they were now confronted. The dominant discourse among Adventists regarding the city has historically been one of total antipathy. This was not distinctive to Adventists, it was a “familiar theme in North American social movements” (Theobald 1985, 120). Other Protestants of the time also found comfort and security in rural areas and looked on the rapidly multiplying urban areas with alarm, distrust, and lack of knowledge. The country was a place separated from the temptations and allurements of the cities, which were vanity fairs where vice and worldly influences and amusements were ready to snare pilgrims on their path to heaven. Cities were places to be warned of final judgment and the soon return of Jesus, not places in which believers could comfortably live and raise their families. Cities were a threat to Christianity—places where faith, along with church attendance, declined. As cities continued to boom, particularly in America’s north, these convictions grew only stronger. Glenn Porter says that many Americans living in rural areas saw cities as full of foreigners, Jews, and Catholics, and “simply sinkholes of sin” (Porter 2007, 14). Even the poet Walt Whitman, not particularly noted for theological reflection, in his journalistic writings “typically referred to Manhattan as a ‘Gomorrah,’ or ‘that wicked city on the other side of the river’” (Reynolds 1993, 506).

In 1885, clergyman Josiah Strong, who would go on to be a stalwart of the Social Gospel movement, published a book entitled Our Country: Its Possible Future and Its Present Crisis. In a prefatory note, he writes that the main purpose of the book is to show American Christians the urgent need for missionary and evangelistic work in their own land (Strong 1885, ii). In his book, Strong addresses some of the perils being faced by the Christian church, which include intemperance, immigration, 44 Mormons, and Roman Catholics. But far above all other perils loomed the city: “The city is the nerve center of our civilisation. It is also the storm center.” In fact, Strong adds, “there is no more serious menace to our civilization than our rabble ruled cities” (Strong 1885, 128, 43). Steven Conn sees Strong’s book serving as a kind of mile marker, the culmination of anti-urban bias that had been building through the nineteenth century not only among evangelicals, but the larger population (Conn 2014, 15). The book proved a bestseller, but it merely reflected what was widely preached from contemporary pulpits, both religious and political, and published in magazines and popular literature of the day (Boyer 1978, 131). The city stood for chaos and menace, lack of structure and order, the exact reverse of the uniformity, predictability, and safety of rural life.

Strong published his book during America’s Third Great Awakening, a period of religious rival that historian of religion William McLoughlin dates from 1875 to 1915. Not coincidentally this roughly matches the dates for the Gilded Age. This religious awakening was largely in response to disillusionment with the negative by-products of the era such as cities crammed with the poor, sick, and homeless. New industrial capital lined the pockets of the Gilded Age’s “robber barons” and others, while inevitably many citizens were left behind. As Henry George wrote in 1879, “The ‘tramp’ comes with the locomotive, and almshouses and prisons are as surely the marks of ‘material progress’ as are costly dwellings, rich warehouses, and magnificent churches” (Nichols 2008, 114). In the 1894 novel With the Procession, a young lawyer describes Chicago: “You’ll find a hell-broth: thieves, gamblers, prostitutes, pawnbrokers, saloonkeepers, aldermen, heelers, justices, bailiffs, policemen—and all concocted for us within a short quarter of a century” (Glaab 1983, 229). At an 1888 ecumenical conference on the religious condition of New York City, a Mr. Van Norden stated that “a majority of our urban populations constitute an uneducated, irreligious, and in many cases a vicious mass . . .” He conjured up visions of the rise of Goths and Vandals, warning that without care the urban masses “will rise up some day to overthrow our empire” (Norden 1888, 76).

Another perceived threat to the American Protestant status quo was the large number of immigrants cramming into America’s cities. At the same 1888 conference, a Mr. Jay (who chaired the Monday evening, December 3, session) stated that the “foreign element” was largely responsible for “the vice and crime, the innumerable evils of the saloon, the political primaries, the boss in politics . . . the bribery and corruption . . . the political deals and the party treachery . . . by which American electors are tricked and political suffrage converted into fraud” (Jay 1888, 2). By 1910, immigrants made up a majority of the labor force in cities such as New York, Chicago, and Detroit (Kaplan, Holloway, and 45 Wheeler 2014, 271). These immigrants, including many Roman Catholics, “appeared to subvert the civil and religious institutions of the country” (Butler 1974, 174). This marriage of the cities with Catholic immigrants lifted rural Protestant fears yet another notch.

Response to Urban Needs With such views of the city, it is not surprising that the dominant Protestant discourse in America about cities has framed them as places in need of rescue. The definition of how that rescue should proceed has varied at different times and in different places but has tended to divide down theological lines into two main approaches: one seen more commonly among more liberal Protestantism and the other among more conservative and Fundamentalist varieties of Protestantism. According to Matthew Bowman, both approaches were pastoral responses to the phenomenon of the city (Bowman 2011, 6). Conservative evangelicals tend to place primacy on personal evangelism: leading individuals to conversion, accepting Jesus as their Saviour, and becoming “saved.” According to this approach, when people are converted their lives will be transformed, and in turn they will treat people with kindness and behave morally, which will lead them to be a positive influence on urban communities. Any direct social action in which these Protestants are involved would be best described as “social care,” which would illustrate the theme of “moral uplift,” and activities such as “rescue missions” for alcoholics, prostitutes, and the homeless and hungry. But underlying it all is usually the premise that all such activities are just temporary alleviants until the Second Coming of Jesus, which will finally and properly set all things right.

HISTORIC APPROACHES TO THE CITY

CITIES IN NEED OF "RESCUE"

LIBERAL PROTESTANTISM CONSERVATIVE PROTESTANTISM

"Social Gospel" Personal Evangelism

Addressing Systems and Structures Social Care

GOAL: Build Kingdom of God on Earth GOAL: Prepare for Second Coming

Figure C Historic Approaches to the City 46 The second approach to “rescue” aligns closely with what has been termed the “Social Gospel,” a theological approach and a historic Protestant movement that focuses less on personal moral failings and the need for individual salvation, and more on addressing structures that support social oppression, economic injustice, and corrupt or oppressive systems. While also promoting various types of social care, this approach goes further in its willingness to critique oppressive systems and institutions, and to advocate for those who are marginalised. In America the Social Gospel approach has almost exclusively been an urban movement, never really achieving traction in the south of the country or in rural areas (Williams and Maclean 2012, 344). Postmillennialist in theology and representing more mainline and liberal wings of Protestant Christianity, this approach centres urban ministry on building a representative kingdom of God on earth. At the risk of stereotyping, the first approach could lead someone to send a cheque to the Salvation Army to help provide housing for the urban poor, but it would be more likely that this person would first support an evangelistic outreach to lead the poor to Jesus. On the other hand, the second approach could lead someone to write advocacy letters, organise public awareness campaigns, and protest politicians and organisations supporting draconian inner-city housing policies—as well as write a cheque for the Salvation Army.

However, as is always true in the case of human activity, whether it be in social or religious movements, the lines are not as clear-cut as a simple contest between Fundamentalist and liberal thought might suggest. Inevitably there has been overlap between the two approaches. For example, many who would be considered Fundamentalist have also joined in various forms of social care and even action. On the other hand, many Social Gospel proponents involved in social action have also placed a high value on the gospel of personal salvation. Joseph Kosek talks of a “delicate liberal evangelical balance between conversion and social action” which existed happily until the crisis beginning with the outbreak of World War I and ending in the early 1920s, when the balance broke down into much clearer battle lines between Fundamentalists and Modernists (Kosek 2017, 288).

The Social Gospel movement arose in concert with more liberal or Modernist forms of Protestantism that emerged in the late 1800s. As Wendy Deichmann points out, although the heyday of the Social Gospel movement was from 1865 to 1915, its impact has been felt through the civil rights movement to today (Deichmann 2015, 203, 204). Concern for the oppressed, the immigrant, the poor, and the marginalised stretches back in Judeo-Christian tradition to the ancient Hebrew prophets, but the term “Social Gospel” has a specific meaning in the American context. As Peter Williams says, at the turn of the twentieth century, this new Social Gospel movement made a distinctive break with “an earlier 47 Protestant emphasis on personal conversion as the essence of the Christian Gospel.” This earlier emphasis saw “personal reform, such as temperance, as the solution to social problems.” The new Social Gospel emphasis involved “the transformation of the entire social order” (Williams 2016, 117). The Social Gospel movement was largely an attempt to provide a Christian response to the dislocation and rapid changes in the fabric of American society brought by nineteenth century urbanisation and industrialisation. Matthew Bowman refers to “the anxiety” experienced by American evangelicals in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (Bowman 2011, 2), and it is hard to overestimate the effect of this turbulent time on American Protestants.

The overwhelming social and economic challenges of the cities, along with the perceived attacks on orthodox and traditional Christian understandings of the Bible, the world, and the universe could not be ignored. Joyce Williams and Vicky Maclean describe Social Gospel theologians as among the “first responders” to this new urban-industrial America (Williams and Maclean 2012, 340). For Social Gospel advocates and practitioners, such things as revival meetings, literature distribution, and altar calls were not a sufficient moral response to the overwhelming social challenges in the growing urban areas. They felt that the negative fallout from such a turbulent time—poverty, crime, unemployment, family breakdown—required more than “band-aid” solutions. And they were not prepared to blame it all on a breakdown of personal morality and a multiplication of individual sinfulness. Or as Stephen Conn says, they realised that the cities were “more than simply the sum of the misbehaving people who lived in them.” To exclusively attribute the massive social problems of the city to matters of personal morality suddenly appeared too feeble and simplistic an explanation. No longer could the important role of politics and public policy be ignored (Conn 2014, 8).

In many ways, liberal Protestantism met with tremendous success during these years. Susan Jacoby refers to the “extraordinary decline in religious literalism,” and says that it was understandable that many observers declared Fundamentalism dead in the 1920s (Jacoby 2013, 25). But those death notices were poorly timed, as it was in the 1920s that Fundamentalism would find its theological legs, its strident anti-Modernist voice, and launch a movement whose legacy is still a significant influence in American society, politics, and religion today. Fundamentalism was partly a response to the Social Gospel, but also to perceived assimilation or at least accommodation by liberal Protestants to new scientific and religious viewpoints such as Darwinism and Higher Criticism of the Bible. It arose mainly out of debates among Baptist and Presbyterian groups (Marty 2011). However, the roots of evangelicalism run deep into American history and the central tenants of what was now termed 48 Fundamentalism were the dominant Protestant discourse in America until the liberal reaction to new scientific and philosophical developments at the end of the nineteenth century.

Conservative and Fundamentalist forms of Christianity in America have tended to be more pessimistic about what can be accomplished to “fix” social problems on earth. And while there is a strong evangelical tradition of being involved in social care, there is often an accompanying sense that such activities are a distraction from the more important issues of individual salvation and the Second Coming of Jesus. At the 1888 Protestant ecumenical conference on the religious condition of New York City, the Rev. Richard Hartley reported on Baptist Missions in the city of New York. He argued that urban-dwellers who persisted in sinful behaviour should reap the consequences of that behaviour, and churches shouldn’t ameliorate those consequences. Moreover, there were worse things than not having a roof over one’s head and wearing a ragged coat—being outside God’s kingdom and not being clothed in the robe of Christ’s righteousness. “I think that men need to be taught that a guilty soul is worse than an empty stomach,” he said (Hartley 1888, 84).

Hartley allowed that initiatives such as medical missions and soup kitchens might have their place, but he argued that preaching the gospel of Christ should stand on its own without support from anything else. “Temporal relief is, at the best, but a palliative that does not affect the final destiny of the soul.” He compared using a medical mission in New York to “win people” with Jonah starting a medical mission in Nineveh, or John the Baptist inviting people in Jerusalem to a sanitarium at the Jordan River. These would be distractions from the true task of preaching the gospel. Hartley reported that Baptist City Missions were spending little, if any, money on temporal relief, but focused their work on “the preaching of the gospel by the best men available” (Hartley 1888, 84-86, 89).

By way of contrast, for Seventh-day Adventists medical and health care are almost part and parcel of the gospel. Rather than medical work being a distraction from the gospel, Adventists have seen it as an integral part of sharing that gospel. Speaking to an audience of Adventist leaders in his 2011 sermon, Wilson used perfectly understandable insider language when he referred eight times to “medical missionary” work in cities. As will be explored in more depth later in this thesis, medical and health work has, at times, played a major role in Adventist attempts to minister in urban areas.

49 The Rise of Fundamentalism Many aspects of the rise of Fundamentalism in the 1920s were attractive to Seventh-day Adventists, including a high view of the Bible, its critique of Darwinian evolution, and its emphasis on personal evangelism. Adam Laates says that no prominent Fundamentalist would have disputed the statement of the editor of Science that Seventh-day Adventist George McCready Price was “the principal scientific authority of the Fundamentalists.” Indeed, Price and his writings were prime shapers of Fundamentalist educational thinking (Laats 2010, 38). But although some prominent Seventh-day Adventists identified as Fundamentalists, Fundamentalists did not welcome Adventists to their table. Adventism was denounced by The King’s Business, a publication of the Bible Institute of Los Angeles, as a “great menace,” mainly for its ability to lead conservative evangelicals astray. The Moody Bible Institute Monthly said that Adventist teachings were “a perversion of Scripture and blasphemy against God,” but yet close enough to the truth that faithful Fundamentalists could be lured into error (Laats 2010, 69-72).

Most Seventh-day Adventists rejected Fundamentalism’s key doctrine of biblical inerrancy, while all rejected its Dispensationalist biblical interpretation, kept a seventh-day Sabbath, and dismissed the concept of an eternally burning hell. Although there were areas in which Fundamentalists and Adventists could find mutual cause, the differences were significant enough to make any alliance an unholy one. Despite this, Fundamentalism was extremely attractive to Seventh-day Adventists, and a group of Adventist leaders attended the World Conference on Christian Fundamentals in Philadelphia in May 1919 (Campbell 2008, 48). At this conference, the World Christian Fundamentals Association was established, which became the prime interdenominational Fundamentalist organisation in the 1920s.

Adventist historian George Knight describes the Seventh-day Adventist Church as “caught in the divisive struggle over authority in the 1920s” and “definitely polarized toward the Fundamentalists by the end of the decade” (Campbell 2008, 209). The church held its own 1919 Bible Conference after the Fundamentalists’ conference in Philadelphia, and the president of the GC, A. G. Daniells, spoke on the opening night. Topics orbiting around Modernism and Fundamentalism were in the air, and Daniells spoke of Adventists as the true Fundamentalists, who should be capitalising on the current interest in the Second Coming. According to Daniells, Fundamentalists were friends who hadn’t yet seen the full light of Scripture. “The clear implication,” according to Michael Campbell, was that “the 1919 Bible 50 Conference was intended to become an Adventist version of the Fundamentalist prophetic conferences” (Campbell 2008, 219).

The Fundamentalist influence within the Adventist Church in the 1920s was marked. In 1924 the Adventist Church’s Pacific Press published William George Inger’s book entitled The Battle of the Churches: Modernism or Fundamentalism, Which? The cover depicts a fierce looking Modernist liberal with sledgehammer in hand, attacking a church pillar with Christ’s name on it. A cornerstone, with the name “Evolution” etched on it, is pictured ready to take its place. A second Adventist volume, published the same year, was entitled Christianity at the Crossroads, and its cover pictures a confused traveler encountering two paths and two signposts, “Modernism” and “Fundamentalism.” The reader is left with no misunderstanding regarding which path the traveler should take (Knight 2000, 131, 132). In a 1929 editorial in the church’s official publication, The Advent Review and Sabbath Herald, editor Francis McLellan Wilcox wrote, “Seventh-day Adventists, with their historical belief in the Divine Word, should count themselves the chief of Fundamentalists today” (Wilcox 1929, 14).

Opposition to the Social Gospel Although the rise of the Social Gospel in the early twentieth century was largely a response to social problems associated with the burgeoning cities in the late 1800s, it was also a reaction against an increasing intellectualisation of the theological enterprise, an attempt to put feet on the ground for the Christian message. In a sense, it was an example of Practical Theology at work. In a contemporary review of Rauschenbush’s 1917 book, A Theology for the Social Gospel, Gerald Birney Smith writes that it was like “a breath of fresh air” that was sweeping “through the musty halls of the conventional theological edifice” (Smith 1918, 583). Proponents of the Social Gospel were engaged in an ongoing duel with Fundamentalists, with both sides accusing the other of shortchanging the gospel message.

The rise of Protestant Fundamentalism in the 1920s was also a declaration of the primacy of evangelisation and “soul winning” in the Fundamentalist agenda, which in turn led to a repudiation of the so-called Social Gospel. This development provided the foundation for and has helped frame a central debate within evangelical circles that continues today and has direct relevance for the subject of this thesis—namely, how wholistic urban mission should be conducted. In 2016, nearly a century after these debates, two evangelical academics write that “the perennial debate as to whether evangelism 51 shall have ‘priority’ over social action has led to a lack of conceptual clarity and loss of direction in Christian integral mission” (Hartropp and Oddvar 2016, 69).

If Fundamentalist evangelicals rejected Adventists as a dangerous cult, Adventists turned the other cheek and served as cheerleaders on the sidelines. A 1922 promotional piece promoting an upcoming article on the Social Gospel in Signs of the Times5 refers to “the utter fallacy of the ‘Social Gospel’ propaganda of the hour” (see, for example, “Where Should the Comma Go?” 1922, 9). Some even attributed the rise of the Social Gospel to the Modernist’s acceptance of evolution. An article that appeared in a Methodist publication, and was reprinted in Signs of the Times, contrasts the “Social Gospel” with the “individualistic gospel.” According to this article, the individualistic gospel means that when Jesus returns He will create new heavens and a new earth, but the Social Gospel “is not Scriptural, it is not Christian; it is man-made, and the direct result of the acceptance of the evolutionary principle of the development of this world and all it contains” (“Yes a ‘Serious Obligation’” 1922, 7, emphasis added). The making of these types of direct links between Modernism and the Social Gospel meant the Fundamentalist movement was not just an ideological exercise, it also had direct and deep implications for how evangelical churches would or would not be involved in the rapidly growing cities of North America.

The usage of the term Social Gospel in the literature of the early 1900s suggests that it was malleable, taking on the meaning that any given individual chose to give it. Social Gospel pioneers such as Walter Rauschenbusch had given the term a clear and specific meaning. For them, the Social Gospel was not a repudiation of the concept of “individual salvation,” but an acknowledgment that this was not a sufficient understanding of the full gospel taught and modeled by Jesus. Writing in 1921, Social Gospel theologian Shailer Mathews defined it as “the application of the teaching of Jesus and the total message of the Christian salvation to society, the economic life, and social institutions such as the state, the family, as well as to individuals” (Deichmann 2015, 203, emphasis added). In A Theology for the Social Gospel, Rauschenbusch describes what he calls the “dumb-bell system of thought,” with the Social Gospel at one end and individual salvation at the other. He rejects the dichotomy. “The strength of our faith is in its unity,” he writes. “Religion wants wholeness of life. We need a rounded system of doctrine large enough to take in all our spiritual interests” (Rauschenbusch 1896, 9). So, for

5 Signs of the Times is an Adventist evangelistic magazine in North America. 52 Rauschenbusch, the Social Gospel is an expansion, not a rejection, of traditional evangelical teaching regarding salvation. God would freely save individuals who came to Him, but this was not the full picture. The Social Gospel, Rauschenbusch argues, completes the picture by also emphasising the importance of “social salvation” and showing how God is also ready to forgive the “collective sins” of humanity and redeem social institutions for their failures (Rauschenbusch 1896, 6, 7).

Despite such explanations, the term “Social Gospel” was adapted, caricatured, reframed, and enlisted in the service of a variety of agendas. The terminology was suspect to many Seventh-day Adventists due to its association with theological liberalism. But in practice, much of what was contained in the Social Gospel concept was not only accepted, but taken for granted, especially by Adventist missionaries. Yet in the hands of some opponents, it came to stand not only for social action, but for virtually any type of social care that distracted from the central task of evangelisation. For example, in an address to the Seventh-day Adventist Church’s British Union Ministerial Institute, L. H. Christian stated, “Our message is not a Social Gospel. Our aim is not community betterment or uplift, but to prepare people for heaven. Christianity was not given to civilize but to save mankind” (Christian 1926, 7). Here the Social Gospel is equated with “community betterment or uplift,” which was simply social care that had been a significant and accepted feature of American evangelicalism for more than 100 years, and an important component of the Seventh-day Adventist Church’s mission for at least the past 60 years. But in the heady climate of the Modernist/Fundamentalist debate, even benign social care began to be tainted with a kind of guilt-by-association with social action and the Social Gospel. As David Jones says, for much of the twentieth century evangelicals “shied away from the social implication of the gospel.” This was partly driven by fear of being labelled as the Social Gospel, and of being judged theologically unorthodox (Jones 2015, 191).

Social Action and Evangelism Fundamentalists continued to gain strength in America through the 1930s and 1940s as they established their own alternative infrastructure of schools, churches, and publishing houses. But Margaret Bendroth points to a neo-evangelical revival that started producing cracks in the Fundamentalist walls set up against social and cultural engagement. One of the first indications of this change was the establishment, in 1942, of the National Association of Evangelicals that “attempted to unite a new coalition of theologically conservative denominations in direct engagement with secular culture.” In doing this it steered a middle path between the liberal Federal Council of Churches on the 53 left, and the Fundamentalist separatist American Council of Christian Churches on the right. A new voice for these new neo-evangelicals was found in the publication Christianity Today, which was established in 1956 by Baptist pastor Billy Graham. It was designed “to join conservative theology with thoughtful consideration of modern social problems” (Bendroth 2000, 586, 589). Matthew Bowman says that Graham served as spokesperson for the neo-evangelicals who sought to distance themselves from Fundamentalism and lay claim to a more moderate stance (Bowman 2011, 427). At the same time, the publishing in 1957 of the book Seventh-day Adventists Answer Questions on Doctrine was seen as the Adventist Church’s attempt to stake a claim for its right to be part of the evangelical mainstream, not a fringe-dwelling sect (Pearson 1990, 7).

The rift between evangelicals and mainline Protestants widened in the 1960s with certain actions of the World Council of Churches (WCC) which, for many evangelicals, confirmed that mainline churches “gave scant attention to the issue of eternal salvation.” For example, at a 1968 WCC meeting in Uppsala, Sweden, some referred to “humanization” rather than “salvation” (McDermott and McClymond 2010, 349). One of the Uppsala documents, “Renewal in Mission,” focuses strongly on social issues. Donald McGavran, founder of the evangelical church growth movement, reacted negatively and asked how could the drafters of this document be so focused on horizontal relationships that they “failed to stress the tremendous need of sinful men through faith in Jesus Christ to be born again?” (Walters 2011, 188, 189). McGavran was not negating the importance of justice and social issues—he had argued that there should be a theological basis for social ministry in urban areas—but was calling for a more balanced approach than he saw in the document (Walters 2011, 10).

Emerging from the civil rights and antiwar movements of the 1960s, a new generation of socially aware young evangelicals wanted to see social justice concern and action strengthened on the evangelical agenda. Their concerns were reflected in the 1973 statement, “The Chicago Declaration of Evangelical Social Concern” (Carpenter 2014). This launched a progressive movement within evangelicalism that included the establishment of Evangelicals for Social Action, but these efforts would soon fall into the shadow of the emergent Religious Right that was to become dominant in American society and politics (Swartz 2012, 1, 2). Although the political promise of the 1973 evangelical social activists was not to be realised, greater social engagement by evangelicals was given a major stamp of legitimacy in 1974 at the First International Congress on World Evangelization held in Lausanne, an ecumenical gathering of evangelical leaders from around the world. The Lausanne Covenant, voted at this gathering, was a watershed for evangelicals in its affirmation of the role of 54 social responsibility in Christian witness. Michael McClymond goes so far as to compare its shift in evangelical approaches to mission with the effect of Vatican II in the Catholic Church (McDermott and McClymond 2010, 10).

In a much-debated section entitled “Christian Social Responsibility,” this document issues an apology for “our neglect and for having sometimes regarded evangelism and social concern as mutually exclusive.” It states: “. . . we affirm that evangelism and socio-political involvement are both part of our Christian duty” (Stott 2009, 29). Chris Wright, who chaired The Lausanne Theology Working Group, commented on the balance between evangelism and social responsibility in the document: “The God who commands us to disciple all nations also commands us to do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with our God” (Stott 2009, 6). John Stott, who helped draft the document, stated later that a large group at Lausanne wanted an even more strongly worded statement: “We must repudiate as demonic the attempt to drive a wedge between evangelism and social action.” Stott affirmed that the church’s mission includes evangelism and social action, but still made the evangelical distinction that if it comes to the crunch, “evangelism is primary” (Stott 1975).

Renewed Evangelical Mission Focus Omri Elisha highlights the 1990s as the beginning of a renewed evangelical emphasis on urban ministry in the United States (Elisha 2011a, 185). This observation is supported by several indicators including education, publishing, and a stronger focus on starting new churches in urban areas. Urban ministry courses in evangelical colleges and universities have multiplied. Virtually every Christian college or university in North America now offers masters or doctoral programs in urban ministry or studies. There has also been an exponential growth in evangelical publishing on urban mission (known among evangelicals as “church planting”). A quick look at the inventories of evangelical publishers such as InterVarsity Press, Urban Loft Publishers, Baker Publishing Group, and Zondervan reveals literally hundreds of recent titles addressing this topic. What Mark Mulder and James Smith referred to as a “vast” evangelical literature on the topic in 2009 has only continued to multiply (Mulder and Smith 2009, 432). The new focus on starting new churches in cities can be seen in rapidly growing urban church planting networks such as the Orchard Group (www.orchardgroup.org), Rebuild (www.rebuildnetwork.org), and Redeemer City to City (www.redeemercitytocity.org), which is a ministry of Tim Keller and his Redeemer Presbyterian Church in New York City. Based on orthodox reformed theology, Redeemer also engages in innovative community service, combining “preaching 55 the word” with involvement in various avenues of social work and community renewal. This is becoming increasingly common as the evangelicals’ renewed attention to urban mission has been paralleled by and directly connected with greater evangelical urban social activity (Steensland and Goff 2014b).

In their 2014 book The New Evangelical Social Engagement, Brian Steensland and Philip Goff illustrate this new social engagement with the example of a young middle-class couple in Ohio moving to a struggling inner-city neighbourhood and opening a coffee shop. Their purpose was to “foster relationships” between students from a nearby college and poor neighbourhood residents (Steensland and Goff 2014a, 1). In his 2006 book Exiles, Michael Frost describes Christians developing “spaces for proximity” and gives the examples of a restaurant in Pittsburgh and a coffee shop in Ohio (Frost 2006). In many ways, such “spaces for proximity” are modern examples of Ellen White’s concept of centres of influence. In 1902 White wrote: “. . . we should establish in all our cities small plants which shall be centers of influence…” (White 1948b, 115). As mentioned earlier, in White’s conception these centres are to link the church to the community, and operate according to Jesus’ method of ministry, which she describes as mingling with people, desiring their good, showing sympathy, ministering to needs, winning confidence, and bidding people to follow Him (White 1942, 143). According to White, centres of influence could include such things as vegetarian restaurants, treatment rooms, lifestyle education, and small group meetings. On one level, there was nothing overly revolutionary about White’s concept; the Salvation Army and other evangelical groups had pioneered urban centres of various types, mainly to minister to the poor. Yet in this thesis I will argue that there were distinctive elements of White’s approach which, linked with Adventist theology, can provide a unique platform for a reworked and newly conceptualised centre of influence concept for the twenty-first century.

The new, or renewed, evangelical social engagement signalled by Steensland and Goff, builds on strong historic precedent. David Swartz argues that the academic community has too readily assumed that evangelicals fit uniformly in a traditionalist and politically conservative box. The picture is far more nuanced, with a persistent progressive impulse within the evangelical tradition. He points, for example, to groups such as Sojourners, Evangelicals for Social Action, InterVarsity Christian Fellowship, and the Association for Public Justice, as comprising roughly a third of American evangelicals (Swartz 2012, 7, 8). Evangelical social justice and environmental movements, along with the so-called New Monasticism and Emerging Church movements, can all be seen as critiques of the mainstream evangelical church’s priorities and conservative politics. The Emerging Church has 56 stressed contextualised mission within the local urban culture, and mimicked the social agenda of non- evangelical churches (Bielo 2011). Some conservative evangelical critics see it as mainline Protestantism dressing the Social Gospel in evangelical clothes and sneaking it through evangelical church doors. Among other things, the so-called New Monastics seek to provide an alternative to the established evangelical church, live in urban communities of hospitality among the poor, work for peace and justice, and follow Jesus’ teachings from His Sermon on the Mount (Samson 2016, 151- 156).

Some are skeptical of the agenda of renewed evangelical mission in urban areas. According to Omri Elisha, conservative Protestants in America have never known how to relate to the modern city. On the one hand, they have railed against the secular values of urbanites. On the other hand, they have used the cities as a convenient and effective platform for major ministries such as that of Billy Graham and Promise Keepers. Elisha colourfully argues that “contemporary white evangelicals tend to regard the city as both the Devil’s playground and a key battleground in their struggles for cultural hegemony.” A key aspect of evangelical urban engagement, he argues, is that it is “fraught with cultural antagonisms and racial politics” (Elisha 2011b, 236, 237). Racist attitudes toward the inner-city have long been prominent. In his landmark study of racist ideas in America, Ibram Kendi describes how after the Second World War urban black neighbourhoods came to symbolise “poverty and crime” while suburban white neighbourhoods symbolised “prosperity and safety” (Kendi 2016, 358). Again in the 1990s, stereotypes and incorrect assumptions reinforced a racist view of “the dangerous black inner- city” contrasted against “the safe White suburban neighborhood.” He argues that this false view was “based on racist ideas, not reality,”6 and “[this] racist notion affected so many decisions of so many Americans, from housing choices to drug policing to politics, that they cannot be quantified” (Kendi 2016, 436).

While Elisha acknowledges a widening platform among evangelicals to include forms of urban social engagement they once abhorred, he remains deeply suspicious of the baggage that he insists comes with this engagement, including “the legacy of Christian fundamentalism,” and the “remnants of a more antagonistic past” that continue to “loom large” (Elisha 2011b, 253, 254). But regardless of the

6 Kendi says there is such a thing as “a dangerous ‘unemployed neighborhood’,” and shows how unemployment is a key factor in rates of certain violent crimes in urban areas (Kendi 2016, 436, 437). 57 concerns of onlookers such as Elisha, the evangelical momentum for various types of mission activity in the cities of America shows no signs of abating. And the Seventh-day Adventist Church, in its own distinctive ways, is along for the ride.

Summary In many ways, Wilson’s 2011 sermon encapsulates many of the key themes described in this chapter. He describes cities as “the most challenging bastions of the devil’s power,” echoing the dominant discourse established back in the 1800s. He says, “We are living at the end of time,” and points to a world that is “crumbling and disintegrating—politically, economically, socially, ecumenically, and in the natural world.” He thus reinforces the premillennialist understanding that this world is not our home, and that it will come to an end one day soon. He points to the priority and fundamental importance of the Second Coming, “I believe Jesus truly is coming again,” as the “real answer to all the woes and afflictions and difficulties of today’s earthly cities.” He reflects the historic priority of “soul winning” and uses the word “evangelism” or some variant of the word 58 times.

On the other hand, Wilson asks whether Adventists are looking upon the cities “with unutterable love, as Jesus did” and says, “God is calling us to have compassion on the multitudes.” He calls for a “sustainable, careful, and comprehensive work.” And he advocates following the wholistic example of Christ’s method of ministry. Thus, among traditional methods such as “public evangelism” and “literature evangelism,” he calls for the church to be involved in such things as “community services and social work” and “counselling centers.” And he also calls on the church to replicate the range of social and spiritual activities conducted by the Adventist Church in San Francisco in the late 1800s, which Ellen White labelled a “beehive.” The absence of any reference to specific urban problems is unusual, given Wilson’s previous writing on meeting urban needs (Wilson 1981). But it reflects a certain “spiritualisation” of urban mission, focusing on preparing urban-dwellers for a Second Coming that will make such problems redundant.

Adventist engagement in urban areas has reflected and been conditioned by wider socio-historical forces. It has reflected the dominant discourse among American Protestants regarding the city. It has felt more comfortable with conservative evangelicalism than liberal Protestantism. And it has prioritised the proclamation of the “Adventist message” through “public evangelism.” In this thesis, it will be argued that for the Seventh-day Adventist Church to move forward with integrity and 58 relevance, it must not lose its focus on the importance of individual salvation, and it must also reach back into the resources of a more wholistic approach advocated by Ellen White, supported by its theology, and modeled in earlier Adventist history. Although it might be wary of the Social Gospel, Adventism’s theology and its historic roots should compel its future urban mission to demonstrate that the gospel must have definite social implications.

59 Chapter 3. Adventists and the City

This chapter focuses specifically on Seventh-day Adventist attitudes and approaches to the city, which the broader socio-historical contexts outlined in the previous chapter have helped frame and shape. Again, I make no attempt at a comprehensive historical overview, but rather focus on time periods that have proved important for the subject of this thesis. What contours have Adventist thought and action negotiated, and why? In what ways have Adventist approaches differed from or reflected the dominant themes of wider society discussed in the previous chapter? This is a continuation of the first methodological task of seeking to understand the current situation and will focus on how the church has wrestled with a strong anti-urban legacy and a truncated missional approach to the city. To properly understand this, the role of a seminal publication in the history and consciousness of Adventism, the pamphlet Country Living, will be examined in depth. Further, the struggle within Adventism to find a meaningful balance between urban social engagement and proclamation of the “Adventist message” through public evangelism will be discussed.

In the immediate years after the church’s post-Millerite beginnings in New England, Adventists mirrored the wider Protestant world’s preference for rural living outlined in the previous chapter and developed a dominant discourse that supports this preference. An important part of this discourse is that cities are unhealthful places in which to live, sources of moral temptation, and potentially injurious to the spiritual life. This immediately places the Adventist Church in a stance unfavourable to urban engagement and predisposes the church to a theologically and practically weak response to the need for urban mission. In 1890, George Butler, a former president of the GC, wrote: “City life is a feverish life. . . . It is not conducive to calm thought, religious meditation, needed rest, cool nerves, and quiet contemplations. . . . Cities have ever been, and will ever be, Satan’s peculiar seat, just in the degree their size and population, luxury, wealth, and pride. . . . We do not see how any one with right views can love city life. We turn from it gladly to contemplate the quiet charms of country life” (Butler 1890a, 10). Butler concluded by describing the new earth as an idyllic country retreat (Butler 1890b, 27).

As the nineteenth-century Seventh-day Adventist Church fixed its eyes on Christ’s soon return and a promised new earth, it still had to continue dealing with the old earth. And the earth Adventists preferred was the grass and soil of the farm, not the concrete and structural steel of the city. Sociologist 60 Robin Theobald argues that Adventism had its origins “in the mainstream of protestant orthodoxy” and, continuing the metaphor, says that its “formative development took it into a sidestream, a sidestream which flowed through the small farming communities of the mid-West” (Theobald 1985, 119).

Rapid Urbanisation Although in a sense it tried, the Adventist side stream could not ignore the city forever. United Nations researchers estimate that sometime in the middle of 2009 the world’s demographic centre of gravity changed. For the first time in history, a majority of the world’s population was now living in urban areas (United Nations 2010, 2). More significantly for this thesis, in America rapid urbanisation starting in the late 1800s resulted in a majority urban population by 1920, much earlier than the rest of the world (United States Census Bureau 2016b). In his landmark 1938 article, “Urbanism as a Way of Life,” sociologist Louis Wirth reflected on the “profound changes” in America with its transformation, within a single generation, from a rural to predominantly urban society. He referred to the “superficiality, the anonymity, and the transitory character of urban-social relations” and the greater prevalence in cities of “personal disorganization, mental breakdown, suicide, delinquency, crime, corruption, and disorder” (Wirth 1938, 2, 12, 23).

For the next hundred years, this rapid rate of urbanisation would only multiply. The 1910 United States Census showed that more than half the total population was living in rural areas (54.4 percent). A hundred years later, as shown in the 2010 Census, only one in five of the total population (19.3 percent) lived in rural areas (United States Census Bureau 2016b). This huge demographic change presents a growing mission challenge for the Seventh-day Adventist Church in North America, which historically has distanced itself theologically and physically from the city. It has done so theologically by promoting rural living as the best way to raise a family, be closer to God, and live a more faithful religious life. It has done so physically by teaching that church members should move from the city to the country and avoid building large church institutions in cities. Ironically, today North American 61 Adventist church members are highly urbanized, with more than 85 percent living in a Metropolitan Statistical Area7 (Brian Ford, personal communication).

A Country-Living Discourse

In 1949 the Washington Post ran a cover story with the headline “Adventist Urges Country Life For Children to Avoid Vice.” The headline references a talk given by D. E. Rebok at a “rural living commission” with “about a thousand delegates” being held at Sligo Adventist Church, in Takoma Park, Washington D.C. At the time, Rebok was president of the Adventist Theological Seminary in Washington, and the Post quotes him as saying: “Instead of living where the sights and sounds frequently suggest thoughts of evil, where turmoil and confusion bring weariness and disquietude, go where you can look upon the works of God” (Hall 1949, 1). More than 50 years later, the cover article of the February 2012 issue of the Columbia Union Visitor, a denominational news magazine distributed to 50,000 Adventists homes in the mid-Atlantic region of the United States, asks the question, “Is it Time to Run to the Hills?” The article features an Adventist family that moved from the Washington D.C. suburbs to rural West Virginia and gives advice for readers who want to follow their example. The family describe how they made their move after attending an “Out of the Cities” meeting, and by continuing to listen to “the Out of the Cities” message (Belony 2012, 11). Articles such as this show that the traditional Adventist discourse about cities is still alive and well in contemporary America, at least for some Adventists. Other signs of life can be found in the unlikely source of classified advertisements in regional Adventist church papers. Real estate advertisements with a strong country living narrative are often buried among job postings, event promotions, and literature sales. For example, in just one regional paper, the North Pacific Union Gleaner, are found the following postings: “End-of-time refuge/Gardener’s paradise for sale”; “Country Living with all utilities, off-grid possibilities . . .”; and “Adventist real estate broker . . . experienced with all facets of country living including . . . off-grid living” (Advertisements 2017, 38, 39).

7 A term used by the United States Government Census to describe territories with at least one urbanized area of more than 50,000 people (and other qualifiers). https://www.census.gov/programs- surveys/metro-micro/about/glossary.html.

62 A further indicator of the discourse’s strength are the many independent Adventist ministries in North America promoting leaving the cities to live in the country.8 Here are some examples:

1. End Time Preparedness (www.endtimepreparedness.com) advertises books such as Sustainable Preparedness and a DVD entitled Urban Danger—along with seminars on standard Survivalist fare such as “Adding SUSTAINABLE to preparedness,” independent water systems, heating with wood, renewable energy systems, and how to have an independent supply of food from your garden. They also sponsor “Sustainable Preparedness Expos,” which they say have attracted attendances of up to 1,800 people in locations across North America. The stated purpose is to “educate people in how to become less dependent on public systems and services, and be prepared for prolonged emergency situations.”

2. Living Manna Ministries (http://livingmannaministries.org) conduct seminars on country living with “practical lessons from our own personal out of the cities and country living experiences.” It offers for sale resources such as the DVD series “Out of the Cities: The Sequel in Practicum—An 8 Day Practical Journey” and “Out of the Cities—the Antitypical Exodus.”

3. Shaking Time Ministries (https://adventistvoice.com/resources/endtime-country-living) promote “endtime country living” with links to sermons, real estate services, and gardening information.

4. Apocalypse Ministries (https://www.apocalypseministries.org/country-living.html) promote “not city living, not suburb living but country living ‘where the homes are not close together’.”

5. Breach Builders (http://www.breachbuilders.org/index.php?topic=CountryOutpost) describe being involved in city mission from an “Outpost Center,” a reference to Ellen White’s concept of establishing “rural outposts” from which city ministry can be conducted. They provide training in many things including “medical missionary work, gardening, construction, land development, canning, freezing, drying, alternative energy.” They also conduct Country

8 Independent ministries are independently owned and operated by Adventist church members, not official denominational entities. 63 Outpost Workshops that include property tours, disaster preparedness training, and “Seven important steps to country living.”

6. Back to Enoch Ministries (http://countrylivinguniversity.com) operates Country Living University, which provides online training plus live coaching phone calls for people wanting to “position their families with a country lifestyle.” Its stated purpose is “providing resources to motivate, inspire and equip Christians for godly living for the final crisis.”

A variety of Adventist talks and sermons posted on the Internet address the subject of leaving the cities and country living. In many of these presentations the speakers are critical of church leaders and members they feel have compromised Adventist beliefs on country living. For example, in a 2016 sermon, Elvin Bridges of Living Manna Ministries states: “There are actually pastors in our conference churches right now—this is a fact, straight from the horse’s mouth—pastors are teaching their congregations in the biggest churches in L.A. don’t leave the cities. Don’t leave the city. Don’t go to the country. There’s nothing out there for you but meth labs. You’re safer in the cities. I ask you brothers and sisters, Is this man reading his Bible? Is he reading the Spirit of Prophecy?9 He’s being led by the devil . . . and he’s a pastor at a big church” (Bridges 2016).

Doug Batchelor, an Adventist pastor who heads a ministry called Amazing Facts, presents a half-hour video entitled “Country Living and Pastor Doug,” in which he shows viewers through his remote mountain property. He takes a more moderate approach to the topic of country living. “You know there’s something wonderful about living out in the country,” he begins. “God designed man in the very beginning for country living.” He then says that he learned a lot “about living off the grid,” and has decided to share what he knows about country living. At the end of the program he concludes that although it’s possible to live comfortably “completely off the grid,” he feels a “little conflicted” because “we have a great work in the city.” So although the Bible says that one day we will need to

9 Within Adventism many use the term Spirit of Prophecy to refer to Ellen White and/or her writings. Some criticize this terminology as a diminishing of the meaning of Revelation 19:10, which says “For it is the Spirit of prophecy who bears testimony to Jesus” (RSV), and argue that although she may demonstrate the Spirit of Prophecy, she should not be identified as the Spirit of Prophecy. 64 flee the city, people should pray, be practical, make sure they can support themselves if they move to the country, and “don’t lose your opportunity to witness where people are living” (Batchelor 2016).

Country Living: An Aid to Moral and Social Security These current expressions of the dominant Adventist discourse regarding the danger of cities, in videos, official and unofficial publications, and various independent Adventist ministries, are a tribute to the endurance and resilience of that discourse. They also anticipate difficult socio-economic times ahead, which fits well with traditional Adventist prophetic understandings. Although they emphasise the need for prayer and spiritual preparation, they also show a strong focus on individuality, of taking tangible steps for survival in the country until Jesus comes. Connected closely to this is a focus on family, and the importance of living in the country to protect your children. There is also a sense among some that they are the true Adventists who are taking the Bible and Ellen White seriously and showing the courage to step out in faith.

They all rely heavily on White’s writings, particularly a posthumous compilation collected from books, manuscripts, articles, and personal letters written between 1902 and 1906. This compilation of statements on cities and rural living is entitled Country Living: An Aid to Moral and Social Security (White 1946). The theme of the pamphlet is captured in these words, “There is not one family in a hundred who will be improved physically, mentally, or spiritually, by residing in the city. Faith, hope, love, happiness, can far better be gained in retired places, where there are fields and hills and trees. Take your children away from the sights and sounds of the city, away from the rattle and din of streetcars and teams, and their minds will become more healthy. It will be found easier to bring home to their hearts the truth of the Word of God” (White 1946, 13). The GC Committee of the Seventh-day Adventist Church (GCC) reported in 1950 that there were 54,425 copies of this pamphlet in circulation (GC Minutes 1950, 154). At that time, there were only 250,000 Adventists in North America, so it is not unrealistic to envision most American Adventist homes having a copy. In addition, today there are multiple free copies posted on the Internet, and one independent ministry, Back to Enoch Ministries, has even produced their own revised version that arranges the Ellen White quotes in Country Living chronologically.

To better understand the impact of Country Living, and how it has helped shape the dominant discourse within Adventism about cities, it is essential to understand how and why it was produced. 65 The compilers of this pamphlet are listed as “The Trustees of the Ellen G. White Publications,” but the key editor was Edward A. Sutherland. Sutherland, a physician and educator, was appointed in 1946 as secretary of the North American Commission for Self-supporting Missionary Work, which had the goal of encouraging families to move to the countryside. Later that year, among wider denominational reorganisation, this commission merged with the Committee on Country Living to form the Seventh- day Adventist Commission on Rural Living, and Sutherland was appointed secretary of this new commission until 1950, when he retired. The Commission on Rural Living found rural employment opportunities for Adventists, commissioned articles promoting country living for denominational papers, sponsored conferences, and compiled Country Living (Land 2015, 67). Among other things the commission’s task was to encourage urban-dwelling Adventists to study White’s instruction about country living, and plan how they would follow that instruction. The commission was also to serve as an advisor for those wanting to make the move to the country, and to hold seminars for those interested in country living (Self-Supporting 1946, 24).

Sutherland had previously been a leader of a movement for a unique Seventh-day Adventist approach to education, of which a rural location was an integral part. In 1897, he was appointed president of Battle Creek College (now Andrews University) and made it the highest priority to move the college from Battle Creek, with a population of less than 18,000 but by the standards of contemporary demography a city, to a rural location in Berrien Springs, Michigan. In 1904, he established an independent Adventist college known as the Nashville Agricultural and Normal Institute, which was later renamed Madison College, where he served as president for 41 years. The college was featured in Reader’s Digest as a place where “education and real life meet,” and received a visit from First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt. The value Sutherland placed on rural living and education is reflected in his short 1915 book entitled Studies in Christian Education. In it, Sutherland contrasts “worldly” education with Christian education. Worldly education (synonymous, for him, with Catholic education) teaches a one- size-fits-all prescribed curriculum to students, while a Christian education is tailored to individuals, allowing students to select subjects appropriate to their future needs. Worldly education focuses on courses, degrees, awards. Christian education teaches the equality of all people, and upholds “freedom, independence, and originality of thought” (Sutherland 1915, 31, 34).

According to Sutherland, the “Papal system” of education is humanistic and works best in cities, while true Christian education is focused on God and operates best in the country, “on a farm.” Catholic education depends on monastic-style buildings and “dingy cloisters,” ritual, memorisation, and thought 66 rather than action. Adventist education takes place in the outdoors, or at least in buildings “with open windows through which streams the bright sunshine of heaven, surrounded by singing birds, working teams, milk cows, growing grain, and the sound of hammer and saw.” In advocating schools in the country, Sutherland was echoing White who supported building schools in the country because the lessons of nature, and the experience of working on a farm, help prepare students for foreign mission service (Sutherland 1915, 41, 44). Today some 40 educational institutions, run by supporting ministries of the Adventist Church, seek to follow this type of model (

It is not difficult to see Sutherland’s editorial hand in the selection of what is included in Country Living, consistently selecting White’s statements that are negative toward the city, and positive toward the country. The book’s foreword says, “The gathering storm clouds signalize the appropriateness of re-sounding the call to leave the cities” (emphasis in the original). It argues that the city does not provide a wholesome environment for families with its “congestion, allurements, and mounting labor conflicts.” It concludes: “This pamphlet is now placed in the field in response to the settled conviction of the leaders of the church that the time has come to reiterate the cry, ‘OUT OF THE CITIES.’”

Country Living was first published in 1946 against the backdrop of an American back-to-the-country movement that began in the early 1900s. In 1908, President Theodore Roosevelt established a Country Life Commission to promote rural development, which Jeffrey Jacob says, “contributed to the resurrection of a national agrarian sentimentality.” Publications such as Country Life in America magazine, which began in 1901 and featured articles such as “Could I succeed on a farm?” and “Cutting Loose from the City,” tapped into a renewed interest in rural living (Jacob 1997, 8). The collapse of agriculture in many American states during the 1930s led to Franklin Roosevelt and the New Deal, rural electrification, and other innovations. Arguably the “back to the country” movement of the 1940s was made possible by this backdrop. Books such as Flight from the City (1933), by Ralph Borsodi and Bolton Hall’s Three Acres and Liberty (first published 1907) provided guidance for those wishing to relocate to the country.

Given the content of Country Living, it is ironic that White wrote at least as much about ministry in cities as she did about leaving them (Sahlin 2007, Fortin 2013, 743). Yet this has been overlooked, and only one part of her message has been widely circulated within the Adventist Church. And so the dominant discourse about the city within Adventism has followed the emphasis of Country Living, resulting in a cautious if not neglectful approach to urban mission. Denis Fortin, in the Ellen G. White 67 Encyclopedia, credits Country Living with prime responsibility for Adventist fear of the cities and suggests that it “may have contributed to the years of slow progress” in Adventist work in the cities (Fortin 2013, 743).

Country Living remains in print, still sells, and was republished by Review and Herald Publishing, a denominational institution, as recently as 1999. Perhaps reflecting a changed socio-political climate, this new edition changed the full title from Country Living: An Aid to Moral and Social Security to Country Living: A Little Piece of Heaven. But in 2012, partly in response to appeals from those involved in Adventist urban mission for a more representative treatment of White’s thoughts, a new compilation of her writings, significantly titled Ministry to the Cities, was released by the Ellen G. White Estate (White 2012). In a seeming allusion to concerns of editorial bias in Country Living, the new volume’s preface acknowledges that “. . . her instruction on city work is less well known than her appeals for locating in more rural settings” (White 2012, 9-10). It makes no admission that the release of Country Living, more than six decades earlier, may have been the prime cause of this lack of knowledge. Instead, it describes Ministry to the Cities as “a complement” to Country Living (White 2012, 10).

Adventist Country Living Survivalism Ironically, for a pamphlet published by Seventh-day Adventists who see ultimate human survival only in terms of a new earth that comes after the Second Coming, Country Living sits comfortably with many aspects of the secular American Survivalist movement. Philip Lamy defines “Survivalism” as “a loosely structured yet pervasive belief system and set of practices focusing on disaster preparedness” (Lamy 1996). Most historians trace the beginnings of the American Survivalist movement back to the 1950s, when the Cold War evoked fear and even panic with visions of impending nuclear apocalypse. But the roots of the movement go even deeper into America’s past. Indeed, the spectre of the last days and of associated tribulations has led to various separatist movements and sectarian communes throughout American history (Mitchell Jr. 2002, 12). Today the Survivalist and associated “Prepper” movements have become a major American industry with books, magazines, websites, merchandising, expos, and fairs. Much of the Survivalist discourse focuses on self-sufficiency, getting “off the grid,” and sustainable farming. The old word “homesteading” has also been adopted by Survivalists to capture many of these elements of growing one’s own food and general self-reliance from supplying power to home schooling. 68

The language of Country Living anticipates the language of the later Survivalist discourse. The foreword to the pamphlet stresses the timeliness and importance of the content in view of the current apocalyptic context. As mentioned above, it refers to “the gathering storm clouds” and “omens of the impending crisis” (White 1946, 3). White exhorts people to move to the country, “where they can raise their own provisions; for in the future the problem of buying and selling will be a very serious one.” In the country, they can purchase a small piece of land, make a home for their families, plant gardens, and allow their children to “watch the flowers growing.” She adds: “If the land is cultivated, it will, with the blessing of God supply our necessities” (White 1946, 9, 10, 17).

Affinities to current Survivalism language are even more striking in a companion book to Country Living, issued by the Commission on Rural Living in 1950 and written by Sutherland and Arthur L. White (grandson of Ellen White), From City to Country Living: A Guide to Those Making the Change.10 “[T]he gentle voice of democracy has been growing harsh and still harsher,” write Sutherland and White. They talk of an increase in union strikes and ominously warn, “Such events are but a foretaste of impending laws.” They add, “It is most important that in this very hour our people find their place on the land, and learn there to feed, clothe, and shelter their families” (White and Sutherland 1983, 51, 53). The backdrop of the Cold War environment is not difficult to discern behind some of the language: “Fear of the future shadows the rising generation. It dogs the steps of old and young.” Readers are reminded that they should make a home that is “not merely a shelter from heat and storm or from the atomic bomb.” In times of war it is the cities that are the object of enemy attack, so “we should give careful thought to the factor of choosing a safe location for our homes” (White and Sutherland 1983, 36, 17). Sutherland also describes leaving the cities as a test of one’s faithfulness to the counsel of Ellen White (Sutherland 1951, 19).

Today the legacy of Country Living in the United States and beyond continues to be felt through those Adventists who criticise the church and church members for ignoring the directive to leave the cities;

10 Around 2008, the then major Adventist publishing house in the United States, the Review and Herald Publishing Association, citing “great demand” for the book, released an updated and expanded edition of From City to Country Living (Page 2009).

69 through those who act as boosters for country living and sell resources to help others make the move to the country; and among those Adventists who just quietly move to the country. A subdued form of the discourse can also be found among hundreds of thousands of Adventists living in the cities, many of whom would concede that rural living might be preferable, but do not feel any compelling need to change their current urban or suburban lifestyles.

The Rise and Rise of Public Evangelism As discussed in the previous chapter, from its earliest Millerite roots the Seventh-day Adventist Church has functioned in a state of tension between a soon-expected world-to-come and an already- here world in which its feet remained firmly planted. This tension within the new denomination has only grown stronger as time has passed and the church has grown: how does a church that stakes its identity on the expectation of a soon-coming Saviour operate while he continues to delay his coming? The implications for urban mission readily become apparent. A mission-focused, convert-seeking denomination can sustain a rural outlook and focus so long as most of the population, its “mission field,” is living on farms and in rural communities. But what does it do in the face of the unprecedented urbanisation that revolutionises the social landscape? How does it “regroup” to shape an appropriate mission response to such unfamiliar territory, particularly given the Adventist Church’s historic anti-urban discourse? In recent years, this question has increasingly engaged the attention of Adventist theologians and missiologists (Novaes and Lima 2019, Sahlin 2007, Knight 2013).

The selected quotations that make up the pamphlet Country Living, added to the authority White has held within the denomination, have continued to shape the dominant discourse about how to conduct an urban mission, and have also led the church to see that mission mainly in terms of short evangelistic events. This has been natural for Adventists, because from its beginnings the church has specialised in holding public meetings on biblical subjects, with a specialty in prophecy and end-time events, warning people to be prepared for the Second Coming. As far back as 1860, when James White, husband of Ellen, began publishing the first Adventist periodical, The Present Truth, senior Adventist pioneer Joseph Bates was upset and refused to write for it. He felt that even publishing literature was delaying Christ’s coming by diverting funds that should have gone into direct evangelism (Knight 2004, 163).

70 But by the early 1900s, Ellen White was concerned by the flagging rate of growth in the Adventist Church, which she attributed to neglect of the cities. Delegates to the 1909 GC Session learned that annual Adventist membership growth in the United States had fallen to 1 percent (Theobald 1985, 43). As White witnessed rapid urbanisation all over the United States, but particularly in the north, she was convicted that the cities could not be ignored. And so, in the early 1900s she increasingly expressed concern about what she termed her church’s “neglect” of the cities. She suggests, then pleads with, and then finally cajoles GC president A. G. Daniells and other church leaders to place the cities high on the church agenda. Nobody, including Daniells, seemed opposed to the idea, but other priorities were being juggled, ideas on how to proceed with city ministry seemed scarce, and inertia ruled (McArthur 2013). Tension between White and the GC president over this issue grew, and A. G. Daniells felt aggrieved. He wrote to Ellen White’s son, Willie, that he wanted to see “specific and creative ideas about more effective urban evangelism” but added that he had hoped for more help in the topic, but “was greatly disappointed” because “none of the brethren seemed able to throw any special light” on the matter. Ben McArthur comments, “He did not mention Ellen White, but he might have wished that her admonitions would be accompanied by useful tips” (McArthur 2013, 6, 7).

Anxious to prove his attention to White’s counsel, Daniells in 1910 wrote a four-part series of articles for the Advent Review and Sabbath Herald entitled “Our Work for the Cities.” In the first article, he describes “a new movement” being set up for evangelical work in the big Eastern cities. The GC would provide financial assistance and establish a committee of 17 people, which he, Daniells, would personally chair, established for city work. The purpose of the committee was to “study the conditions and needs of our cities and take such steps as are deemed necessary to carry on our work in the cities.” Moreover, it was voted that he would be released from camp-meeting appointments and a scheduled visit to Australia in order to personally give attention to city work that was needed (Daniells 1910a, 14). The previous year, after urging from Ellen White, prominent Adventist pastor and editor of the Review and Herald W. W. Prescott was called to full-time city ministry (Valentine 2013, 495). Naturally, given the approach of leaders and pastors of the time, Prescott’s default response was to think of public evangelism. He requested that the GCC provide him with a tent and a stereopticon, a device for projecting images, so that he could conduct two or three-week “campaigns” in various cities (GC Minutes 1909, 48).

In the next article in his Advent Review series, Daniells reported on a convention held in New York City to discuss various methods of work in the cities. He says the committee was so overwhelmed by 71 the challenge that “it well-nigh paralyzed us for a time.” But as they went about their work, “light and courage came into our minds and hearts.” The methods they discussed included public meetings, open- air services, Bible work, medical missionary work, literature distribution, and advertisements in newspapers and magazines. Specific recommendations were made for East Coast cities including training schools attached to evangelistic work in key cities, Bible readings in people’s homes, selling and distributing literature, and medical missionary work by trained nurses (Daniells 1910b, 14).

At the GC Annual Council a few months later, delegates again discussed city ministry, and public evangelist and president of the Greater New York Conference R. D. Quinn read a paper on “Methods and Agencies in City Work.” His suggestion was to continue with more of the same: “[T]he prosecution of old lines of effort with new power.” He added that “a strong, well-organized public effort, supported by Bible work, is of the highest efficiency in reaching the public.” In other words, let us stick with what we know best (GC Minutes 1910b, 295). The following day discussions on city work continued, addressing such questions as “the best location for the tent” and “neatness of arrangement.” Public evangelist O. O. Bernstein suggested that “the chief means of reaching the public of the great cities” is “well-advertised, well-manned and well-organized public effort in tent and hall” (GC Minutes 1910c, 297).

Although urban mission was being placed high on the church’s agenda, the reported discussions suggest that leaders were just treading water, narrowing their vision to public proclamation of Adventist beliefs, rehashing old methods done the old way. At the church’s spring meetings earlier that year, Allen Moon, president of the Lake Union Conference, raised a solitary voice recalling a comment from Ellen White “that it was not so much by public evangelists that the work [in cities] was to be done as by seeking out the people one by one through Bible work and canvassing effort, and medical missionary work.” Indeed, this had been the methodology of Adventist “city mission” work in the 1880s and 1890s. In 1884, for example, Adventist leader J. H. Waggoner wrote: “Chicago cannot be reached by preaching” (Loughborough 1884, 808). But, as David Trim says, church leaders were not listening (Trim 2017, 113).

One searches reports of committees and decisions in vain for any new creative insights, any experimentation, any new initiative, any major move toward a more wholistic approach alluded to by Moon. Admittedly the standing committee did recommend the establishment in cities of “small training centers” for city work, and that a “small treatment room” be attached to the centre, along with 72 a larger room for lectures and Bible readings (GC Minutes 1910a, 317). But during these meetings the discussions of methodology rarely stray from the primary focus on public meetings, a method that had been transplanted from the traditional Adventist evangelist approach in rural villages and towns. It is true that some big-name evangelical evangelists such as Billy Sunday and Dwight L. Moody had a period of “success” using this approach in the cities, but small-time Adventist evangelists were scarcely making any impact in the urban communities.

Again and again throughout the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, Adventist Church leaders have fallen back on the tried and true method of public evangelism. But the success attending a tent meeting in a country area where it may have been the best show in town have not translated well to the new urban reality of densely populated communities of diverse and better-educated people with myriad new choices and opportunities at their fingertips. Occasional efforts (Adventists regularly referred to public evangelism programs as “evangelistic efforts”) in urban areas have been expensive and have met with modest results (McArthur 2013, 1, 7, 9-10).

Ironically, audience sizes for Adventist preachers expanded during the First World War not due to effective methodology, but because the war gave the Adventist premillennialist prophetic outlook some extra public credibility, Adventist public evangelists found a renewed interest in their topics and bigger crowds. In America membership growth in 1917 was more than three times greater than the previous year. But by 1920, growth was back to almost zero, where it remained until the early 1930s. Robin Theobald notes a change in Adventist public evangelism in the 1920s from a focus on sensational presentations on prophecy and end-time events toward a tamer emphasis on dealing with issues facing society here on earth and what should be done about them (Theobald 1985, 121).

Despite revolutionary changes in urban cultures and ways of thinking, for the next hundred years any Adventist mission to the cities would turn by default to the old Adventist methods of public meetings and literature distribution. A 1942 article in the Columbia Union Visitor informed readers of two opportunities for Theology students at the Washington Missionary College to learn about large-city evangelism. First, they would be able to regularly attend public meetings held by an Elder Boothby in Constitution Hall, Washington, D.C. and study his techniques. Second, they would learn from Pastor R. A. Anderson who “has been unusually successful in conducting large evangelistic efforts in the large cities of Australia, in London, and in other great metropolitan centers” (Rulkoetter 1942, 8, 9). 73 Reasons for his success are not given, but the fact that it was deemed unusually successful seems to indicate the declining efficacy of this approach.

In 1949, John Shuler, from the Adventist Theological Seminary, conceded that it was becoming increasingly difficult to attract people in large cities to public meetings. However, he maintained that this was just a reminder of the importance of proper preparation (Shuler 1949, 17). More than 60 years later, in 2013, the assistant to the NAD president wrote that in North America public evangelism “continues to be the largest producer of baptisms, by far” (Denslow 2013, 12). That year the denomination launched NY13, a major year-long evangelistic program in New York City, which also included many different types of social activities serving the community. But the 400 public evangelistic meetings conducted across the city as part of NY13 dominated Adventist news coverage of the initiative.

A More Nuanced Approach Despite the strength of the dominant Adventist discourse regarding mission in cities, throughout the church’s history actual Adventist practice has been far more nuanced than that discourse suggests. The narrative, from the start, was clear: cities were places of sin and depravation, unsuited to Christian family life, and places from which to escape. It also elevated the virtues of rural living and called for Adventist to leave the cities. Yet during the rapid urbanisation of the late nineteenth century American Adventists became extremely active in large cities such as San Francisco and Chicago. The evidence of actual Adventist mission in cities and White’s support of those activities suggests that her views were more complex and adaptable than Country Living might suggest.

In 1891, in contradiction to the dominant discourse, White wrote, “Close around us are cities and towns in which no efforts are made to save souls. Why should not families who know the present truth settle in these cities and villages . . .?” (White 1891, 593, emphasis added). And in a 1902 letter, she wrote, “We are far behind in following the light given us to enter the large cities and erect memorials for God” (White 2012, 31, emphasis added). A decade later, senior Adventist evangelist and leader Stephen Haskell and his wife, Hetty, began ministry in New York City. They did not work from a rural “outpost” or even on the periphery of the city. They moved into the Windermere Apartments at 400 West 57th St., in the heart of the city, a couple of blocks from the southeast corner of Central Park (Haskell 1901, 14, Geberer 2016). That year New York provided plenty of ammunition for the dire 74 prognostications of anti-urban voices. The Panic of 1901 started the first-ever crash on the New York Stock Exchange. Thousands of small investors limped away bankrupt. And in the summer, New York City withered under the deadliest heat wave in its history. In a one-week period at least 989 people died in weather described as “so hot it melted asphalt and drove scores of New Yorkers insane” (Admin 2013). And yet, in dissonance to the dominant discourse, White gave her unqualified support for Haskell’s moving into and living in the city, and wrote that God “was in your going” (Robinson 1967, 194). While in New York Haskell took a wholistic approach to his ministry, writing that city missions had proven “that personal effort is the most effectual of any means to reach the people” (“International Tract Society,” 40).

Toward the end of the nineteenth century, the church started establishing city missions across the country. The GC published a report on city missions in its Yearbook annually from 1885 through 1899. In 1884, S. N. Haskell reported that city missions had been established in nine cities (Chicago, St. Louis, New York, Buffalo, Syracuse, Boston, San Francisco, and Portland), with preparations to establish more. Haskell stressed that mission in urban areas was vital, because the views of city newspapers and city leaders shape public opinion in the rest of the country (Haskell 1884, 278). The Yearbook reported that two years later there were 25 Adventist city missions in the United States, employing 76 people (Trim 2017, 107). And since at this time the church in the United States had fewer than 400 workers employed, this was a sizeable investment by the early Adventist Church in urban mission (Seventh-day Adventist Statistics 1886, 48). Early Adventist city missions tended to consist primarily of free reading rooms (with Adventist and other Christian literature) and lecture rooms, which also served as a basis for literature distribution. But the concept of city missions as wholistic ministry centres would soon take hold. Addressing the 1899 GC Session, GC president George Irwin emphasised social care and medical missionary work, and testified that this type of work had successfully caught on, with medical and rescue missions being established in most major cities across America. “Thousands in this way are being clothed and fed,” he added, “and souls are being rescued from sin and degradation” (Trim 2017, 110).

The Chicago Medical Mission The most prominent example of this wholistic urban approach was the Chicago Medical Mission, headed by Dr. John Harvey Kellogg. At the end of the nineteenth century, Kellogg was perhaps the most famous Seventh-day Adventist, better known than Ellen White, who herself had published and 75 sold tens of thousands of books and lectured in cities across the United States (Wilson 2014, 61). Kellogg, prolific author, entrepreneur, public speaker, health reformer, and promoter, was founder and chief medical officer of the Battle Creek Sanitarium, in Michigan. He presided over an establishment with some 700 patients and more than 1,000 staff. The Sanitarium (a name he invented) was the proving ground and platform for Kellogg’s theories of preventative health that combined strict rules for eating, including vegetarianism, combined with exercise, fresh air, and other regimens today considered exotic and unhelpful.

On October 11, 1896, Kellogg was one of the speakers at Willard Hall, on the campus of Northwestern University at Evanston, a few miles north of Chicago. Others sharing the platform that day were Jane Addams, urban social activist and settlement house pioneer; C. R. Henderson, Baptist minister and University of Chicago sociologist; and C. C. Bonney, president of the World’s Congresses at Chicago 1893 and chief promoter of the Parliament of Religions. Perhaps surprisingly for some who knew the conservative Protestant denomination to which he belonged, Kellogg was right at home as a religious health reformer among such an elite gathering of social progressives.

It is true that Kellogg and the Adventist Church tended to direct their social emphasis toward individual “uplift,” but Adventists were also prepared to protest and work against what they saw as unfair and unjust systems that were keeping down the poor. Adventist efforts for social reform attracted Sarepta Myrenda Irish Henry, an indefatigable leader of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union, then the largest women’s organisation in the world. When she became an Adventist at the height of her career, she said it was “because she saw in the Adventist Church the social action values in which she believed” (Wilson 2014, 25). In 1909, Ellen White spoke out against the rich who were using oppression and extortion, and amassing fortunes, while others were starving—working hard for small wages, fighting to survive. She saw in the exploitation of the poor in American cities the fulfilment of the apostle James’ vision of corrupt rich men exploiting their workers (James 5:1-6) (White 1909c, 80, 81).

Kellogg biographer Richard Schwarz dubbed him “Social Gospel Practitioner,” which is a little misleading (Schwarz 1964a). Indeed, in his speech that day at Northwestern University, Kellogg claimed that he had no proposal for social reform, and was not even sure if he understood why social conditions existed as they did. “But I take it to be the duty of every Christian community,” he added, “to see that every homeless, hungry man is fed." Speaking of the city's poor, he said they needed not 76 only food and shelter, but also kindness and instruction. “They need to be taken by the hand and lifted up. The homeless, destitute man is always a sick man. He is sick morally, mentally, and physically." (Schwarz 1964a, 6). Writing years later in the Journal of the American Medical Association, Howard Merkel says, “John Harvey Kellogg helped give the nation a thorough cleansing from the grime and sickness that characterized the Gilded Age and the Progressive Era. Eccentric, perhaps; but just as his Michigan peers Henry Ford and Thomas Edison ruled over their vast empires of automobiles and electricity, in his day Kellogg was the industrial king of wellness” (Markel 2011).

Three years before Kellogg’s Northwestern speech, in the spring of 1893, he and Adventist colleague and fellow physician David Paulson established a medical mission on the inner-south side of Chicago, as a branch of the Battle Creek Sanitarium. In Battle Creek, Kellogg was mainly, but not exclusively, caring for America’s middle to upper-class, with wealthy clientele including inventors such as Thomas Edison, gilded age tycoons such as John D. Rockefeller, Jr., inventor Henry Ford, celebrities such as playwright George Bernard Shaw, and politicians such as United States president Warren Harding. The realities of inner-Chicago with its challenges of poverty, crime, and unemployment were light years away from Kellogg’s rural experience in Battle Creek. Soon the urban mission multiplied into several other initiatives within the city, including a small hospital, a Life Boat Mission, a soup kitchen, a visiting nurses program, and emergency residences. At its peak, some 13 different services came under its umbrella (Moon 2014, 23, 24). The Chicago Medical Mission soon inspired other similar Adventist enterprises in many other American cities.

Kellogg was driven by a personal passion for those in need and in 1891 he visited New York City to observe the work of George Dowkontt, a medical doctor and pioneer of medical missions. Dowkontt was establishing a similar mission to what he had established in the United Kingdom, complete with medical clinic, day nursery, and Christian religious services. Kellogg was impressed, describing it as "a most blessed kind of work, and a most fruitful field of labor.” In 1892, he also visited America’s first rescue mission in New York City (Schwarz 1964a, 8, 9).11 From the start, Kellogg and Paulson envisaged the Chicago Medical Mission as a “medical missionary” initiative. Searching for the best location for their mission, Kellogg reportedly asked the police chief to identify “the dirtiest and

11 Kellogg’s biographer, Richard Schwarz, incorrectly identifies this as the Bowery Mission—it was, in fact, known as the Water Street Mission, which was established in 1872 (Hackworth 2012, 105). 77 wickedest spot in all Chicago” (Sheppard 2007, 67). Part of Kellogg’s vision was establishing a “settlement house,” a place where middle-class workers would live among the urban poor, especially immigrants, to help and educate them. At one stage, he considered joining forces with Jane Addams, and they conducted some preliminary negotiations. However, in the end Addams was unsure of how Kellogg’s religious views might affect her plans, so Kellogg went ahead alone (Wilson 2014, 11). He ended up establishing The American Medical Missionary College Settlement Building, which had the typical accoutrements of settlement houses of the day, including day care provision, classes on health, a women’s discussion group, clubs for newsboys and bootblacks, and a free employment agency (Morgan 2001, 1815).

In 1895, Ellen White wrote that she was “in full sympathy” with the work of the Chicago initiative (Plantak 1998, 60). In fact, Kellogg attributed a series of White’s articles in the Advent Review and Sabbath Herald in 1894 and 1895 (entitled “Our duty to the poor and afflicted”) as being the motivation and blueprint for the Chicago enterprise. But over time White became increasingly unhappy with its direction. She was concerned that it was over-centralised, investing too much in one place in the city. It was also focusing only on the poor, a work she supported, but not at the neglect of ministry to other classes of people. In addition, Kellogg was raising medical ministry above spiritual ministry, and downplaying the Seventh-day Adventist connection, making the Chicago Mission increasingly non-denominational (Butler 1970). Ronald Numbers and David Larson write, “By the turn of the century, the Kellogg-controlled International Medical Missionary and Benevolent Association, the medical arm of the church, employed more workers than the GC, and physicians enjoyed more power and prestige than their ministerial colleagues, a source of increasing tension” (Numbers and Larson 1998, 452).

But White made no opposition to the principle of this ongoing wholistic work in the city and made no appeals for anybody to stop work and move out to the country. Indeed, as late as 1905, by which time Kellogg was well on his way toward leaving Adventist Church membership, she visited two of the mission’s major enterprises in Chicago, the Life Boat Mission and the Workingmen’s Home, reporting, “I was much pleased with the report of the work being done in this place” (White 1905, 8). On July 25, 1909, White was the guest speaker at the dedication of a Life Boat Rescue Home for women in Hinsdale, Chicago, which had been established by Kellogg associate David Paulson. She said it gave her “great pleasure” to know that this “important work” was being done (White 1909a, 261, 263). She was particularly taken by the Life Boat Mission which, as Jonathan Butler points out, was not 78 fundamentally different to the work of the rest of the Chicago Mission, except it was smaller (Butler 1970, 47).

On America’s west coast, the work of the Seventh-day Adventist church in the heart of San Francisco also earned White’s commendation. They certainly held public meetings, but church members were also visiting the needy, caring for orphans, and finding jobs for the unemployed. They were nursing the sick, teaching classes on healthful living, distributing literature, operating a school for children, running an Open Door for Girls—a temporary home for girls seeking employment, as well as a Girls’ Improvement and Aid Society (Smith 1901, 58, 31, 56). They also maintained a medical mission and a homeless shelter. Immediately next to city hall, on Market Street, there was a “bath establishment,” an early precursor to a therapeutic spa, and a health food store where classes were given on how to improve one’s diet. Even closer to the heart of the city, a vegetarian café served some 500 meals each day, six days a week. On the San Francisco Bay waterfront, Adventists ministered to sailors. In describing these activities, White labelled the Adventist church and its urban ministry in San Francisco as a “beehive” (White 1906, 8). There was no suggestion from White that they should be moving the church and its mission to the countryside. On the contrary, she said that these urban centres of influence were “just a beginning,” and the work was “to broaden and deepen” (White 1906, 8, Hill and Thurmon 2013, 17-19).

Losing the Wholistic Approach But at the 1903 meeting of the GCC there was no talk of broadening or deepening Adventist urban mission. City mission was not discussed; instead the topic was referred to another committee. The following year was the last time city missions had their own separate report in the GC Yearbook, and this report showed the number of American city missions had dwindled to just three—although David Trim says there were more operating than were reported (Trim 2017, 110, 111). The short era of Adventist city missions with a social conscience was drawing to an end. After years of decline and Kellogg’s departure from the denomination in 1907,12 the Chicago Medical Mission closed in 1913. The growing controversy over Kellogg himself no doubt led to some declining enthusiasm and support for his Chicago mission and, through guilt by association, soured other efforts to establish further

12 Dr. Kellogg’s departure from the denomination appears to be the result of a combination of factors including theology, power plays, and personality clashes (Schwarz 1972, Baker 1972). 79 centres elsewhere. And as Gary Land points out, although these missions had successfully established Adventist work in several cities, most were closed for financial reasons (Land 2015, 108).

In 1912, A. G. Daniells appointed another group to address the issue of “city evangelism,” and the focus was firmly on public evangelism. He called the group a Council of City Evangelists, and they met in Washington D.C. in May of that year. Over four days nearly 50 leading pastors connected with city ministry came together to talk about how to be more effective in urban mission. Again, the discussions ranged within routine and predictable parameters. Although Ellen White was quoted extensively during the conference, remarkably there are no reported discussions of how to put Christ’s method of ministry into practice, a method that she had written seven years earlier was the one that would “alone bring true success” (White 1942, 143). White summarised Jesus’ approach as being much more than preaching; it was a wholistic approach that also included mingling with people, showing sympathy, ministering to needs, and winning confidence. Apparently the San Francisco “beehive,” which had put this method into practice and which she had lauded as a model of urban mission, was never discussed during the conference.

Further, there is no evidence that White’s call for urban centres of influence ever made the agenda. Again, this is puzzling since just a few years earlier Stephen Haskell, living and working in New York City, had started an urban ministry initiative in which public meetings took place only when, to use Arthur Spalding’s expression, “the groundwork had been sufficiently done.” And what was the “groundwork”? Sharing literature door-to-door, and “health service and education” through “vegetarian restaurants, hydropathic treatment rooms, and lectures.” Spalding describes how centres of influence such as restaurants and treatment rooms were established in major cities, but concedes that most of the city work ministry was distributing literature, holding Bible studies, and evangelistic preaching (Spalding 1962, 114, 115). In 1892 Ellen White had written that other denominations were better organised and had better methods for city mission. Why? “Because so many of our laborers have been those who love to preach . . . and a large share of the labor has been put forth in preaching.” She added that pastors involved in city work had to do more than preach, they needed to minister (White 1967, 301, 201).

And yet protracted discussions in Washington homed in on seemingly superficial minutiae such as the appropriate way to advertise public meetings, how to avoid being “sensational,” and whether it was improper to show the photograph of the Adventist evangelist who would be taking the meetings. 80 Rather than getting to the crux of a fundamental change in approach for urban mission, they seemed to be rearranging the deck chairs on the Adventist urban mission Titanic. Gilbert Valentine suggests that under Kellogg’s vision the church would have morphed into “an organization that would have been little more than a social welfare mission” (Valentine 2011, 268). But now the church seemed to be moving to the opposite extreme and, by the 1920s, any type of on-the-ground social urban engagement seems minimal.

In 1931, A. T. Robinson reminisced that “City mission work proved to be expensive and, largely on that account, was discontinued by conferences.” He also speculated on what might have happened if the work had been continued, and they had learned how to become more self-supporting (Robinson 1931, 8). In 1946, Alfred Richli lamented that in San Francisco there was now only one “treatment room,” which was run by church members, no vegetarian restaurants, and no health-food store. “Somehow, a survey of our work in San Francisco forty-five years ago yields a brighter picture than that of today,” he wrote (Richli 1946, 44). There were some sporadic attempts to revive the concept. For example, in September, 1940, a church member started a “Helping Hand Mission” in Boston (Sahlin 2007). Reflecting on that mission nine years later, Newman wrote, “Is it not high time that more of our churches organized for service along this line?”(Newman 1949).

Overall, compared to the height of Adventist city missions around the turn of the century, the decades following the 1920s were years of inaction. Monte Sahlin says that through to the 1940s any urban mission activity was mainly an attempt to reach immigrants and ethnic minority groups (Sahlin 2007, 15). The church did have “inner city” programs in this period, focused particularly on blacks. The 1960s served to partly awaken the Adventist social conscience, and Sahlin describes several wholistic urban initiatives. One initiative in which he himself participated while a student took place in 1967. Students at what was then called La Sierra College (today La Sierra University) started a program called The Adventist Collegiate Task-force (ACT). ACT ran a summer program in Southern California that consisted of teams of students moving into urban areas with three goals: “Seeking to gain the trust of community by expressing Christian love through service projects. Approaching non-Seventh-day Adventists as whole people with mental, physical, social, and spiritual needs. Making the gospel relevant to people outside of Adventist and Christian culture.” Activities included craft classes, teen clubs, tutoring, day camps, as well as evangelistic meetings (Sahlin 1967, 2).

81 Sahlin recalls that after a full summer of activities and ministry, he was contacted by an assistant to Sam Yorty, then mayor of Los Angeles. He asked if ACT could run a program in every park in the city the following summer. It would have been a huge assignment requiring significant funding; some 300 parks, with more than 1,000 Adventist student volunteers, and touching the lives of perhaps 50,000 children in the city. However, church administrators told Sahlin it would be too expensive. The mayor’s assistant countered that the mayor’s office could perhaps fund half the cost. But this was still too much for church leaders. “I was learning,” says Sahlin. “I have run into this same theme many more times than I can count since the fall of 1967. We never want to spend too much money on providing open-handed help to people. We want our dollars to link directly to ‘productive’ outcomes recruiting new members for our church. I have long pondered how that stacks up to the unconditional love of Christ that we preach; do our actions match our words or not?” (Monte Sahlin, Email message to author, 6 June, 2014). Other initiatives included the Christian Urban Services Corps (CUSC) started by Columbia Union College students in Washington DC., and sending a team of university students to live in downtown Washington and run educational programs for the underprivileged (Briefly Stated 1968, 2). Each week more than 350 CUSC volunteers tutored children, conducted job training classes, helped with tax returns, and ran health education programs, fitness classes, health checks, English classes, and medical clinics (Urban Challenge 1972, 3, 4).

E. E. Cleveland was one of the most successful Adventist public evangelists in the 1960s and 1970s and he combined his public meetings with assistance for the urban poor. In 1968, a free day camp for “deprived inner-city youth” was conducted through the length of his public program. In addition, he ran “an inner-city welfare program which gave food, clothing, and assistance to more than 200 needy persons” (“205 Souls Baptized” 1969, 2). In 1969, the Philadelphia North Church in Pennsylvania purchased a four-storey building adjacent to their church and remodeled it to serve as a health and welfare centre (The Philadelphia North Church 1969, 2). Sahlin says that African-Americans “understood more clearly the connection between the church and social justice” (Sahlin 2007, 18-22). From the time of the “Great Migration” of millions of blacks from the South to Northern cities in the early twentieth century (1910-1930), black churches of various denominations have played a pivotal role in urban community development. Churches were not just places to worship on Sunday morning; they provided a platform for maintaining identity and what Julia Robinson calls “networks of exchange” with economic, social, and political implications (Robinson 2015, 3). These churches served as a guide and entry-point for the literally millions of black migrants who moved into cities in the North, Midwest and West. But the focus of most of these churches through to the mid-1950s was to 82 help broker the influx of Southern blacks, not necessarily to be socially engaged in the community. Eric Lincoln and Lawrence Hamiya describe “a relative quietism” among these urban churches that changed with the advent of the civil rights movement, which was “anchored” in the black church. The formation of the National Black Evangelical Association in 1963 further mobilised black churches to focus on spirituality and social change (Lincoln and Mamiya 1990, 120-121, 165, 193).

Adventists have an uneasy history with this narrative. As Douglas Morgan says, Seventh-day Adventists “suffer from a well-earned inferiority complex about our history when it comes to civil rights and race relations” (Morgan 2010, 30). He argues that the church has been more resistant to change than the general society to which it is supposed to be a witness. And yet recent research has shown many black Adventists actively engaged in the civil rights movement, at the highest leadership levels, including arranging for Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. to speak at an Adventist church in Savannah, Georgia, in 1963. The key, though, is that most of this engagement was ground-level action that subverted the prevailing ethos created by the denomination’s white leadership that was “both utterly intolerant of public activism for societal change and scandalously tolerant of racism and segregation in the church” (Morgan 2010, 32).

Seventh-day Adventist churches participated in the “white flight” from American cities to the suburbs. In some cases mainly black and Hispanic churches have remained in inner-city communities, but too often urban mission has just been abandoned (Sahlin 2007, 51). In 1976, Walter W. Fordham, then director of the General Conference Regional Department, caring for Adventist work among blacks, asked for “prayers and support” because “the black Seventh-day Adventist Church is the only remaining witness to Adventism in our cities, for as you know, most of our churches have fled to the suburbs” (Fordham 1976, 23). Douglas Morgan’s history of the First Church of Seventh-day Adventists of Washington, D.C., for example, chronicles the ongoing urban community engagement and witness of one Adventist church in the nation’s capital since 1889. Although integrated racially from its inception, its members have been predominantly black (Morgan 2014). Many Adventist urban churches are commuter churches, where members drive in from the suburbs on Saturday mornings and leave in the afternoons, and the only thing urban neighbours know about the church is that there is less parking space available on Saturday mornings. Commuter churches demonstrate that the mere presence of a church in a city is no guarantee of mission engagement with its urban community.

83 In the late 1990s, sociologist Omar McRoberts conducted an ethnographic study of perhaps the most densely church-saturated neighbourhood in Boston, an economically depressed one-kilometre square territory with 29 congregations, including a Seventh-day Adventist church. He discovered that many were located there because it is a low-rent district, and most were commuter churches, where most of the members and leaders lived elsewhere. He discovered that most of these churches were member- needs focused and dislocated from their local communities and their needs (McRoberts 2003). Today research indicates that most American Adventist urban churches are “preaching to the choir,” not to the communities in which they are located. This directly links to another finding, that Adventism is “largely invisible” in major cities, and most urban churches have no connection or involvement in those communities (Sahlin 2007, 121).

On the other hand, a study of Hispanic clergy working in American cities showed that many Adventist pastors and other religious leaders were highly engaged in urban mission. Milagros Peña and colleagues write: “Laboring on the front lines of immigrant and urban neighborhoods, Hispanic religious leaders must constantly adapt their efforts to meet the immediate needs of their community members, even while they advocate for longer range community-wide efforts on behalf of those needs.” They found that 75 percent of Adventist urban pastors surveyed reported that their congregations were involved in distributing food, clothing, and money. More than half were providing services for elderly in the community (Peña, Hernández, and Mauldin 2005).

Chipping at the Discourse In the past few decades, an increasing number of Adventist leaders, pastors, and academics have begun working for a more wholistic urban mission approach. They argue against retreat to the countryside and urge the church to instead re-engage the cities from within the cities, not just through short-term public evangelistic events, but through organic, on-the-ground ministry. In a 1980 article in Ministry, the denomination’s magazine for pastors, Gottfried Oosterwal, then director of the Institute of World Mission at the Andrews University Theological Seminary and widely regarded as the church’s leading missiologist, argues that the church needs to locate in the city to reach the city. He refers to a statement that was adopted a couple of years earlier by the GCC called “Country Living,” which supports the dominant Adventist discourse and urges church members to leave the cities. He is appalled that only one or two delegates spoke against it. He urges the church to reject a rural retreat and instead cross 84 cultural barriers “mentally, socially, and theologically” to work within the cities (Oosterwal 1980, 19, 21).

Further reflecting a growing critique of the dominant discourse are two articles is a series of four in the Adventist Review in 1990 entitled, “City and Country Living.” This series serves as a case study of a church grappling with how to conduct its mission in the light of an anti-urban heritage and the reality of an increasingly urban future. Each article references the counsel of Ellen White, and the unstated question each author, in his own way, addresses, is, “How do White’s writings nearly a hundred years old speak to the reality of urban mission today?” Two articles support the dominant discourse, while two seek to revise it. The first revisionist article, by Ritchie Way, a pastor, is entitled: “The Paradox of Our Mission: Can we preach the gospel in all the world while living in the country?” Way acknowledges the validity of many reasons for Seventh-day Adventists moving out of cities, but argues that hundreds of thousands of Adventists would still be needed to continue living in the cities to work and witness. He notes that White counseled Adventists to live in the country and travel into the city to minister, but argues that because cities have grown tremendously in size since she wrote, this is not practical for most. And in any case, “. . . the spirit of the country can be had in the city if we choose to create and nurture it” (Way 1990, 9-11).

The second article against the dominant discourse is by Warren Banfield, also a pastor, who explains why he moved into the city. He also acknowledges the potentially harmful influences of cities, and White’s concerns about urban living. But he also points to the damage done to inner-city life when people leave, and emphasises examples where Ellen White calls for people to move to the cities to minister more effectively. Ultimately his argument for living in the city to minister is a pragmatic one: it gives access to people’s homes and lives (Banfield 1990, 12-13, 14).

Other pastors, leaders, and academics have sought to put further cracks in the discourse and recapture a more positive focus on Adventist urban mission. Urban pastor Samir Selmanovic turned the discourse on its head and wrote that Adventists should love the city, recognise its beauty, and realise that they need the city to humble them and help them grow spiritually (Selmanovic 2002, 8). Clifford Jones, then-chair of the Christian Ministry Department at the Adventist Theological Seminary, went so far as to argue that Ellen White taught the exact opposite of the discourse Country Living helped create. “Obviously,” he wrote, “she was convinced that the best way to bring the city to Christ was by penetrating and living in it” (Jones 2004, 10). 85

Sidelining Adventist Urban Social Engagement The dominant discourse about cities, combined with the church’s emphasis on public proclamation, almost totally sidelined the social engagement narrative within Adventism. The Adventist shift away from its turn-of-the-century social engagement was well consolidated by the 1920s, and the associated rise of the Fundamentalist Movement outlined in the previous chapter provided a well-equipped vehicle to help carry the momentum of Adventism’s move away from social engagement in urban mission. Although some urban social ministry continued, it was a side stream of the main current of Adventist evangelism.

In 1922, in a feature article in the Adventist magazine Signs of the Times, Roy F. Cottrell asked, “Shall We Have an Individual or a Social Gospel?” He refers to what he terms “catchy expressions” of recent years such as “social problems,” “welfare service,” and “social Christianity.” He describes these as deceptive terms that lead to the neglect of more essential things. Cottrell writes disparagingly of churches that “evolve” into what he calls “community houses.” To illustrate his argument, he points to the South Congregational Church of Springfield, Massachusetts, which took a nearby church that was declining in numbers and finances and turned it into a community centre. Cottrell points out that among other things this centre had reached 679 families; run an ongoing free prenatal clinic; held Wednesday afternoon Well-Baby Conferences conducted by doctors and nurses—helping nearly 6,000 children in the past ten months; run corrective clinics for disabled children; provided hot health lunches served at nominal cost to 7,462 children; and opened a community playground used by 300 children a day. But rather than rejoicing in the service this church was giving to its community, he writes, condescendingly, “Concerning appeals to the sinner, repentance, and conversion, we are left to conjecture, as statistics are conspicuously absent” (Cottrell 1922, 8, 9).

Could it have been only less than a decade since the closure of the Chicago Medical Mission which, under the blessing of Ellen White, fed the poor, housed the homeless, and “rescued” alcoholics and prostitutes? Could Cottrell have forgotten Ellen White’s call for centres of influence (which sounded suspiciously like “community houses”) to meet the needs of people in cities, and her praise of the San Francisco church’s beehive-like activities, involving many of the types of activities in which the South Congregational Church was involved? Was Cottrell unaware of the Hinsdale Sanitarium in Chicago which, under the care of David Paulson, was by 1914 operating a Good Samaritan Inn for indigent 86 patients, a rescue home for girls, and a prison ministry? Had he never read the Adventist publication The Life Boat, still being published as he wrote, which focused on inner-city work with a stated mission to carry “the gospel of the good Samaritan to the hopeless, the helpless and the homeless; to the dissatisfied, disheartened, discouraged souls on the great ocean of life.” The Life Boat magazine had a peak circulation of 200,000 and it covered topics such as caring for orphans, rescuing alcoholics and prostitutes, feeding the poor, assisting the homeless, and addressing such social problems as abuse of labouring children, and the condition of prisons. David Paulson, editor of The Life Boat, wrote that these social problems “will not be settled in prayer meetings or conventions, but . . . by individual effort on the part of men and women in whose hearts throbs a genuine love of humanity” (Butler 1974). Just a few years earlier, in 1905, Ellen White had written of the importance of preaching less, and instead personally caring for those in need” (White 2012, 59). Although White was no advocate of postmillennial visions of trying to establish God’s kingdom on earth, one is left to wonder how the Adventist relationship to urban social ministry may have differed if she had not died in 1915.

The type of Fundamentalist arguments that Cottrell uses moves well outside the central and historic Adventist theological framework of ministry to the whole person, but illustrates a tension that can be strongly felt within Adventism through to today. Adventist theology and practice has historically steered a middle course between Fundamentalism and Modernism, and found a balance between personal evangelism and social care and, at times, social action. And yet a lingering fear has remained that any such endeavours could be seen as the Social Gospel, a phenomenon still seen as something pejorative, linked to liberal Christianity, and detracting from the church’s central task of evangelism.

The American Social Gospel movement was largely finished by the end of World War II, but the term remained in Adventist discourse as a convenient label and, indeed, straw man, for any activities that seemed to stray from direct evangelism. References to the Social Gospel and to social care in the Adventist Review, the official denominational publication, clearly reveal this tension. During the past few decades church leaders, when calling for greater engagement in social issues, consistently distance themselves from any suggestion of advocating a Social Gospel. It is as if any time one advocates for social action or even social care it must be justified and defended. The implication is that the social involvement narrative only gains legitimacy among Adventists if it is subsumed within the more important narrative of leading people to conversion or, to use in-house terminology popular among conservative evangelicals and Adventists, “soul winning.”

87 In 1995, the editor of the Adventist Review writes of the compelling need to respond to the plight of women around the world facing abuse and poverty. Instead of leaving it there, strong enough on its own merits as an argument, he adds, “Some of us may wonder if this call will divert us from our mission of taking the everlasting gospel to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people. Will we become sidetracked as the Methodists were nearly a century ago when they headed down the Social Gospel path?” (Johnsson 1995, 2). A year earlier in a special edition on the work of the Adventist Development and Relief Agency, the writers of an article on development add, ‘Some Adventists have questioned the validity of the church’s involvement . . . They fear that this trend comes too close to what has been called ‘the social gospel’” (Syme 1994, 12).

Thus, calls for social involvement are consistently accompanied by disclaimers. Here are just a few more examples: in 2005 a vice president of the GC gives a devotional to church leaders in which she encourages personal ministries to people in the community, but adds that this is just as important as preaching “not in terms of a social gospel, but as the living example of our Lord” (Oct 8, 2005 Annual Council); in a 2003 Adventist Review cover story the director of the church’s Voice of Prophecy ministry refers to social ministries for the poor, the refugees, the disenfranchised and adds, “This is not a mere ‘social gospel,’ but a broadening of our ministry . . .” (Melashenko 2003); in 2015, Russ Laughlin calls for the church to meet the needs of people and adds, “I am not referring to just a social gospel” (Laughlin 2015). In a letter to the editor of the Adventist Review in 1981, Loma Linda University professor James Walters calls for the church to comment officially on issues such as racism and nuclear armaments, but adds, “I am not calling for a social gospel in Adventism—a diversion from our primary task” (Walters 1981, 2).13

Adventist Social Engagement in the Cities Amid the dominant Adventist narrative of public evangelism in the cities during the past one hundred years, some have sought to enlarge the church’s side stream of urban social involvement, to widen the narrative to a more wholistic vision. In 1924, two years after Cottrell’s article was published, Ruth Eggar, a student at Union College, an Adventist tertiary institution in Lincoln, Nebraska, wrote a short piece for The Educational Messenger, the student paper, entitled, “The Destiny of Democracy.” In her

13 This was probably a rhetorical device used by Walters, whose credentials as an ethicist include urging a stronger social engagement. 88 article she laments, “Today, there is a ban upon the teaching of the Social Gospel in colleges” (Eggar 1924, 24). Even if she is speaking metaphorically, her voice stands out against the dominant Seventh- day Adventist discourse of the time as an example of what Walter Rauschenbusch had written a few years earlier: “Those who are in touch with the student population know what the impulse to social service means to college men and women. It is the most religious element in the life of many of them” (Rauschenbusch 1917, 3).

Four decades later, the civil rights movement led to an increased awareness, and fear of, the inner-city among Adventists. In 1965, C. E. Bradford, a pastor in California who would later become the first black president of the Adventist Church in North America, gives an insight into the attitudes of at least some black Adventists regarding urban mission at the time. In “An Appeal to the Leadership of the Seventh-day Adventist Church to Give Special Study to the Position of the Negro Seventh-day Adventist in American Society and in the Church," Bradford tells leaders that they should recognise the problems of evangelism in the inner-city. First, there are very few Caucasian churches left in the large cities because as blacks have become urbanised, whites have moved to suburbia. This leaves the major burden of “welfare services and evangelism” to blacks. He argues for “a great field of experimentation” in urban areas where black Adventists live, and calls for the denomination to lead the way in urgently providing “a program of cultural enrichment” for children living in city ghettos (Bradford 1965).

There is no record of any response Bradford may have received to this document, or whether anything came of his specific requests. But in 1967, the GCC voted a “Concern for the Cities of America” document that is a bold call for social engagement in the large cities. One of its goals is to “consolidate health and welfare centers, thus making possible a more meaningful and wider scope of service to the city” (Sahlin 2007, 29-31). The following year the GCC established a “Committee on Concern for the Inner Cities of North America.” It led to the establishing of a “special emergency fund of $100,000, with an understanding that local church organisations would match 100 percent of any appropriation they received. This was for “welfare distribution” and “relief supplies.” It was clearly stated that the funds must be used for “emergency situations,” not church buildings (Beach 1968, 39). But it seems that this was less a turn toward a renewed focus on wholistic social engagement than it was a reaction by mainly white leaders to what was seen as an escalating urban threat of violence and disorder.

89 A Renewed Urban Mission Emphasis The most recent initiative regarding mission in American cities is described in a document entitled “It’s Time: The Urgency of Urban Mission,” which was voted in 2013 at the Fall Council of the GCC. This document is the result of a recommendation from a conference held a week earlier, where world leaders came together to discuss urban mission. In many ways, this document is a watershed, launching a denominational “Mission to the Cities” initiative, and endorsing the need for a more comprehensive, wholistic social engagement in the city. It states that although the church has given significant attention to city ministry throughout its history, it has not kept pace with world urbanisation. The hesitancy of Adventists to fully engage in urban mission, it suggests, is mainly due to the sheer size and complexity of cities, combined with fear among Adventists of the negative spiritual impact of those cities (Committee 2013, 1).

Significantly, “The Vision” section of the document clearly calls for “a comprehensive mission, using Christ’s method of ministry.” The document explains that Jesus’ comprehensive ministry “addressed the wide-ranging needs of the people around Him.” It also touches on the dominant discourse about cities and states that Ellen White said more about working in cities than about leaving them, and that although major institutions should be located outside cities, “churches, primary schools, day care centers, restaurants, clinics, etc. should be located in the cities” (Committee 2013, 2). The document outlines precise goals for establishing “needs-based ministry” and new groups of believers in large cities.

This renewed emphasis on a more wholistic engagement in the cities is further supported by the denomination’s strategic plan for 2015 to 2020, “Tell the World.” It includes as a key objective: “To enhance Adventist outreach and presence in large urban areas worldwide.” It acknowledges that the church has not been doing the work it should in cities, and specifically calls for establishing “at least one Center of Influence for every 250,000 people in each urban area of one million people or more” (Committee 2015, 15, 20). Another objective with significance for urban mission is the call for a needs-based approach using Christ method of ministry: “To substantially reorient our understanding and methods of mission” (Committee 2015, 21).

In 2011, the NAD launched its own strategic plan, consisting of six “building blocks.” One of the six blocks is called “Transformational Evangelism,” with a specific focus on urban mission. “But as we 90 talked there arose a desire to do more than just create plans to stimulate more baptisms in large urban areas,” writes Ken Denslow, assistant to the NAD president. “We talked about what it would look like for the church to REALLY be a presence in the community” (Denslow 2013, 12). To launch the strategic plan, a video was prepared for each of the NAD building blocks. The video illustrating “Transformational Evangelism” features Kevin Kuemichel, an inner-city pastor caring for the Walk of Faith Fellowship in Cleveland Ohio. Walk of Faith is actively involved in ministry to the poor and homeless, and Kuemichel talks about a “ministry of presence” in the city. “You are not going to break into those communities, do a big event, and then just drive out,” he says. Kuemichel intentionally lives less than a mile from the Walk of Faith centre of influence where he ministers. “I live in the community,” he adds. “I shop and walk the streets and get engaged in this community. People know me.” Kuemichel represents a growing number of leaders and ministries that are focused on ministry in and with urban communities in America. In November 2017, the NAD voted to help fund ten new urban Centres of Influence per year (Doug Venn, personal communication).

Summary There were good reasons for the development of the Seventh-day Adventist Church’s dominant discourse regarding the aversiveness of cities. When White was writing, North American cities were far more densely populated than today. For example, when Kellogg’s Chicago Medical Mission began in 1893, there were 42 people living per hectare in the city. By 1915, that had increased to 62 people per hectare. But by 2002, despite a huge increase in population, there were only 16 people per hectare. This was due almost entirely to the increase in urban land cover (Shlomo et al. 2012, 273).

In 1905, Ellen White described some of the “evils” of the cities: disease, bad air, impure food and water, and “crowded, dark, unhealthful dwellings.” She said it was not God’s intention for people to be crammed into cities, “huddled together in terraces and tenements” (White 1942, 365). A convincing case could easily be made for moving from such conditions. The challenge for the Seventh-day Adventist Church is that this conviction, coupled with a love for country living, led to a lack of Adventist ministry in cities which, ironically, country-living advocate Ellen White strongly lamented. For example, in 1909 she wrote: “The Lord has been calling our attention to the neglected multitudes in the large cities, yet little regard has been given to the matter” (White 1909b, 11).

More than a hundred years later, American cities have grown in size, multiplied in number, and look different in many ways. They have increased in influence as the leading centres of commerce, 91 intellectual thought, and innovation. They are home to the all-powerful American entertainment industries, which hold ubiquitous sway over popular culture, not just in America, but in much of the world. And the Adventist voice is scarcely heard amid the noise. Most people in American cities have never heard of the Seventh-day Adventist Church, let alone know of any contribution the church may make to urban life. In 1980, Gottfried Oosterwal claimed that “with very few exceptions, no serious, creative attempts” had been made by Adventists to reach the cities (Oosterwal 1980, 19). Nearly 30 years later, Monte Sahlin concludes, “There is a lack of creativity and vitality in most of our metropolitan churches” (Sahlin 2007, 121, 122).

This chapter has described how the Adventist Church strayed from its early commitment to wholistic ministry in the cities, which involved not just preaching to people, but also caring for their physical, mental, and social needs. There are signs of a move back to a more wholistic approach to urban mission, and the rest of this thesis is devoted to examining how the church can best do this, particularly through a focus on urban centres of influence. This will involve drawing from the positive resources of Adventist history and heritage as well as shedding some baggage from that same history and heritage. It will also involve analysing current Adventist engagements in urban mission, including select centres of influence, and that will be the task of the next chapter.

92 Chapter 4. Current Practice in Urban Mission

Adventist urban mission in North America today is conducted in a variety of ways. Many urban churches will run the occasional program for the community, often vegetarian cooking demonstrations or some other health-oriented initiative. Perhaps they might run a soup kitchen once a week during the winter months or provide turkeys and other food items for the needy at Thanksgiving.14 Many will run programs under the auspices of Adventist Community Services (ACS), a North America-wide network of community services initiatives. But deeply committed ongoing engagement with the local urban community is rare, and outreach to the community often takes the form of short-term events.

Although they are not mutually exclusive, in the Adventist Church today some tension and even confusion remains between the approach of direct evangelistic events (which include such things as preaching the Bible and distributing literature) and an approach that focuses more on an ongoing commitment to reaching out and helping to serve people where they are located. For example, in a special 2014 issue on Adventist mission to large cities, the Lake Union Herald15 editors recommend the second approach: “Those who work in our territory’s big cities—Chicago, Detroit, Indianapolis and Milwaukee—will tell you that the bulk of the effort that produces long-lasting results is doing the work of being salt. It means having a heart for the city, assessing community needs, caring for people who nobody cares about, and personally investing in a lifetime commitment to community relationships.” But in the same article, entitled “Salt and Light,” the only example provided by the editors for how denominational funds are being used for urban ministry is a list of public evangelistic events. Thus: “This past fall, 11 meetings were held in Detroit’s northwest suburbs. . . . Plans are underway to hold another series”; “Milwaukee churches will conduct community meetings this fall to prepare for a major city-wide evangelistic campaign in both English and Spanish”; “Indianapolis churches partnered with the Voice of Prophecy this past spring for a full evangelistic series. . . .

14 Typical of many Adventist churches, for example, the Dallas First Church helps a refugee family, partners with other charities to help homeless families in transition, and once a week hands out food, clothing, and literature to the homeless (Benevolence 2011). 15 An Adventist denominational paper for a region including Illinois, Indiana, Michigan, Wisconsin, and part of Minnesota. 93 Another series is planned for this fall” (Salt and Light 2014, 21). No mention is made of community needs assessment, ongoing care, or investment in any type of community relationship.

A similar approach can be seen in preparations made by the Indiana Conference of Seventh-day Adventists for the 2020 GC Session in Indianapolis, Indiana.16 To coincide with this major event on the Adventist calendar, which is held in a different city every five years, the Indiana Conference launched an evangelistic initiative entitled “Ignite Indiana.” This involved the conference organising evangelistic training programs for church members, and planning events including “simultaneous evangelism meetings to be held April and May 2020” and “a major health clinic (Your Best Pathway to Health) where hundreds of volunteer doctors, nurses, and health practitioners serve Indianapolis residents in need of medical, dental, and vision services” (Kelly 2019).

Again, this is representative of much Adventist urban mission in North America, which while no doubt doing much good, tends to be event-driven, short-term, and project-based. In 2011, the Lake Union Herald reported on more than 400 Adventists participating in an event called “Operation Downpour,” where “they hit the streets in Indianapolis to blanket three zip codes with the Good News.” The event was sponsored by the Indianapolis Outreach Coalition (IOC), an Adventist organisation consisting of Adventist leaders and other church members who, according to a local pastor in Indianapolis, “feel a burden to reach people in large cities.” According to the Indiana Conference president, “The IOC is an intentional effort to fulfill the guidance of the Holy Spirit to reach the big cities for Christ.” Participants went from house to house handing out gift bags. Each bag contained information about an upcoming prophecy seminar, a book entitled Steps to Christ, and a flier about local events to be held in the community such as “Financial Peace University,” the “Five-Day Plan to Quit Smoking” and a marriage seminar (Hurst 2011, 28).

A similar approach can be seen in 2013 and 2014, when area churches in Spokane, WA, participated in a “Jesus Cares” campaign, described as a “major citywide evangelism campaign” that “wrapped up at the end of 2014.” This initiative had three components: “awareness, outreach and evangelistic efforts.”

16 More than 70,000 delegates and attendees were expected to gather from around the world for 10 days of meetings June 25 to July 4, 2020, held at the Indiana Convention Center and Lucas Oil Stadium. 94 For the awareness component, “You matter to Jesus” messages were shared on 20 billboards, 54 city buses, websites, and through social media. For the second component, an urban ministries coordinator was hired to help church members become involved in various types of community service opportunities. The third component consisted of two events. First, a series of seminars and programs that were held in Adventist churches in Spokane, culminating in a “citywide crusade [sic]” conducted by a guest speaker on the theme of “Rethink Prophecy” (Wintermeyer 2015, 20, 21). Even the use of words such as “campaign” and “crusade” are suggestive of one-off intensive events, rather than ongoing relationships and engagement.

Naturally church leaders tend to turn to methods with which they are most familiar. In 2017, the Communication director for the Iowa-Missouri Conference of Seventh-day Adventists reported on the conference’s determination “to make large city evangelism a major focus” over the next five years, particularly concentrating on the two major cities in their territory, St. Louis and Kansas City. He described a conference-sponsored “evangelistic campaign,” which consisted of a series of public evangelistic meetings. “There are plans to conduct similar campaigns annually or semi-annually on an ongoing basis,” he added. He also described plans for “a year-long evangelistic campaign” in Kansas City, culminating in a “four-week evangelistic series.” But significantly, along with this strong emphasis on public meetings, he also reported on a training meeting that was held that focused on starting new groups of believers in cities. He quotes one of the presenters at the conference, José Cortes, Jr., as saying, “We want churches that will bless the people in their communities with the love of God and the compassion of Jesus, in practical ways, on a regular basis, and that also happen to worship on Sabbath” (Harmdierks 2017).

The comments of Cortes, who heads up the NAD’s church-planting program, indicate increasing interest in ongoing wholistic urban mission, including the concept of centres of influence. Today a growing number of Adventist centres of influence throughout North America take various forms ranging from The Veg Hub, a plant-food-only soul food restaurant in Oakland, California, to Simplicity Outreach, a centre in Allentown, Pennsylvania, that serves inner-city children in wholistic ways. In Phoenix, Arizona, the Diamond Street Resource Center serves many of the city’s more than 4,000 refugees, mainly through an English as a second language program and citizen review classes, and in Ogden, Utah, a young pastor has started the Press Together juice bar with a view to establishing a franchise of urban juice bars. Some centres self-identify as centres of influence, while others just see themselves as more generic ministry centres. Some have started as a result of financial support from 95 the Office of Adventist Mission at the denomination’s headquarters near Washington, D.C. and other church organisations, while others have started independently. In this chapter a selection of centres of influence will be discussed. The key questions are these: What are they doing, how are they doing it, and why? This discussion will help provide a platform for discussing how current practice might be improved.

Adventist Community Services Before proceeding further, it is important to note that the Adventist Church in North America operates more than 1,250 ACS centres throughout its territory. In many ways urban centres of influence and ACS Centres bear a close resemblance, and some ACS centres can serve as centres of influence, and vice versa. For example, the Paradise Valley Church discussed later in this chapter identifies its ministry centre as an ACS Centre, but also applied for and received centre of influence funding from the Office of Adventist Mission. In many cases the difference between an urban centre of influence and an ACS centre may simply be a difference in vision. This is seen in inquiries to the Office of Adventist Mission from some ACS centres regarding how they can become centres of influence. The staff of one ACS centre that mainly distributes clothing to homeless people, for example, sought advice on how they could become a centre of influence that frames its services in a broader wholistic goal of serving spiritual as well as physical needs.

Despite similarities, there are significant differences in emphasis between centres of influence and ACS centres. Perhaps the most obvious difference is that centres of influence are strictly limited to urban areas, whereas ACS operates in rural as well as urban areas. Importantly, centres of influence also have a central goal of starting spiritual groups that are embedded in their urban neighbourhoods where people can come together for nurture and support. The nature and shape of these groups changes according to different communities, but they provide a meaningful alternative to attending an existing Adventist church. By contrast ACS is strongly based in already established local churches and focuses more on ministry by and through these existing Adventist congregations. Its handbook states: “A growing, healthy Adventist congregation works to make itself visible in the community and known as an asset to the neighbourhood” (Keys 2009, 9). Urban centres of influences, on the other hand, can operate without any nearby Adventist churches. In fact, in many ways it is preferable that they operate in an area where there is currently no Adventist church or activity.

96 Today’s ACS began in 1879 as the Dorcas Society, which was made up of groups of women who met to help the needs of church members and others in the community. In 1953, the organisation grew into “Health and Welfare Services by Seventh-day Adventists,” and then in 1956 it became the “Seventh- day Adventist Welfare Service (SAWS). By 1972, what was now known as ACS had become the domestic humanitarian organisation of the Adventist Church, while SAWS, today known as the Adventist Development and Relief Agency (ADRA), became the church’s international humanitarian arm. Thus, the roots of ACS are firmly in care for the poor and this remains its major purpose. While many centres of influence also minister to the poor and underserved, other types such as cafés and juice bars can serve a wider demographic. Centres of influence see “need” in broader terms that include, for example, spiritual and psychological needs, which know no socioeconomic boundary. The case studies that follow illustrate this point. Some of the centres are clearly geared toward the urban poor, while others serve a larger public.

Case Studies of Centres of Influence I kept certain themes in mind when interviewing participants in selected centres of influence but did not come to the conversations with a list of prepared questions and categories, and the interviews were totally unstructured. This approach allowed patterns and themes to emerge organically from the conversations/interviews. The interviews were conducted in the centres, and I digitally recorded most of the interviews while also taking notes with either my computer or on a note pad. I deliberately endeavoured to make these encounters more of a conversation than a formal interview. There was no set length assigned each interview and some took longer than anticipated, while others were shorter. Most of the interviewees were Seventh-day Adventists, but I also interviewed others from the community who were involved in the centres. I regularly quote interviewees directly because I think there is value in getting a direct “feel” for the words of on-the-ground participants, rather than my paraphrase. Each case study features a centre of influence that is owned and operated by a conference of the Seventh-day Adventist Church. The first case is from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. 97 A. REACH Philadelphia, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania17 Roger Simon, an historian of the city of Philadelphia, writes: “Philadelphia’s founder, William Penn, planned for a ‘greene Country towne,’ where detached houses with gardens and orchards would face wide streets and the people would live harmoniously, guided by Quaker principles—it was to be a ‘holy experiment’ and a model community.” His goal was “a community that was at once peaceful, attractive, prosperous, and harmonious” (Simon 2017, xv). Today, more than three centuries later, the city has inevitably departed, in many ways, from Penn’s vision. And yet various people and organisations are striving to see principles echoing those of Penn enacted in America’s fifth largest city. The Seventh-day Adventist REACH Philadelphia initiative, for example, uses an acronym for its name where REACH stands for: “Restoration, Empowerment—every person, Action—together as a community, Community, Hope.”

With a population of 1.6 million people, Philadelphia today is a collection of many diverse neighbourhoods—ranging from expensive, upper-class communities to drug and crime-ravaged communities. The REACH Philadelphia centre of influence is located in the heart of the West Oak Lane neighbourhood, in the northern part of Philadelphia. Less than 10 kilometres and a short drive from REACH is the suburb of Kensington where Maranatha Hispanic, one of Philadelphia’s several Seventh-day Adventist churches, is located. Maranatha Hispanic, with more than 200 members, is located on Allegheny Avenue, right in the heart of one of Philadelphia’s busiest drug markets. With drug dealers working out front, needles in the parking lot, fatal overdoses outside the church, and parishioners scared of attending, the pastor has reluctantly posted a For Sale sign. “We tried to have faith the situation could change,” Pastor Wilfred Malave told the Philadelphia Inquirer newspaper (Newall 2019). A 15-minute drive in the opposite direction to REACH leads to a radically different neighbourhood, and the Philadelphia Chestnut Hill Seventh-day Adventist Church. Located among homes in the million-dollar bracket, this church represents history, stability, and continuity in a changing urban environment. Largely a commuter church, where church members travel from other areas every Saturday morning, it gave birth to the REACH Philadelphia initiative as many of the church’s young adults left Chestnut Hill to pioneer mission in the West Oak Lane neighbourhood.

17 Unless otherwise indicated, quotes and attributions regarding REACH are based on personal interviews conducted in Philadelphia on 2, 3 June, 2016.

98

Historically a middle-class black community, West Oak Lane is undergoing significant changes of its own. Part of the changing demographics can be seen a kilometre or so north of REACH on Limekiln Pike, where a building has changed owners three times since it was first built in 1947. It first served as a Jewish temple and then, in 1977, was sold to the West Oak Lane Church of God. Then in 2013 the Christian church sold the building to the Muslim community, which repurposed the building into the Masjidullah Community Center Mosque (Bernstein 2019). Tiara Council, founder and CEO of Dream Invent Think Organize Inc. (DITO), a community development organisation in West Oak Lane that works closely with REACH, sees her community at a tipping point. On the one side are pressures toward decline, with inevitable markers of urban decay such as increased crime and drug usage. She points to drastic drops in the market value of homes, increased vacant lots, and more alcohol distributors. On the other side is the possibility, significantly less likely, that modest housing prices may open the doors to gentrification. Many urban planners now refer to communities such as West Oak Lane as “middle neighbourhoods.” Paul Brophy, a pioneer researcher in this area, describes such areas as “neighborhoods that are not in deep distress, but are not thriving either.” They have affordable housing, and a sufficiently good quality of life that “new residents are still willing to play the odds and choose these neighborhoods while knowing that they may decline rather than improve” (Brophy 2016, vii, viii).

Carla Cantalupo, a public school teacher in West Oak Lane who serves on the REACH leadership team, says that there is a lot of apathy in the community and says “part of it is learned helplessness.” She says that people are living for today, and “there’s not the sense of understanding of what am I going to do in five years.” In West Oak Lane, the warning signs are clear. More than a quarter of the neighbourhood’s households are single-mother, and 18 percent of its citizens are considered as living below the poverty level. Angel Smith, a REACH intern, describes West Oak Lane as a food desert— “there’s no place to go to get fresh food and vegetables.” So it is no surprise that events such as REACH’s weekly Saturday morning grocery giveaway prove unfailingly popular, with people lining up the street each week to avail themselves of this service. A significant number of people who come are employed, but still struggle to make ends meet. One mother from the neighbourhood has two children and is working two jobs. Some 300 families consistently come on Saturday mornings for the free groceries that are supplied from Trader Joes stores as well as other area grocery stores.

99 REACH Philadelphia Begins The REACH Philadelphia initiative began in 2011 under the leadership of Tara VinCross, who was then senior pastor of the Chestnut Hill Seventh-day Adventist Church. REACH was a centre of influence and new church “plant” for several years before adding the Columbia Union School of Urban Evangelism in 2015.18 When VinCross shared her vision for starting a ministry in West Oak Lane with her church board, she received positive support. A major challenge was to find housing in the neighbourhood for those helping with the proposed initiative. One Chestnut Hill church member donated a house and another provided financing to purchase another.

The School of Urban Evangelism part of VinCross’s vision, she explains, aimed to immerse young adults into “an incarnational ministry environment,” where they could receive both academic instruction and practical experience. She says that in the Seventh-day Adventist Church, community development on the one hand, and proclamation-type ministries on the other, are usually kept separate. “But I want to bring those together,” she says. “Both are essential.” So on any given day, a student at the REACH Philadelphia evangelism school could be studying the Bible with someone in the morning, while in the afternoon tutoring a child struggling with English. The school has helped solve the challenge of having sufficient staff to run the various initiatives of the centre of influence. But more than this, the students at the school also have significant input into the types of ministries run at the centre. Students, for example, analysed data they collected from the community and developed two initiatives to help meet the needs they found. First, they implemented REACH Phenomenal Girls, a project to help empower neighbourhood girls from grades 8-10. This project involved a variety of activities including seminars on self-worth, body image, and other subjects. It ended with a banquet at which the girls involved gave speeches. A second initiative was REACH Hire, which was a job fair where people could come with the opportunity of being hired on the spot. Eighty-three people from the community came to the event, where various employers from the community conducted interviews at the location.

18 The School of Evangelism was funded and operated by the Columbia Union Conference of Seventh- day Adventists, an administrative body that oversees church work in the mid-Atlantic region of the United States. 100 REACH Philadelphia continues to engage in a range of community activities. They have held several block parties, with some 200 people participating each time. They close off the road for the entire day and have food, bounce houses for the kids, and various other activities. VinCross says that this type of community activity, where neighbours get to know each other, has been shown to be an important factor for reducing theft and violence in urban areas.

In accordance with the philosophy of REACH, participants in the Saturday morning grocery giveaway are not required to attend any religious meetings. However, REACH offers what they call an empowerment seminar for those who are interested. The seminar is a short motivational talk with subjects such as “How do we love people?”; “How do we forgive people?”; “How do we set a goal and reach toward it?” The rest of the Saturday activities include a community lunch at 1.30 pm and Bible study at 2.15 pm (with a concurrent Kids’ Club). Often on a Saturday night they will also hold an “open mic” night that has proven popular with the community, where people have the opportunity to perform various musical and other items.

On Sundays REACH offers computer literacy programs, and on Tuesday nights there is REACH Movement, a fitness class. The REACH Success program offers free tutoring to neighbourhood children on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and on Thursdays there is a story time for kids, complete with crafts and activities, and healthful snacks. The REACH Gardens is an urban gardening initiative held on Tuesday and Thursdays. This involves taking vacant lots filled with weeds and rubbish, cleaning them up, and turning them into gardens. “It’s a great way to get to know the people in the community, connect with them, talk with them, earn their trust,” says Jane Takahashi, who oversees the project.

Incarnational Ministry REACH intern Angel Smith stresses the importance of REACH working from inside the community. “Our goal is to be a part of the community,” she says, “and deliver the message that we are here and we can help develop and build our community together.” But she adds that there is an important distinction between an attitude of “I want to help the community,” or “I want to do something good for the community,” and “actually being inside the community, [saying] ‘Let’s do it together.’”

In order to better understand the West Oak Lane community, REACH Philadelphia initially conducted a rigorous community needs assessment. This involved knocking on hundreds of doors conducting 101 surveys of community residents. In addition, they talked to community leaders including the police chief, religious leaders, and pastors from other Christian denominations. “Listening is really, really key we found,” says VinCross. Will Bonilla, intern pastor with REACH, says that they learned more about the neighbourhood as they started building relationships and “just talking to people.”

REACH experienced the limitations of human resources and time, and Tiffany Brown, another intern pastor, says that those working in REACH soon learned that they could not meet every community need. “We’ve had to learn what we can’t do,” she says. “We do want to be a resource—a place where people can come and find help and find friends and relationships and things that will better enhance their everyday lives and their spiritual lives as well.”

From their assessment surveys, REACH discovered three major areas of need and concern in the West Oak Lane neighbourhood. First, education (they discovered that the local high school had a 50 percent dropout rate). Second, violence. And third, the urgent need for positive activities for neighbourhood children and youth. “Our goal,” says VinCross, “is to be part of the restoration God is doing in this neighbourhood. Community is so key for us—we see it as the vehicle for experiencing restoration and change.” Jane Takahashi talks about having “a presence” in the community, where the local residents know they are “a group of people wanting to do something for the community and to be part of their lives in normal settings, not just in church with its pews and chairs.” Graziella Mann, treasurer at the Chestnut Hill Church, who has supported the centre adds, “People are not willing to have you tell them what to believe in and when to believe in it. They want to see that you love them and you care for them.”

Reflections on REACH Philadelphia In 2017, after my interviews at REACH Philadelphia, the Columbia School of Urban Evangelism transferred to Washington Adventist University in Takoma Park, Washington D.C. In a way, this school had been “artificially” supporting the centre with a steady stream of volunteers living right there in the community. While this helped the centre operate many initiatives in the community, it was not a long-term solution for sustainable mission in this neighbourhood—which requires local people with an 102 ongoing commitment to the mission of the centre.19 Frank Bondurant, Vice President for Ministries Development at the Columbia Union Conference, suggests that the school was in some ways holding the project back, and that the move forced leaders to “take a step back and redefine themselves and re- evaluate their ministries” (Frank Bondurant, Email message to author, 8 May, 2019). In a way this has forced the centre of influence to find more sustainable ways to operate. Inevitably this has meant some programs have had to be cut back, but the result is a more sustainable, organic approach.

REACH has also maintained a transparent approach to the community, demonstrating that there are no strings attached to its care and service. For example, there are no religious conditions associated with the weekly free grocery giveaway—no Bible study or religious service. “We do offer these things,” says Jason Vanderlaan, a volunteer at REACH, “but they’re not a requirement to get the stuff they need.” He says it is important to have the spiritual program and the social helping events, but not to intertwine them—“having that separation is important,” he says. “It’s investing in people for their own good with no ulterior motive, just trying to do something for the benefiting of them. . . . People are very attentive to people doing things with a hidden motive and so if they sense that, it’s going to be a big turn-off.”

One of the strengths of REACH is the way that it has reached out to join forces with other agencies operating in the community such as DITO. REACH has also networked with the Ogontz Avenue Revitalization Corporation (OARC) and the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society (PHC) in its community gardens outreach. “We’re networking with the community,” says Cantalupo. “It doesn’t matter if you’re an Adventist—we’re working together to better the community. And I like that. It means a lot.”

REACH still faces the challenge of having no means of generating revenue, and so it continues to be subsidised, within limits, by the Adventist Church. This is not necessarily a huge problem, except that there are always competing projects for finite denominational funds, and it limits the scope and scale of REACH’s mission. Although it has a full-time pastor provided by the Pennsylvania Conference of

19 After a two-year trial period at Washington Adventist University, the Urban School of Evangelism was closed in April 2019 due to low enrolment (Tiffany Brown, Twitter message to author, May 8, 2019). 103 Seventh-day Adventists, the range of REACH’s activities is limited by the amount of time church members can volunteer. Sustainability for the future would seem to require REACH finding alternative means of revenue generation.

B. Simplicity Outreach, Allentown, Pennsylvania20 The city of Allentown is located in eastern Pennsylvania in what is popularly known as the American Rust Belt, a region where millions of jobs have been lost since the middle of the twentieth century when manufacturing industries went into decline. Between 1947 and 2012, Allentown lost more than 89 percent of its manufacturing jobs (Hackworth 2017, 3), and Latino immigration quadrupled between 1980 and 2000, by which time Latinos made up 25 percent of Allentown residents. A large proportion of these immigrants moved into the inner city and, as Reisinger and colleagues argue, “The Latinization of Allentown appears to be a classic case of a poor ethnic group being attracted to the affordability of inner city neighborhoods.” Rather than becoming assimilated into the culture of their new home, these immigrants remain “embedded in their own culture” (Reisinger, Frazier, and Tettey- Fio 2010, 235, 237, 240).

Perhaps nowhere in Allentown is the demographic transformation more apparent than in Ward 8, the city district where an Adventist centre of influence, Simplicity Outreach Center, was established in 2012. Now located in the basement of the former St. James Lutheran Church at 1101 West Tilghman Street, Simplicity is located in the heart of an inner-city neighbourhood of recent Latino immigrants, many of whom do not speak English. Many residents tend to work two or three low-paying jobs just to stay financially afloat and to keep their children housed and fed. Yolanda Kodrzycki and Ana Muñoz refer to cities such as Allentown that have largely recovered from years of urban decline as “resurgent cities” (Kodrzycki and Muñoz, 83), while Alan Mallach calls Allentown a “coping city.” Writing around the time that Simplicity began in Allentown, Mallach identified the need for economic, educational, and employment opportunities for new arrivals in the city, and the priority to “overcome strains between Latino and non-Latino residents” (Mallach 2013, 140, 145).

20 Unless otherwise indicated, quotes and attributions regarding Simplicity are based on a Zoom interview with Wes Via on 19 March, 2019 and in-person interviews with Simplicity team members in Allentown on 19 April, 2019. 104 The original Simplicity team consisted of Jeff McAuliffe, an Adventist dentist in the Allentown area, who had the original vision for the centre and volunteered in his spare time; Wes Via, hired by the Pennsylvania Conference of Seventh-day Adventists to help head the project; and three young volunteer workers. McAuliffe had learned from other non-profits in Allentown that the impact of a service or agency usually extended only as far as people could easily walk or were willing to allow their children to walk alone. He mapped out a zone measuring about a five-block radius from their premises, and this became their new mission territory. Two years into the project, local newspaper The Morning Call reported that the group had made some 6,000 home visitations asking about the greatest needs of the community. This centre of influence was already involved in a variety of projects including a community garden, breakfast on Saturday mornings for children, neighbourhood cleanups, health consultations, job-search assistance, and story time for children (Sheehan 2014). The centre was moving toward what would become its central focus of caring for neighbourhood children.

At Simplicity’s busiest time, McAuliffe employed six or seven young adults. But he and other leaders soon realised that this was not a repeatable and sustainable model; not every centre would have a dentist with sufficient funds to pay workers. “It would have been hard for someone else to do what we were doing in the beginning,” says McAuliffe. “We have nobody on payroll anymore.” This has meant a drop in the number of activities in which Simplicity can be involved, but the team is well into a period of transition toward a goal of having the ministry run entirely by local people. For example, Leonarda Dekado, who lives directly across the street from Simplicity, is now heavily involved in running Simplicity activities, and has recruited several friends from the community to also help. Initially attracted by a flyer advertising a program for children, she took her granddaughter to the event and loved the experience. “Simplicity is beautiful and good,” she says. “I pray that it will grow.”

The team now consists of McAuliffe, Andrew Carroll—who was with Simplicity from the beginning as a paid volunteer, and now supports himself as a designer—a handful of local part-time volunteers, and Lillian Torres from the Pennsylvania Conference of Seventh-day Adventists, who also lends part- time support. Simplicity currently focuses its attention on Saturday programming for kids, and a program called Free Wednesday. This is a time when free clothing from a local consignment shop and food, mainly day-old bread from restaurant chain Panera Bread, is distributed. They are also setting up computer stations that will function as learning and business centres. Here people can come to learn English as a second language, search for jobs, and print documents as needed. They are also planning cooking schools and pop-up restaurant evenings where they can invite ten or so people for dinner. 105 Many in their community rely on the local food pantry or food stamps, and Simplicity’s focus will be on helping them learn the healthiest way to use that food in a meal.

A repeated theme among those I interviewed was the need for more staff and volunteers. McAuliffe recalled the days when Simplicity established a community children’s choir. It gave a Christmas performance with 140 people attending. “It’s so simple,” he says, “but it’s hard to find someone to keep it going because they don’t see the connection with Christ’s method of ministry.” There are several Adventist churches within the Allentown area, and at least nine within a 30-minute drive. And yet only a few church members volunteer to serve at Simplicity. One, Juan Betancourt, says he was attracted to Simplicity because “what is preached in my church is actually put into practice here.” Another, Bimo Sunupoernomo, says that outreach in the church he used to attend was focused on short-term events and programs with no ongoing interaction or connection with the community. “At this centre,” he says, “we appreciate them, we know them, and come to help.” McAullife feels that he should have done a better job at building relationships with local Adventist churches. “[They] feel a bit threatened by our presence,” he says, “and there’s very little cooperation. I’ve tried to help them understand that it’s their centre of influence, not another church competing for members.”

Spiritual Component Simplicity is upfront about being a Christian organisation, and spiritual themes are woven into centre activities. Christian literature is displayed in the foyer, and Kids’ Church on Saturday mornings is made up of Bible stories and worship songs. On Open Wednesdays, people often start lining up outside an hour before doors open. Lillian Torres takes this opportunity to distribute a piece of paper with a Bible verse in English and Spanish. “It’s a captive audience,” she says with a smile. Torres asks someone to read aloud the Bible verse and then she speaks to them. “I want you to understand this clearly,” she says. “The bread that we give you, the food—it will waste. But the most precious thing we offer here in Simplicity is God’s word. And we’re here to assist you in any way we can to come to know this wonderful God that we serve.” I ask her how they react to this, since many would not be believers or churchgoers. “In the Spanish community they have a reverence for the things of God,” she says. But she adds that she would not change her approach in a different environment: “I think at the end of the day that everybody is looking for love, to be accepted, to be valued—and I can do that as a human being, but it’s important that I tell you where this is coming from.” For Torres, being upfront about her faith and her desire to share it is a question of transparency. “We're up to this point that we 106 don’t have to hide; we can be honest with people,” she says. “And I think a lot of people would appreciate that and respond better. Otherwise if I’m being nice to you then at the end you start to feel there’s a little hook to this, then I think that would create more damage. But if I’m upfront with you from the beginning . . .”

McAuliffe echoes the same theme. He says that the people in the surrounding neighbourhood clearly know that Simplicity is there to help the community. “They know that we connect it with the gospel of Jesus; it doesn’t seem to be such a big issue here,” he says. According to McAuliffe, 40 percent of the community claim to belong to no religion. “They know a whole lot more about Santa Claus than they do Jesus Christ,” he says. But the Simplicity emphasis is on building relationships of care, regardless of where people are at in their spiritual journey, or whether they ever become Adventists. “[Simplicity] is the place where you can be compassionate and show the love of Jesus Christ, and that’s what attracts people,” says McAuliffe. Andrew Carroll says, “It’s really not making a church, but having a dedicated team of people who are focused on building relationships with the community and letting people know that they’re there for them.” As for leading people to conversion to Adventism? “We’re not great at that,” says McAuliffe. For Wes Via, the important thing is to build meaningful relationships with people, where you know that you care for each other. “I’d much rather have that than a baptism any day,” he says. He stresses the importance of constantly asking, “How is this going to present the gospel in action to the people that we’re serving? . . . The gospel for us is that very broad and generous gospel of the freely given grace of God with no strings attached.”

Reflections on Simplicity Outreach The strengths of Simplicity Outreach’s model of mission include being embedded in the middle of the community it serves, working toward local ownership, and the fact that Simplicity’s leaders stay in touch with the needs of the community. Simplicity turned away from its initial approach of funding short-term volunteers to serve from the centre toward a more sustainable model of staff who are self- funded. The team had come to see that funding injected into a centre of influence from “outside” can be a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it allows for more programs, initiatives, and personnel; with concomitant increased impact in the community. On the other hand, such an approach is not always reproducible and, even if it were, a “recycling” of short-term volunteers every six to 12 months does not foster ongoing relationships in the community. According to Frank Bondurant, from the Columbia Union, when both Simplicity and REACH Philadelphia started, the funding and subsidies they 107 received from different entities “created a fantasy world in the local setting.” He adds: “[They] never had to be accountable for their spending and were placed in an unrealistic and unsustainable situation. I believe it is only now that the bulk of their funding has dried up that they have had to be survivors and make things work” (Frank Bondurant, Email message to author, 8 May, 2019).

Simplicity is also still finding its own balance between community service and evangelism. Director Jeff McAuliffe and his brother Robert authored a book in 2017 that sets out their vision for urban mission. Uppermost, their goal is to lead people to faith and to start new groups of believers. They are skeptical of “ministries that become strictly social in nature because they fail to move into directly sharing the gospel.” For them, a centre of influence should go “beyond this” to “share with others the selfless agape love of God and to give an invitation to receive the gospel.” For them it is about meeting people’s needs to show them “how good God is” (McAuliffe and McAuliffe 2017, 55, 59, 75). They write: “As disciples of Jesus Christ, we should exist solely for the purpose of seeking and saving the lost, both on a personal level and on an institutional level. . . . We should be asking ourselves continually whether we’re connecting the gospel ministry in tangible ways to every work we do, and if there is fruit resulting from our labor” (McAuliffe and McAuliffe 2017). Given this focus, it is surprising that one of the reasons Lillian Torres was sent by the Pennsylvania Conference to work with Simplicity in 2017, five years after it began, was a perceived feeling among conference leadership that Simplicity should be resulting in more baptisms.

One of Simplicity’s strengths is the way it is actively looking for people in the neighbourhood to take ownership of the centre of influence. Recruiting Leonarda Dekado, the woman across the road from the centre, has been a great success for the centre. Although she is not a Seventh-day Adventist, she understands and supports the values and goals of the centre, and is even taking Bible studies to learn about Adventism.21 Ironically, one of the weaknesses of Simplicity is that the director, Jeff McAuliffe,

21 Lillian Torres recalls telling her that the centre offers two plans for volunteering. The first plan is a short one where someone just comes and volunteers when they can. The second plan is where someone is not just a volunteer but is also being trained to be a leader in the centre. Part of the second plan is taking Bible studies. Leonardo chose the second plan.

108 lives in the town of Hamburg, more than 30 minutes away. However, one of the volunteers lives in the same building and others live in Allentown, although not in the same neighbourhood.

An area that Simplicity leadership needs to clarify is the role of social service for the community. Does Simplicity see this only as a means of showing the love of God in a practical way in order to lead people to be more open to Christian teaching? Or do they see value in social service for its own sake?

C. Paradise Valley, San Diego, California22 “Depression is rampant among refugees,” says Will James, senior pastor of the Paradise Valley Seventh-day Adventist Church in San Diego, California. “They come to America with glowing pictures and the reality is the opposite of what they expected.” Paradise Valley Adventist Church, located in southern San Diego, 20 minutes from the Mexican border, uses its community centre to serve as a centre of influence to help refugees mainly from the Middle East and Africa. This represents a significant refocus of priorities for a church which, 20 years ago according to James, would tell black and Hispanic visitors that there was a church for them further down the street. “When I came, this was a predominantly Caucasian church,” he says. He also describes it as having been “an observing church,” where people came for the professional music, the preaching, and to visit with friends; but had virtually no agenda for reaching the community. Today, more than 125 people are volunteering. “It’s part of our theology,” says James. “All church members are ministers.”

Located next to a 210-bed Adventist hospital, the church was, as Bettina Krause, says, “drawing its membership and identity largely from its successful next-door neighbor.” Unfortunately, in the early 2000s the hospital faced financial challenges and in 2007 it was sold. “For this proud institutional church, the move seemed to foreshadow the beginning of a long, slow slide into irrelevance,” she adds. “The pews became more sparsely occupied, and the church’s glory days seemed well in the past” (Krause 2015, 73). The feeling, says James, was that the church was going to die.

It was a vision for responding to community needs that transformed the outlook and activities of the church. A man from Laos, who had become a Seventh-day Adventist in a refugee camp in Thailand,

22 Unless otherwise indicated, quotes and attributions regarding Paradise Valley are based on in-person interviews in San Diego on 21 November, 2016. 109 achieved refugee status in the United States and settled in San Diego. He had begun helping other refugees, and asked James whether his church could assist. The church began taking food to a group of 20 Laotian refugee families in an apartment complex, and then also to a group of Bhutanese refugees in the same building. Soon they were helping 60 families, many of whom started attending James’s church. “We didn’t speak Bhutanese or Nepalese, and they couldn’t speak English,” he recalls. “We couldn’t figure out why they kept coming other than we loved them and accepted them.” Today, more than 60 nationalities worship at the church on Saturday mornings.

From the initial assistance given in one apartment block, Paradise Valley’s mission has expanded to nearly 40 volunteers and three people on part-time salary who are engaged in a range of community projects. Ephraim Bendantunguka, who was himself a refugee from Rwanda, directs the refugee ministry program. He stresses the importance of close contact with the people they are serving. “We visit them, we talk to them, we have near contact with them,” he says. “When we mix with them we discover their needs, where they are really struggling. And then we help according to the needs.” Among the services they offer are English as a second language classes, a community garden, transportation, food and clothing distribution, job skills training, and helping people find housing and employment. Each week they distribute three-and-a-half metric tons of food to some 500 families. Every Tuesday, nearby Azusa Pacific University sends nursing students to Paradise Valley to check people’s blood pressure and teach basic principles of health and hygiene.

The sheer logistics of adjusting to their new American home can be overwhelming and intensely stressful for refugees. The process is one of encountering difference after difference, barrier after barrier: language, culture, finances, religion. Most of the Arabic-speaking refugees come from Iraq or Syria, and face constant obstacles. For instance, their children go to schools where nobody speaks Arabic, and so it is difficult for the parents to coordinate with their children’s teachers. Although there are government-sponsored resettlement agencies, they help for about two years and then leave it to other organisations such as Paradise Valley to help. “Many of them still live in the old culture and haven’t learned to transition to their new culture,” says Peter Thomas, who heads up Paradise Valley’s outreach to the Arabic refugee community. He says that it is very difficult for an adult to make this transition, and it is hard to learn a new language and new skills. Paradise Valley helps them find ways to become productive in their new society and helps them find employment. “Their challenges become my challenges,” he says.

110 One kilometre down the road, Paradise Valley also operates a second-hand shop (the PV Thrift Store). Not only does this shop help financially support its mission to refugees, it also provides many of them with valuable job training and experience. Paradise Valley also holds two rummage sales a year, which on average generate $30,000. The rest of its funding comes from donations, appropriations from church entities such as the Office of Adventist Mission, and other grants.

A Spiritual Calling James and his team see their mission as wholistic, incorporating the spiritual dimension into their activities, without aggressive proselytising. “I don’t do altar calls,” says James, with a smile. “I don’t try to coerce anybody in any shape or form to accept our religion. I wait until they come to me.” Bendantunguka echoes these sentiments. “We serve refugees not because we want to attract them to be Christian or SDA,” he says. “We serve a refugee because we serve a human being. . . . The main thing we give them is our love.” Bendantunguka says he is looking forward to seeing the refugees he works with in heaven, “where there is no refugee looking for help, where there is no refugee looking for a job, running looking for a safe haven.” But is there a danger that clients being served might feel obliged to show interest in the church? “I don’t see any conflict there,” says James. “We don’t blatantly preach religion. We love people unconditionally, there’s no strings attached, they don’t have to come to church, they don’t have to accept our God. We’re going to love them anyway. When you love people the way Jesus loved people, unconditionally, not demanding change, change happens. . . . When they come, they come on their own terms, in their own way, when they’re ready.” Often the religious element is introduced in low-key, organic ways. On Tuesday mornings a group of quilters get together and make soft flannel baby quilts that are given to families—often Muslim families—who want to publicly dedicate their babies to God. When Darlene, who leads the project, gives the families the quilts she tells them their babies are always “wrapped in God’s love” (James 2016, location 862). “I don’t have time for public evangelism,” says James. “I’m baptizing 30 to 50 people a year without trying.”

Peter Thomas says that the official resettlement agencies are mainly concerned that the refugees get a house to live in and access to government assistance. “We are more concerned not only with their physical wellbeing but also their spiritual wellbeing,” he says. Paradise Valley tries to be a stabilising force in the lives of these people who are undergoing great stress. “They know they can trust, rely, and depend on us,” Thomas adds. Thomas also builds on common ground between Islam and Adventism: 111 avoiding alcohol and “unclean” meat, using no statues, and worshiping God. “We stand beside them,” he says.

Reflections on Paradise Valley It could be argued that Paradise Valley is not really a centre of influence in the sense of what is being discussed in this thesis, and that its refugee ministry is just one example of the type of thing in which urban churches should be involved anyway. There is certainly some truth in this observation, and Paradise Valley has no plan for starting new groups of believers; they welcome contacts through their ministry into their existing established church. But while Paradise Valley does not strictly adhere to the centre of influence approach promoted in this thesis, its leadership has self-identified their ministry as an urban centre of influence and sees it in those terms.

The centre of influence approach promoted in this thesis would encourage Paradise Valley to consider starting small groups within the apartment block and neighbourhoods where the refugees are living. Currently the Paradise Valley Church provides a bus service to bring these people to worship services in the church every Saturday, and Paradise Valley’s leaders celebrate the large number of nationalities that worship under one roof each week. But no doubt the traditional western-type worship service is culturally distant for many refugees who attend. And the influence of the church could be strengthened by starting groups that meet in their own neighbourhoods, seeking the shalom of their local communities.

Paradise Valley certainly reflects the values of a wholistic approach to urban mission, and rather than being event-driven, it runs an ongoing ministry embedded in the community it serves. It partially funds itself through its second-hand shop and rummage sales, but relies heavily on donations, which makes its future operations less certain. Its position would be considerably strengthened by another source of revenue generation.

112 D. Veg Hub, Oakland, California23 and Olive Branch, Lewiston, Maine24

Veg Hub, Oakland, California Like most urban centres, the city of Oakland, California, just across the bay from San Francisco, hosts a range of radically different neighbourhoods. They range from Piedmont with its multimillion-dollar homes, to East Oakland, where districts have been ravaged by drugs, crime, and poverty. Some areas of Oakland have fashioned themselves into “foodie” havens, which is a major factor in attracting people to live and spend their money. As Alison Alkon writes, “In today’s food-focused popular culture, thriving restaurants and urban farms are essential element [sic] of cities’ efforts to brand themselves as hip, creative, green, and attractive” (Alkon 2018, 281). On the other side of the street, so to speak, lie areas such as East Oakland where liquor stores and fast-food restaurants dominate the landscapes. In areas such as this, often referred to as “food deserts,” residents find it difficult to access more healthful types of food. Marta Gutman says that Oakland is “proud of its working-class roots, pluralist polity, and commitment to progressive causes.” However, she says that it is hard to escape the results of historic racism and economic inequalities that have clearly left their mark (Gutman 2007, 554).

The Veg Hub, a fully plant-based restaurant, is located in Oakland’s Dimond District, on the edge of East Oakland, separating more affluent areas from economically deprived neighbourhoods. The restaurant space is open-plan, with counter-service, and vegan meat and vegetables cooking on stoves directly behind the counter. A large chalkboard covers much of the main wall of the restaurant, with urban-themed drawings and messages. Founder and head of Veg Hub, G. W. Chew, says that much of the East Oakland community does not have access to healthful food options. Part of research and marketing before starting the restaurant involved visiting 1,000 homes and giving people free produce. “In communities of color you have heavy amounts of fast-food restaurants,” Chew says. “You might have 20 liquor stores within a one-mile radius without any grocery stores.” The solution is not as simple as driving to a supermarket or natural food shop because many people don’t have vehicles.

23 Unless otherwise indicated, quotes and attributions regarding Veg Hub are based on in-person interviews with G. W. Chew in Oakland on 15 August, 2018 and 24 April, 2019. 24 Unless otherwise indicated, quotes and attributions regarding the Olive Branch are based on in- person interviews in Lewiston on 21 May, 2019. 113 Chew points to the high incidence of diabetes, heart disease, and obesity in such communities. “You look at the connection between food access, the connection between meat consumption,” he says. “In these environments people don’t eat a lot of vegetables.” It is “these environments” that have helped shape the goals of the restaurant, and also the food it serves. Chew says the food has to be attractive to people who are used to a heavy meat diet, and quinoa won’t be the first meal he serves to someone who has had a diet of fried chicken every day for dinner. He describes Veg Hub’s food as “healthy, affordable, plant-based comfort food.” But more than that, for Chew it has to taste great, too (MercyForAnimals.com 2019).

Olive Branch, Lewiston, Maine On the other side of the country from California another restaurant operates in Lewiston, the second- largest city in Maine. It has three components: the plant-based Olive Branch Café, the Ark Lifestyle Education Center, and a worshiping group that began in the centre. The current director of the café, Scott Christiansen, says that the reputation of Lewiston is that it is a “dirty, ignorant mill town.” Former director and local pastor Tony Cuffori says, “It’s a really broken community. There’s a lot of drugs. A lot of health issues.” It is a picture that does not match the state’s official branding slogan: “Maine: The way life should be.” The way things should be in Lewiston has been a question wide open for discussion since the late 1900s when Lewiston’s mills, which employed the vast majority of the city’s workers, were closed. Since then, the city has battled economic decline. Its population decreased by 15 percent between 1970 and 2000, and the city’s downtown area was declared the poorest area in Maine, with a poverty rate of 46 percent (Besteman 2016, 15). In the early 2000s, when thousands of Somali refugees started arriving in Lewiston, Catherine Besteman says it sent “a shockwave” through the city, which was 96 percent white (Besteman 2016, 15, 110).

It was in this complex urban environment that in 2013, the Olive Branch Café began operating as a centre of influence in an old Pizza Hut on the main road leading into Lewiston. The café, originally named The Ark restaurant, underwent renovations in 2016 and was renamed the Olive Branch Café. Closely linked to the café is the Ark Lifestyle Education Center, which operates out of the building and offers the community a variety of services including vegetarian cooking classes, healthful living programs, and support groups.

114 Reflections on Veg Hub and the Olive Branch Café The goals of providing more healthful and affordable food and of finding other ways to contribute to the community are part of a wider spiritual motivation for the Veg Hub. In fact, plans are in place to use the restaurant as a space for starting Veg Hub Church, a community that comes together for fellowship, worship, and service. Chew envisages the restaurant as a “mini lifestyle centre” that helps change lives, and where people can come for “great food, love, and to get healed.”

“We didn’t come out with an agenda of trying to just proselytize people,” says Chew. “They know we’re Adventists, we’re closed on Sabbaths and all that kind of stuff; but we just fed them good food, we just made friends with them.” He recalls as a zealous young Adventist opening his first restaurant in Maryland in 2008. “I was a little more aggressive back then,” he says, with a smile. He had a literature rack of religious books upfront when people walked in and was forward in sharing his beliefs in other ways. His mother took him aside and told him, “People don’t want a Bible study, they want some food!” He quickly learned the importance of repeat customers, and that people wanted good- tasting food and excellent customer service. Chew still recognises that the restaurant is “a powerful point of contact,” but now emphasises the importance of building relationships.

This is a sentiment echoed by Tony Cuffori, who pastors the church group now meeting in the Olive Branch Café on Saturdays. “The big thing is that we’re focusing on the relationships,” he says. “You’ve got to follow the model—and that’s what Jesus did. You’ve got to build those relationships.” In fact, on staff is a young volunteer, Martin Raj, who has exactly this task in his job description: making friends with diners and talking to them about health. “The café is an easy way to connect with people,” says Raj. According to Christiansen, “[Raj] relates to the customers—engages them in health conversations, tries to come at it from health, and has a gentle touch with the spiritual side.” As a result of the café and the Ark ministry, a small worshiping group began and now 70 to 80 people gather every Saturday. The group struggled to grow as an Anglo congregation for about three years, but when they invited African immigrants that quickly changed, and now some 70 percent of the congregation is African.

Back in California, Veg Hub has hosted several Friday night gatherings that they advertise on social media, and have up to 25 people attend. “We keep it urban,” says Chew, “with spoken word, poetry, musicians—not just Adventists.” At the end, Chew holds a 20- to 30-minute spiritual conversation. When the opportunity arises, he invites those who are interested to have “Bible studies.” Chew is also 115 planning a “think tank,” where people from the community would be invited to talk about ways they could all work together to serve the community. Already Veg Hub works with the Oakland public school district, helping with youth development programs. It has also partnered with The Catalyst Foundation for Youth Development, providing a healthful vegetarian cooking class for area children. “We have to go far beyond a sermon to reach people,” Chew told the Pacific Union Recorder, the regional denominational magazine. “We need to roll up our sleeves. This class is a great example of what’s needed in our cities: practical education through health and mentorship” (Lorenz 2017, 14). Chew also offers free cooking classes for the community, and one of his staff, Sarah Bellot, offers cooking classes for neighbourhood children.

The sheer hard work of trying to make a café or restaurant economically viable takes much time and energy for those running the Veg Hub and the Olive Branch Café. According to Chew, the Veg Hub is now self-sustaining, while according to Christiansen, the Olive Branch Café’s days may be numbered. It has never broken even and has been heavily subsidised by the North New England Conference of Seventh-day Adventists and from other grants. “I’m convinced that Adventists haven’t figured out how to make these work yet,” says Christiansen.

Adventist restaurants and cafés face several challenges that prevent them from competing with other establishments on a level playing field. First, they do not open on Friday nights and Saturdays—the busiest business hours of the week for restaurants—because of Sabbath convictions. Second, they will not serve alcohol. And many, including the Veg Hub and the Olive Branch Café, do not sell coffee. The Olive Branch faces an additional problem that, although it is located on a main road, there is virtually no pedestrian traffic and it is located in a fairly bleak urban landscape across the road from a broken-down shopping mall.

Chew has struggled to find a viable model of running a business that is owned and administered by the Central California Conference of Seventh-day Adventists. Conference administrators are not experienced in running such businesses, which need to be nimble and flexible. Although the Veg Hub is a conference initiative, and has received the conference’s consistent and enthusiastic support, it does not easily fit the conference’s normal processes and structure. For example, conference pay scales are designed more for pastors and teachers, not for kitchen hands and chefs. As denominational administrative bodies, conferences are subject to committees and denominational policies that, to business-minded entrepreneurs, can slow down decision-making to a frustrating degree. 116

On the other hand, neither Veg Hub nor the Olive Branch would be operating without conference support. The Northern New England Conference has continued to subsidise the Olive Branch for several years, for example, but now faces the hard decision of whether or not to close it.

Summary “For Adventists, who believe discipleship involves care for the body as well as the soul, meatless restaurants provide vehicles to bless the world,” writes G. Jeffrey MacDonald in the Washington Post. “They also enable new friendships to take root as diners, wait staff and cooks share common passions. When making friends, being able to sell someone a tasty, inexpensive bean chilli or share a hummus recipe doesn’t hurt” (MacDonald 2013). In the phrase “vehicles to bless the world,” MacDonald captures the essence of an Adventist urban centre of influence. The centres of influence described in this chapter approach their tasks in different ways, with different emphases, but at their core they are all trying to navigate their own paths to connect with and bless their communities. Many of the currently operating centres of influence are at an experimental stage, testing what will work and what will not. Although motivated by a strong sense of mission, they do not have a large number of successfully operating models and best practices from which they can find guidance.

Among the principles they are learning and demonstrating are that effective urban mission must be embedded in the community in some way, must be wholistic, and that short-term engagements and events are not sufficient. Further, infusion of funding can be a mixed blessing, artificially propping up models that are not otherwise sustainable, and increasing dependence on outside personnel rather than growing ongoing local ownership of a centre and its ministries. These centres have also shown the vital importance of a thorough analysis of the community and its needs. For the most part, the centres discussed here have found balance between service and the sharing of spiritual values and beliefs. No doubt they will need to continue fine-tuning this balance as they move forward.

Funding continues to be a challenge for many centres. The traditional way to gauge mission “success” in the Adventist Church is by measuring numbers of baptisms. However, this truncates a wider view of mission that cares for people irrespective of whether they are baptised or not, and also signals that baptism is the highpoint of a Christian’s experience rather than a starting point. With such a strong focus on baptisms there is always the possibility that cash-strapped conferences, trying to fund a long 117 list of ministries and personnel, will withdraw funding from a centre of influence that does not produce “results.” When investing in public evangelism, for example, church leaders can usually be reasonably confident of getting at least some baptisms; although these numbers continue to decrease, and increasingly come from immigrants and other Christians. And yet, as North Americans become increasingly sceptical of organised religion, and as the number of the “nones”25 continues to rise rapidly, the need to find ways to sustain an urban mission that addresses the community in a wholistic way becomes even more urgent for the Seventh-day Adventist Church. In the next chapter I will argue that an engagement with the social sciences can help the church better envision how that wholistic mission can best take shape.

25 The term “nones” was used as early as 1968 by Glenn Vernon to refer to those who identify as agnostic, atheist, or religiously unaffiliated (Vernon 1968, 219). 118 Chapter 5: Adventist Missiology and Social Science in Dialogue

In this chapter, the thesis moves from an analysis of what is happening in Adventist urban mission in North America to an inquiry into how current practice can be improved, which is the third task in Richard Osmer’s methodology. A natural impulse in Christian theological reflection is to first examine the biblical text and other Christian sources, including tradition, for principles and guidance that can then be applied to a “real life” situation being faced. But as Don Browning says, “The theologian does not stand before God, Scripture, and the historic witness of the church like an empty slate or Lockean tabula rasa ready to be determined, filled up, and then plugged into a concrete practical situation” (Browning 1991, 5). Although Christian resources play a major role in the theological task of this thesis, they are not just ideas and concepts that float around independently in the ether. Their meaning and efficacy arise in tangible life situations, and they are best consulted and addressed from the moving contexts of actual practice and experience.

As the teachings and values of Christianity are incarnated through lived experience, they speak in different ways in different contexts and cultures. They meet specific situations never envisaged when, for example, the biblical texts were written. As practical theology seeks to translate biblical and other Christian principles and understandings into practical action in a twenty-first century urban environment, secular sources can serve as local guides, so to speak, to the city and its ways. These guides are not infallible, they do not have all knowledge, and they can even lead down blind alleys. But they do have many good local understandings, can direct toward important landmarks, explain the local culture and territory, and interpret local customs.

The area of urban studies, for example, and the broad range of disciplines that come under its umbrella, helps describe and interpret the city and its weaknesses, strengths, and challenges. It provides windows on economic and political systems, demographic trends, the flow of resources, capital, and people. It interprets established urban institutions, systems of governance and polity, and informal processes of influence and decision-making. Further, it can help point out roadmaps of best practice or, at the least, warn of potential potholes that could seriously damage attempts at a wholistic mission. In other words, urban studies research can provide a variety of windows through which to more clearly view and understand the city. Harvie M. Conn and Manuel Ortitz suggest that using the social sciences can not only help Christian mission activities be more effective, it can also help them become more “fluid.” By 119 this they mean that the social sciences can help with ongoing assessment of the progress and direction of various activities, which provides the opportunity to make changes as needed (Conn and Ortiz 2001, 256).

Thus the practical theology of this thesis progresses not only through dialogue with Christian resources, but also with, to use Don Browning’s phrase, “other communities of experience and interpretation” (Browning 1991, 36). In doing this it must avoid trying to become “social science ‘lite’” (Osmer 2008, 163) or, to use Duncan Forrester’s colourful metaphor, “abandon its proper concerns and appear on stage in borrowed garments as a kind of amateur social science.” But if practical theology is to be credible, it must have a “responsible dialogue with social science” (Forrester 2010, 207). In this chapter, I will argue that the witness of Christian resources such as the Bible, other spiritual and theological writings, and tradition, can be enhanced through listening to and questioning how secular sources also speak to the situation. This is not a case of Christian theology simply trying to plunder the Egyptians, but reflects a stance of humility and realism, acknowledging that a conversation with other communities, listening to their insider knowledge, can provide a clearer pathway to understanding and improving current practice.

A foundational area to explore in this chapter is the role and status of a religious organisation in the public square. As the Adventist Church seeks to serve the urban community and be a wholistic Christian witness through centres of influence, with what sort of voice can and should it speak? How can and should it operate? Today, for a variety of reasons, religious organisations such as the Adventist Church that make particular truth claims, and seek to share these with others, are often treated with suspicion. In what terms can the traditional concept of the Christian gospel, the good news, be communicated in a meaningful and wholistic way in the city? Some church social care organisations have all but lost contact with their religious beliefs and heritage as they focus heavily on professional standards and business models. For these organisations the idea of sharing a specific Christian faith has been largely lost in their day-to-day operations. But for Christian social service organisations that wish to maintain faith as a core value, and to keep the sharing of that faith as a central goal, how does it balance this with the need to also provide no-strings-attached service? In listening to the social sciences which, as their name implies, work hard at being evidence-based, it is important not to just pick and choose evidence that supports the argument of this thesis regarding wholistic urban mission, using the social sciences as a tool to defend rather than to examine practice (Taylor and Hurley 2015, 120 119). Neither should conclusions and judgments emerging from the social sciences be accepted as superior insights or the final word.

This exercise in engaging the social sciences can serve to enrich the Adventist Church’s urban mission practice, by broadening its vision beyond a necessarily limited church vantage point framed by its own history, beliefs, and culture. It can help the church see things that it might have otherwise missed (Pembroke 2013, chapter 4, paragraph 1). It can also offset the tendency to stay within established comfort zones, to perpetuate entrenched patterns of operation and thinking, and to view things only through church lenses. E. J. Taylor and J. Hurley point out how studies of cognitive bias describe a disposition for people to unconsciously arrange information to fit their worldviews. If the information does not fit their ideas, there is a tendency to re-interpret it, or even discard it. In the absence of information, people will often default to their preconceptions, their “gut reactions, assumptions and biases,” which “feel like rationality and insight.” Taylor and Hurley conclude that conscious effort is needed to acknowledge limitations and to be open to evidence-based information (Taylor and Hurley 2015, 121).

In this chapter, a case will be made that the Adventist Church can legitimately contribute to the city as a wholistic agency with spiritual and social dimensions, and that attempts to de-legitimise or marginalise it from such activities are ill-founded and unreasonable. The church, of course, would be well-advised to respect the pluralistic nature of urban society and translate as much as possible any “in- house” jargon to be intelligible in the public square or, as Jürgen Habermas says, translate the language of its religious community “into a generally accessible language” (Habermas 2006, 10). Naturally the church should also be held to the same accountability and work within the same established civic and legal regulations as other organisations functioning in the public square, but it should not be considered some sort of second-class entity that continually has to justify its presence and activities.

A Christian Witness in the City At first glance a profitable conversation with the social sciences may seem improbable. In some ways those engaged in religious studies have had to work hard to justify even having a seat at the table of academic discussion, “justifying to the secular gatekeepers theology’s claim to a place in the public forum,” as Duncan Forrester puts it (Forrester 2004, 18). Often the important role of religion has been overlooked, treated with suspicion, and even misrepresented in urban studies (Blasi 2014, 145, Gale 121 2008, 19). A quick survey of the literature of urban studies indicates how religion is often marginalised. Major volumes such as the Encyclopedia of Urban Studies (Hutchinson 2009) or the urban studies entry in the International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences (2008) totally ignore religion, churches, or theology. Laura Reese’s analysis of the present and future of urban affairs research does not mention religion (Reese 2014), nor does Ronan Paddison’s chapter “Communities in the Cities” in his Handbook of Urban Studies (Paddison 2001), and he does not remedy the oversight in his 2015 urban studies overview (Paddison 2015). Distinguished urban geographer Ash Amin’s landmark and oft-cited paper, “The Good City,” makes no reference to religion except for a mention of some Muslim rioters, thereby through silence implying that religion makes no significant contribution to the good city (Amin 2006). And in their study of urbanism and happiness in the United States, Okulicz-Kozaryn and Mazelis do not explore any role that religion might play (Okulicz-Kozaryn and Mazelis 2018). These are just a handful of examples that suggest an historically systemic blind spot to the role of religion. Further confirmation comes from studies that suggest that in the wake of Marxist and secularisation theories, there is a continuing bias against religion in urban sociology and anthropology (Numrich 2015, 4, de Marjo 2009, 98).

While they might make some acknowledgement of religion as a player in urban life, many urban theorists and planners mistrust attempts to address urban challenges or urban planning from a theological perspective. Social scientists often do not want to be seen as endorsing or giving credence to matters of faith, which they see as not being sufficiently tangible to contribute to their research (Davey 2008, 33). Many urban theorists and practitioners seem content to reduce cities to mechanistic interplays of economics, migration, geography, ethnicities, the built environment, politics, and various other power entities. They have continued to view cities as only centres of secularism, despite the fact that the secularisation thesis that dominated for many years has been largely discredited as a comprehensive explanation, and the predicted correlation between growth in urban areas and secularism has not occurred (Bielo 2013, 303). This means that the United States as a liberal democracy and a secular state still has to negotiate and manage people and entities with a variety of religious beliefs and non-beliefs. Closing one’s eyes to the role, function, and influence of religious organisations in the city will not stop that role, function, and influence.

Despite this past tendency to sideline religion, there are signs of a growing acknowledgment by urban theorists and planners of the importance of religion and spirituality in the city. Some now recognise that faith-based organisations are well-placed to provide needed physical, spiritual, and emotional 122 support to people in urban communities. Urban planning theorist June Thomas, for example, observes that faith-based organisations treat people as more than just mere statistics or abstract data (Thomas 2006, 93). Robert Putnam and David Campbell show how religious Americans are more likely than nonreligious Americans to work toward strengthening the social fabric of the community. Religious Americans are also more likely to belong to community organisations, participate in local civic and political life, work for local social or political reform, and work for community problem solving (Putnam and Campbell 2010, 455, 456).

Many urban theorists colour their discourse with terminology such as “transformation,” “revival,” and “renewal,” which could have been lifted from the language of religion and spirituality. Environmental planner Randolph T. Hester, Jr., says that sustainable urban design needs to be driven by principles such as sacredness, caring, and connectedness (Hester 1995, 7). Influential urban theorist Leonie Sandercock, who says secular humanism has largely motivated her work, describes urban planning as fundamentally “a work of hope.” And she asks, “… where does this hope come from, if not from some kind of faith?” She refers to “sterile terms” often used in describing urban planning such as: “rational comprehensive,” “communicative,” “modernist,” “the postmodern.” “Perhaps we need a different way of talking about planning,” she writes, “at the heart of which is the human spirit in its everyday struggle to make meaning and create a better world” (Sandercock 2006, 65, 66). Sandercock may be describing a secular spirituality, and she may not be calling for organised religion to take a leading role in urban planning, but she is acknowledging that issues of concern to religious entities may closely echo the interests and aspirations of at least some urban planners.

This is further demonstrated by Tracy Soska and Robert Feikema, who argue that business and government activities need the qualities that flourishing communities exhibit: “kindness, generosity, cooperation, forgiveness, mystery, and acceptance of fallibility.” They argue that the economy and the government depend on these qualities, but they cannot supply them or restore them once they are depleted (Soska and Feikema 2013, 5). And geographer Paul Cloke even invokes the concept of evil, arguing that this concept has played an important role in helping human geographers understand their world. Hence, he refers to “geographies of ethical and moral terrains” and, most pertinent for this thesis, he even argues for elements of the spiritual and the secular coming together in the new postsecular environment to combat evil (Cloke and Beaumont 2013, 478). Philosopher J. Baird Callicott says that in the arena of environmental studies the inclusion of religion in the discussion is “one of the most exciting new developments.” He argues that an environmental ethic based on 123 religious belief is “practically the only thing that can effectively resist the juggernaut of amoral consumerism” (Barnhill and Gottlieb 2001, Back Cover).

The biblical theme of “seeking the shalom” finds useful connection points with urban planners who are interested in more than just materialist views of the city, and who want to see urban futures in terms of meaning, hope, well-being, and human flourishing. The goal of urban shalom, with all its resonances of peace, wellness, and prosperity, is a goal held mutually by many religious and secular entities. For urban planner and architect Stephen Schwenke, values such as freedom and justice are not just optional extras to be considered after physical needs have been addressed. They are ideals that are a key part of being human, and humans are the key to a healthy functioning society. He encourages a view of cities as moral communities in which citizens need to operate in ethical ways, and argues that it is only in recognising the moral dimension that it is possible to really talk about cities and city-dwellers flourishing (Schwenke 1999, 243, 249).

Echoes of this theme can also be heard in the discipline of human psychology. Psychologists Corey Keyes and Jonathan Haidt, for example, argue that psychology has fallen behind the majority of people who are struggling and searching to find meaning in their lives. “People suffer a quiet despair that comes from the absence of meaning, the absence of purpose, and the absence of anything positive in life,” writes Keyes (Keyes 2003, 298). Psychology will do its job better when it helps human “flourishing,” where people are “filled with emotional vitality and they are functioning positively in the private and social realms of their lives . . . truly living rather than merely existing” (Keyes and Haidt 2003, 5, 6). A similar theme was explored more than 70 years ago by psychologist Abraham Maslow in the original formulation of his hierarchy of human needs. “It is quite true that man lives by bread alone—when there is no bread,” he writes. “But what happens to man's desires when there is plenty of bread and when his belly is chronically filled?” (Maslow 1943, 375). He argues that physical and material needs are only part of the human experience, and places “self-actualization” at the top of the pyramid, which he equates with “the desire for “self-fulfillment” and defines as “the desire to become more and more what one is, to become everything that one is capable of becoming” (Maslow 1943, 382). In a later formulation of the needs pyramid, he added “transcendence” at the top, referring to experiences beyond the personal self (McLeod 2017). Likewise, Denis Goulet, a pioneer in human development theory, argues that the ultimate goals of development should be to give all people the chance to live to their full potential as human beings (Schwenke 1999, 244).

124 These descriptions of human potential and fulfilment resonate with Jesus’ statement that he came to bring life and to bring it more abundantly (John 10:10) and remind the Adventist Church of the folly of merely sharing doctrinal propositions with people. The theme of flourishing, and reaching full potential, also accords with the NAD’s mission statement: “Our mission is to reach our world with the distinctive, Christ-centered, Seventh-day Adventist message of Hope and Wholeness.” Through seeking to understand and help meet various needs in the community, urban centres of influence can help urban dwellers experience hope and wholeness and build a more abundant life. As these centres help meet people’s needs—emotional, social, physical, spiritual, material—they provide a platform for further personal and community growth.

Positive Impulse to Urban Life The contribution that churches make to cities finds an apologist in secular Jewish urban theorist and commentator Joel Kotkin. He argues that the impact churches have in urban communities is not given the recognition it deserves. He says that even though the healthiest cities are those where religious faith and practice are strong, the role of religion and churches “in keeping moral order in city life” is usually overlooked. Rather than pointing to secular visionaries who have played an important role in this arena, Kotkin argues that it was largely reformers inspired by religion who first addressed the needs for proper urban housing, clean streets, and open spaces. Further, it was churches that helped the poor and their neighbourhoods when they seemed to be deserted by business and government. “[T]he last thing urban advocates should be doing is marginalizing religion, which provides a vital positive impulse to city life,” he writes (Kotkin 2004, 9-10).

Kotkin is right. It is a fundamental mistake to ignore the role of religion in urban areas anywhere, but particularly in the United States where churches have played and continue to play such a crucial role in shaping cities. According to Mark Wild, future urban historiography should give Christianity “a more privileged position” than it has received so far (Wild 2011, 656). Research shows how churches play a unique and powerful role in community support in American cities. A case study analysis of churches in Lowell, Massachusetts, for example, suggests that religious organisations play a key role in working for the common good, providing for urban social welfare needs, and influencing government policy decisions. Indeed, social work as a profession grew out of urban churches addressing social problems arising from rural and overseas migration (Garlington 2015, 21, 22). Likewise urban researchers show how in Chicago religion serves to bring about positive change, and that in the face of poor social 125 welfare provision by the state, faith-based organisations have often served as “first line of defense” in responding to this gap (Numrich 2015, 279, 280).

Contested Role for Religion Despite such strong evidence, religion is still often stereotyped as otherworldly, operating solely on unmeasurable faith and myopic spiritual concerns. This, added to suspicious proselytising agendas, means churches are perceived to have a questionable role in the public square. By way of contrast, secular organisations are often portrayed as neutral and non-threatening, and the social science disciplines are seen as exactly that, disciplines, which have totally different assumptions, are subject to objective testing and measurement, and can therefore more legitimately deal with real-world issues.

Signs indicate that the presence and impact of churches in the fabric of American society is starting to decline. Stuart Murray refers to a “post-Christendom shift” that is already happening in many American urban areas, and argues that nationwide “the trajectory towards post-Christendom will mean continuing decline in the size and influence of the churches” (Murray 2018, 19). This may seem a premature statement in view of the startling and seemingly powerful alliance that has developed between President Donald Trump and evangelical supporters who played a major role in voting him into the oval office in 2016 (see, for example, Gorski 2017). However, the extent and longevity of presidential patronage is at the most uncertain and will not stop the haemorrhaging of church influence at the grassroots level. And the tacit pact that has been made with the Trump administration may prove to have negative impact on the credibility of evangelicals in the long term. In regard to the declining influence of churches, Western Europe, where the church no longer wields a major role in the lives of most people, serves as a canary in the coal mine for the United States.

In addition, the constitutionally implied principle of the separation of church and state in America has led to a burden on religious institutions and endeavours to prove their worth and justify their actions in the public sphere. Theoretically the constitutionally guaranteed “free exercise” of religion ensures freedom of Christian witness, and faith-based organisations in urban areas do enjoy strong legitimation and a generous latitude in the scale and scope of their operations. But they have lost some of the privileged position they once enjoyed.

126 Today various religious activities that were in the past deemed an accepted, indeed normal and undisputed, part of American life come under more rigorous scrutiny and critique. (A 37-page article in the Brigham Young University Law Review, for example, describes just some of the regulations restricting Christian public witness in the United States (Hunter and Price 2001).) And the role of Christian organisations in the public square in a country that guards the separation of church and state is becoming increasingly contentious and contested. This is perhaps the natural outcome of what Canadian philosopher Charles Taylor terms the secular age where “the presumption of unbelief . . . has become dominant” in many different arenas and “hegemonic in the academic and intellectual life” (quoted in Dillon 2012, 261). Today the fastest-growing “religious” group in the United States is the group mentioned in the last chapter—the “nones.” This group still only makes up some 23 percent of the population, but added to this should be many who still identify as Christian but who could be classed as nominal (Center 2015).

Ironically, the increasing dominance of secular discourse in the public square has not brought an end to the call for moral absolutes; it is just that the call comes in different language and operates under a different cloak. As Taylor says, “We find these words surfacing again and again, slogan terms like ‘freedom’, ‘rights’, ‘respect’, ‘non-discrimination’, and so on.” And they are “often employed as argument-stopping universals, without any consideration of the where and how of their application” (Taylor 2007, 479). In today’s American society, one of these universals is the concept of tolerance, the very idea of which, as Adam Seligman points out, is “rooted in a religious consciousness” (Seligman 2012, 1292). In American society it has been repurposed as a secular virtue. In this milieu, people who hold religious beliefs that negatively critique certain beliefs or moral behaviour risk being condemned as intolerant at best, as purveyors of hate speech at worst. In such an environment, even the traditional Christian mission to share faith in Jesus can be construed as bigoted, and even predatory. In much public discourse the word “proselytism” has become a dirty word, serving as an umbrella term to describe behaviour considered intimidating, coercive, and manipulative. Former evangelical John Fletcher says that attempts to change someone’s beliefs about religion “transgress predominant social protocols of privacy and civility” and “strain present-day political-democratic values like tolerance and the right to pursue (religious) happiness as one sees fit” (Fletcher 2014, 3).

The public square is often framed as some type of ideological demilitarised zone where everyone must leave their values and religious beliefs at home, and all must operate on strictly secular terms using unadulterated reason, using a commonly acceptable language. There are calls to mute the voice of 127 religion and restrict the activity of religious organisations in the public square. Political scientist Mark Lilla, for example, argues that politics should “remain unilluminated by the light of revelation” and should be an arena for human reason alone (quoted in Volf 2011, 6). The critiques of religious influence and activity become even more strident when so-called “proselytism” is perceived as in any way linked to delivery of social service or humanitarian care by religious organisations. As Philip Fountain says, proselytism is “arguably the prickliest subject in the emerging field of religion and development” (quoted in Lynch and Schwarz 2016, 636). But as Miroslav Volf argues, when Christians believe their Christian faith contributes to the well-being of society, “they would betray themselves and make their faith malfunction if they were silent or did not give religious reasons for their positions.” And being prevented from living out their faith would be having secularism “shoved down their throats” (Volf 2011, 25).

Christian organisations should be held accountable to the highest ethical standards in all their activities, including methods of public witness. There are also good reasons for caution regarding faith- based organisations and their methodologies in social service and humanitarian care. But likewise, there may also be good reasons for caution regarding so-called secular organisations, all of which have their own agendas, none of which are value-neutral.

Problematic Assumptions Objections to a Christian witness often make three problematic assumptions: that Christian witness is necessarily coercive, that only religious groups proselytise, and that social care not affiliated with religious groups is superior because it is value-neutral. It is true that history is replete with coercive proselytism in the name of Jesus. Moreover, the unholy marriage between Christian proselytism and colonialism is well-documented (see, for example, Ruble 2018). And, admittedly, still some Christian organisations today are involved in aggressive, culturally insensitive mission enterprises. But these flagrant departures from the Christian ideal do not necessarily negate a true Christian witness that honours the God-given right of free choice, the dignity of human beings, and Jesus’ example of selfless, no-strings-attached love in dealing with people.

What Michael Goheen says about Christian witness in a postmodern society should guide any Adventist witness in the city: “Certainly, a posture of humility and listening will attractively adorn the gospel, a dialogical rather than a dogmatic approach. In the complexity of our world it is important to 128 avoid offering cheap and easy answers to difficult questions. We need to see our dialogue partners as friends and potential strugglers. Our communication of the gospel should be winsome, with respect and compassion” (Goheen 2014, 244). Likewise, Gerard Hall says that Christian witness should always be “in the context of respectful dialogue, solidarity.” He adds, “Proclamation should be in the form of an invitation and as an answer to a question: it is genuinely dialogical. One proclaims with a listening heart, humbly and even from a position of weakness and vulnerability. One also proclaims in recognition that we always have something to learn and receive from others and their traditions, since the Spirit of God knows no bounds. Authentic, witness-based proclamation disclaims a position of superiority and so approaches dialogue as the meeting of persons on common pilgrimage” (Hall 2010, 36).

Range of Proselytism A second misconception is that religious endeavours must be treated with suspicion because they, as distinct from value-neutral secular enterprises, have a proselytising agenda. Of course, not all religious bodies have this agenda, but those that do proselytise do not have a monopoly on the practice. For example, political and social activism, trying to convert others to one’s political and/or social values agenda, can be seen as acts of proselytising. Often this activism also makes moral judgments about others’ behaviour.

At the conclusion of his book Preaching to Convert: Evangelical Outreach and Performance Activism in a Secular Age, in which John Fletcher critiques much of the proselytising activities of evangelicals, he writes, “I worry that, in avoiding the spectre (and occasional reality) of faith-based coercion and bigotry, we have internalized a general suspicion toward the very idea of persuasive endeavors in the service of deep convictions.” Fletcher wants to maintain that some values and beliefs are superior to others, and worth speaking up about, even if it means defying expectations about polite society (Fletcher 2014, 310). In other words, limiting the proselytising agenda of conservative religious groups might lead to limiting the right for other causes to lobby and persuade. Philosopher Elmer John Thiessen acknowledges that religious proselytising has its dangers but argues that it actually has very positive consequences for society. For Thiessen, morally acceptable proselytising respects the right of people to believe what they want and for them to proselytise, too. He even suggests that people not only have a moral right, but also an obligation, to share what they believe is true (Thiessen 1985, 336, 129 342, 345). In any case, if proselytising is an offense, why should religious groups be singled out as offenders?

Value-Neutral Social Care A third problematic assumption is that there is such a thing as value-neutral, or value-absent methods of social care and action, and that secular aid, in contrast to religious aid, comes with no ideological strings attached. The challenge is that any type of social assistance is an inherently normative enterprise, laden with assumptions, beliefs, and motivations about what the recipients need and should receive, and the ways in which they should be helped. This can be seen in the area of humanitarian aid. Cecelia Lynch and Tanya Schwarz, for example, describe cases where donors and the non-government organisations they help fund fully expect that the recipients of their largesse “will develop into ‘good liberal subjects’ who pursue approved projects and learn techniques of thrift, investment, and accounting that draw them into global financial and marketing circuits.” It may not be coercion via a traditional religious framework, but it is not value-free. Matthew Bishop calls this particular variety of aid “philanthrocapitalism” (Lynch and Schwarz 2016, 642).

The United States Department of State unapologetically utilises the dispensing of funds through USAID to further its stated foreign policy goals and to advance specific values such as democracy, freedom of speech, and religious freedom. The arbitrary way in which governments elevate and accept some values above others can also be seen in the United Kingdom where in 2015 the Department of Communities and Local Government provided 400,000 pounds to help strengthen faith-based organisations. In its guidelines, this government department makes it clear that any entity bidding for these funds cannot be used for proselytising, or “promoting a religious faith or belief.” However, while it is unacceptable for them to promote religious beliefs, they are required to promote and support certain other beliefs, which the department terms “British values.” And what are these “British values?” They include “democracy, human rights, equality before the law, and participation in society” (Bickley 2015, 14). There is no documentation or explanation as to why these values are especially British, or who has granted them privilege above religious values or beliefs. But the document makes it clear that while promoting religious beliefs and values is unacceptable, promoting “British values’ is not only acceptable, it is mandatory. Urban development researchers Sara Fregonese and Ralf Brand acknowledge that their field is driven by assumed values and argue that urban development is strongly 130 interconnected with socio-political conditions. Likewise urban planner Patsy Healey argues that her profession is not value-neutral but is instead deeply political in nature (Ralf Brand 2013, 18).

None of this in any way excuses coercion or misrepresentation in the witness of religious bodies. Indeed, the social sciences provide insight into best practices for Christian mission. A study by Michael Sherr and colleagues, for example, concludes that social work should “embrace the role of spirituality in clients’ lives” and appreciate how religious groups help address social problems and provide services. However, they caution that social workers should not use their professional roles as a vehicle for their religious interests. They argue for a strict demarcation between the role of social worker and religious worker, and that they should avoid situations where clients might feel any pressure to discuss religious beliefs (Sherr, Singletary, and Rogers 2009, 163-164).

It is true that protocols need to be in place to ensure that non-believers who utilise the services of centres of influence are not subjected to unwelcome evangelistic overtures. This does not mean that those working in an urban centre of influence should shed the Christian part of their identity while engaging with people. On the contrary, they should express love, compassion, respect, and justice in all their actions. And they should be able, if a client shows interest, to verbally share why they believe as they do. An Adventist centre of influence is clearly presented to the public as a service of the Seventh- day Adventist Church, and its values and mission are not hidden. So clients who choose to participate in and with centre of influence activities are aware that they are engaging with a faith-based organisation. It is legitimate in this context to talk openly about the gospel message and indeed to initiate the conversation with a client because the church exists to share the gospel, and all of its activities, whether in a church building or in the public square, need to reflect this.

This whole arena is a challenging tightrope to walk for religious organisations such as the Seventh-day Adventist Church that are committed to care for people’s physical lives, but also have a commitment to sharing what they see as the “good news” about Jesus. However, one does not necessarily have to undermine or exclude the other, and both commitments can be held with integrity. While Adventist theology would agree, indeed insist, with Sherr and colleagues that pressuring people to adhere to any type of religious belief should never be part of the equation of wholistic care, it can still legitimately maintain the vital importance of spirituality in that care. Indeed, Adventists see caring for people’s physical and emotional needs as being an essential component of the good news. So, on the one hand a centre of influence will include a natural spiritual witness, but on the other hand it will work solidly for 131 the good of people here and now, with the latter not being in any way conditional on acceptance of the former.

The work by Sherr and colleagues challenges the Adventist Church to ensure that its urban mission has clearly delineated ethical procedures, “rules of engagement” as it were, to govern and to protect the integrity of that mission, and the people with whom it comes in contact. At the least these rules should include the fundamental principle that care should be made available to people irrespective and independent of their religious belief or non-belief. Continued care should not be conditional on them ever accepting any aspect of Adventist belief or practice. Moreover, Adventist mission should recognise that, in the words of the World Council of Churches: “Witness is corrupted when cajolery, bribery, undue pressure or intimidation is used—subtly or openly to bring about seeming conversion” (quoted in Traer 2012, 1077).

Understanding the City Social science research reminds religious organisations such as the Adventist Church that in their public witness they can operate from the highest ethical principles, have the loftiest goals with an urban community’s best interests at heart, and yet still do harm along with the good. Sometimes churches proceed as if they were operating in some sort of vacuum, independently mapping out their own mission territory. They build their own urban agendas without any consultation with experts in urban development, with no consideration of how certain actions will affect and be affected by other activities and entities, without even taking time to listen to and understand the communities in which they operate.

In early 2016, Hillsong Church, a large Pentecostal church based in the suburbs of Sydney, Australia, with campuses around the world, announced plans for Ben Houston, son of Hillsong Church founders and senior pastors Brian and Bobbie Houston, to start a church in San Francisco, California. Nate Lee, a blogger in San Francisco, responded with an online piece entitled: “Hillsong Church: Do Not Colonize San Francisco.” In his response he expresses his disgust at pastors who come to the city, post iconic pictures and say how much they love the city, and claim things such as “God is going to do amazing things in San Francisco,” without actually taking the time to understand the city. They come with their own agenda, which does not include financially supporting local pastors or respecting community organisations already working in the city. Lee points to ethnic churches that have been 132 operating in San Francisco for decades, and says that Hillsong’s language, which suggests God’s work will start with their arrival, “is indicative not only of terrible theology, but of white Christian exceptionalism, the oppressive belief that the correct kind salvation and healing can only be facilitated through us, on our terms with our methods . . .” It is this type of attitude, according to Lee, that destroys faithful work already happening. He concludes: “Wake up, Ben Houston—the plan started without you a long time ago, so guess what? You aren’t special. This city doesn’t need you . . .” (Lee 2016).

I do not know if Lee’s facts are correct, or the details of Hillsong’s research and level of engagement. But although Hillsong is in his crosshairs, the Seventh-day Adventist Church could rightly be subject to a similar critique for many of its urban evangelistic endeavours. As described earlier in this thesis, the Adventist urban engagement method of choice has historically been a short-term series of public meetings on doctrinal topics held in a church or public hall, and often conducted by a visiting preacher who knows virtually nothing about the city in which he or she is presenting. It is true that usually local church members are engaged as much as possible in the program, and any people baptised are connected to local churches. But the emphasis has been on persuading people to become Seventh-day Adventists with, in many cases, any type of ongoing social care or community development being a secondary consideration, if considered at all. But community development theorists and practitioners point out that only long-term commitment can bring about change in communities (Soska and Feikema 2013, 2). And further, as educator Paulo Freire wrote nearly 50 years ago, “I imagine one of the prime purposes that we Christians ought to have . . . is to get rid of any illusory dream of trying to change man [sic] without touching the world he lives in” (quoted in Kirylo and Boyd 2017, 83).

In his impassioned language Lee may overstate his case, but he raises several legitimate concerns that speak to any religious organisation seeking to be engaged in urban mission. It is vital to consult with, listen to, and learn from those already engaged in the city, whether they be secular or religious organisations. Any authentic new Christian mission in a city, including a centre of influence, cannot be conceived at a distance, planned in some remote denominational board room, or voted by some isolated church committee. It must either spring from the existing urban community, or be shaped by the existing urban community, and work with that community. It must be approached with a spirit of humility. This spirit of humility will prevent any attempt to bring an outside, pre-packaged product to the city. An attitude of humility will lead to taking the time to listen to the community itself— residents, leaders, and social organisations already functioning. It will lead to learning from and 133 seeking to understand existing religious communities and enterprises in the neighbourhood. And, as is being proposed in this chapter, an attitude of humility will lead to consulting with the social sciences to better shape the church’s mission to the city.

Listening and Learning The social sciences demonstrate that research and assessment is essential for the integrity of any project, which is a salutary lesson for any church tempted to approach its mission as if it has all the answers, and already knows what urban communities need and how to deliver it. In an article entitled, “‘Not a Lot of People Read the Stuff’: Australian Urban Research in Planning Practice,” urban researchers Elizabeth Taylor and Joe Hurley reflect on the disconnect between academic research done by urban theorists, and the actual planning and practice of urban development. Studies reveal that most urban practitioners, juggling time constraints, concrete tasks, and political realities, find they do not take the time to wade through academic research to try to extrapolate guidelines and principles that could helpfully instruct the work they have to do. Taylor and Hurley write, perhaps understatedly, “Concern that urban research is not reaching urban practitioners has proved a provocative and fruitful platform for debate and reflection in recent years across Australia, New Zealand and beyond” (Taylor and Hurley 2015, 2). This is reminiscent of urban planner Peter Hall’s lament regarding the state of affairs starting in the late 1970s: “The relationship between planning and the academy had gone sour.” He adds, “Whether baffled or bored by the increasingly scholastic character of the academic debate, [practitioners] lapsed into an increasingly untheoretical, unreflective, pragmatic, even visceral style of planning” (Hall 2016, 443).

If moving forward without taking the time to consult academic research in their own field is common for urban practitioners, the temptation is doubly strong for religious organisations engaging in urban activities. After all, every church entity operating in an urban context already has a commitment to some sort of mission goal, whether formally stated or not, or else it would not be operating in the city. Often these entities have been pursuing their good works in various forms for many decades. Usually driven by a desire to help their neighbourhoods and to be a positive witness for the gospel, Christian organisations rarely frame their endeavours in academic terms, or pause to analyse broader implications of their approach and methodology. The focus is on mobilising human resources, church members and others, for concrete activities such as operating a soup kitchen, evangelistic programs, providing activities for teens, counselling, starting a new church, or even lobbying local government 134 representatives. Some churches are so busy running their programs that it is often difficult to have any extended theological or academic reflection on their task, or study of the potential “environmental impact” of their social and spiritual interventions.

And yet taking the time to step back, plan, and assess is crucial to a wholistic, responsible witness in the city. There are many community needs assessment tools available that can help provide a more robust platform for centres of influence, which in order to be effective must foster a sense of participation with the community. For example, the World Health Organization (WHO) stresses the importance of community participation in health assessment and promotion—goal-setting, decision- making, and establishing priorities. It is key, according to WHO, that the actions be “carried out by and with people, not on or to people.” This is a significant value for religious organisations to take on board, because often the tendency is to see a community or a people group as a target, or a project, and the goal as being to work for them. The potential benefits of community participation include a better standard of decisions and services, a higher level of integration of methods, and greater ownership and sustainability of initiatives (Ahari et al. 2012, 2). Thus, Adventist urban centres of influence should be embedded in the community, listening to and being informed and shaped by the community, and working with that community.

Urban Studies Although the city has been the object of discussion, study, and assessment from various angles for centuries, the specific discipline known today as urban studies did not begin until the 1960s and is thus a relatively recent entrant in the academic field of inquiry. As geographers, economists, sociologists, planners, historians, and others have applied their research skills to urban studies, it has, to use Andrew Davey’s phrase, “mushroomed in the academy” (Davey 2008, 31). In 2013, the journal Urban Studies celebrated 50 years of publication, and Ronan Paddison writes of “the flowering of urban research and its reach across a multiplicity of disciplines” during that time (Paddison 2013, 3). He points out that the first academic journals specifically focused on urban research appeared in the 1960s, but by 2015 there were closer to 20 English journals related to urban studies (Paddison 2015, 942).

William Bowen and colleagues divide urban studies into several major sub-fields: sociology, geography, economics, housing and neighbourhood development, environmental studies, governance, and planning, design, and architecture (Bowen, Dunn, and Kasdan 2010). Although religion does not 135 make this list, theological studies have made significant contributions to discussions about the city by exploring what Christian tradition, texts and, perhaps most important, the experience of actual practice of churches at the local neighbourhood level, may have to say about, and contribute to, the urban condition (see, for example, Baker 2007, Baker 2013, Gench 2014, Sheldrake 2014, Nixon 2014). Indeed, “urban theology,” a term first used in 1969 (Vincent 2014, 230), has become recognised as a field of inquiry in its own right (Harvey 2013, 26).

Although urban studies and religious studies may never become inseparable soul mates, they can both benefit from listening to each other more closely. Ironically, prominent urban theologian Chris Baker argues that the “institutional church” in England has largely lost interest in urban theology and mission. Anglican bishop Adrian Newman suggests two reasons for this. First, the church has focused more on internal issues. Second, it has channeled resources to those churches and areas that are growing numerically, “the bums on seats agenda” (Baker 2013, 5). Against this pessimistic assessment, theologian Anthony Harvey argues that urban theology is now actually “firmly on the map” (Harvey 2013, 26), and as mentioned earlier in this thesis, Omri Elisha highlights a renewed evangelical emphasis on urban ministry in the United States beginning in the 1990s (Elisha 2011a, 185). Harvie Conn and Manuel Ortiz cite a 1997 study that two-thirds of all US seminaries fail to offer, let alone require, even one course in urban ministry (Conn and Ortiz 2001, 237), and in 2008 Bryan Stone and Claire Wolfteich called American seminaries and divinity schools “delinquent” in their failure to prepare pastors for urban mission (Stone and Wolfteich 2008, 2, 3). However, today large numbers of evangelical colleges and universities in North America, including Adventist-owned Andrews University, offer masters or doctoral programs in urban ministry or studies. Further, evangelical publishing on urban mission, both academic and popular, has grown exponentially (see for example, Um and Dennis 2013, Dennis 2013, Keller 2012, Fuder and Castellanos 2012, Mulder and Smith 2009, 432).

According to Bowen and colleagues, urban studies is predicated on two assumptions. First, urban areas are worth investigating in their own right. Second, a developed knowledge about urban areas can help solve urban problems (Bowen, Dunn, and Kasdan 2010, 200). So, any religious organisation that wishes to plan and implement an effective urban mission should be engaging with what those in the social sciences are addressing, arguing about, and discovering in urban areas. Naturally, the urban mission goals of a religious organisation will not mirror 100 percent those of urban planners and theorists, and its interests will not totally duplicate the interests of all who are engaged in the various 136 aspects of urban studies. But there will be various intersections of concern, and many of the insights from these studies can help religious organisations more effectively plan and implement their mission.

Engaging with Urban Studies Lowell Livezey suggests that churches need to relate to three key processes if they wish to effectively participate in urban life: urban restructuring, religious restructuring, and social transformation. By urban restructuring, Livezey refers to the profound changes that have occurred in American cities since World War II, including the massive shifts associated with moving to a post-industrial environment (Livezey 2000, 6). Gerard Delanty calls this the “new age of deindustrialization” with new information technology, the influence of global markets on capitalism, and neoliberal policies (Delanty 2009, 42). This new way of doing things has inevitably impacted urban employment, neighbourhoods, and people’s traditional sense of place. These changes have occurred in the wake of the social transformation of the 1960s and 1970s that elevated individual choice and personal freedoms at the expense of rules and regulations from traditional institutions of authority such as churches. This change to the authority of the individual signaled a fundamental shift in moral culture (Livezey 2000, 12). In his landmark work The Power of Identity, Manuel Castels describes an urban society where “legitimatizing identities” and “shared identities” have collapsed. He terms it the “network society,” which has been cut adrift from traditional anchors such as family and religion. He cynically states: “mainstream churches, practicing a form of secularized religion dependent either on the state or on the market, lose much of their capacity to enforce behavior in exchange for providing solace, and selling heavenly real estate” (Castells 2010, 419).

One of the byproducts of urban restructuring and social transformation has been a significant change in, if not loss of, the concept of physical community. For example, Robert Orsi says that the “globalization of urban space” has made the idea of “home” for immigrants “extraordinarily complicated” (Orsi 1999, 36). According to Gerard Delanty, the “last vestiges of locality” have been destroyed in cities that have lost connection with community (Delanty 2009, 38). He quotes urban geographer David Harvey, who sees only negative results in urban areas: “polarization, homelessness, fragmentation and marginalization” (Delanty 2009, 42). Ryan Enos argues that the “demographic and urban future” can be seen in the “sprawling cities of the Southwest” such as Phoenix, where there is no one city centre, the spread of “suburbanization” is unimpeded, and interpersonal contact is minimal (Enos 2018, 241-244). On the other hand, in many cities huge investment in urban renewal projects is 137 leading to a growing number of people moving back into city centres, including many young people in a process that Markus Moos calls “youthification” (Moos 2015). Many of these people are looking for shorter commutes, excellent services and amenities, and walkable community. Unfortunately, as the more affluent move back into the city it generates greater demand for real estate, which in turn drives up housing costs and the rentals market. In turn, this process of “gentrification” means many poorer residents are priced out of their communities.

Resilience Well-being

Quality HEALTHY Community of Life CITIES

Social Sustainability Cohension

Figure D Healthy Cities

This is an area where a wholistic Adventist mission can make a significant contribution through urban centres of influence. Delanty points out that the theme of loss of the “normative ideal” of community has Christian connotations and Hebraic roots (Delanty 2009, 42). Christianity lays claim to what Sandercock calls the “old virtues,” which include service, “building a caring human community,” and “building connections between people.” These virtues have been dismissed in the neo-liberal city, “which has revived enlightened self-interest as its moral code” (Sandercock 2006, 66). The proposed centres of influence approach includes building social and spiritual community as a central part of its agenda. First, through joining forces and helping strengthen existing community building initiatives. Second, by starting various types of special interest groups and helping provide a public “third space,” an idea popularised by Ray Oldenburg in his book The Great Good Place (Oldenburg 1999). Sue Hartigan describes the third space concept as “a place that is neither home nor workplace, but a space that is inexpensive, convivial and nurturing of community belonging and engagement” (Hartigan 2013). Thus, rather than focusing on trying to build the membership of established Adventist churches, centres of influence could work to create new groups that can meet more informally in spaces other than within the four walls of a church. In this way, spirituality in community would not be 138 an optional extra in the agenda of the centres, but an integral part of a wholistic mission that is not content to cater for physical needs only.

The potential of such a wholistic mission is underscored by an article in the March 2017 issue of The Lancet Psychiatry, where a group of researchers call for a new academic discipline called “neurourbanism.” They point to a range of connections between urban life and mental health, and argue that urban planners and health providers have yet to develop strategies to deal with these. Their vision is for “a new interdisciplinary field of research” that focuses “on the interdependencies between urbanisation and wellbeing with the aim to offer planning and health disciplines the necessary knowledge and tools to meet these challenges.” As a start, they have founded an interdisciplinary research forum including neuroscience and urban disciplines such as urban planning, architecture, and sociology. Various studies indicate that urban living can be related to stress symptoms and mental health problems. Mazda Adli and colleagues point to higher rates of mental health problems in cities, which result from urban stress. A Dutch study finds that the risk of developing mental health problems is 38 percent higher among city-dwellers, who also have at least twice as much risk of developing schizophrenia. One of the causes of urban stress is social density combined with social isolation and living in an environment that people cannot control (Adli et al. 2017, 183, 184). Factors influencing urban stress levels include noise, crime, environmental pollution, and even the high density of buildings. One study shows that reduced motorised traffic and increased walkability in a city have a positive correlation with reduced urban stress, while quality open spaces “invite physical activity and promote mental health” (Knöll et al. 2017, 1-3, 12, 13). The proposed discipline of neurourbanism would focus on interdisciplinary public health research, drawing on an existing field of “neuro- architectural research,” to explore the effect of both urban “built and social environments” on mental health with the goal of planning urban communities that foster better mental health (Adli et al. 2017, 183, 184). This is a highly promising arena for further study and opens possibilities for urban centres of influence, because although neurourban researchers do not mention religion, let alone invite it to the table for dialogue, it can make a significant contribution to the neurourban task.

The historic antagonism of psychiatry toward religion has, in recent years, softened into a stance that now recognises the contribution that religion can make to mental health. And there is even a note of humility being sounded by some as to the efficacy of the discipline of psychology itself in contributing to mental health (Keyes and Haidt 2003, 5). Religion may not be a universal panacea, and unhealthy or even toxic forms of religion can, naturally, have harmful effects, but the preponderance of evidence 139 suggests that religion is generally good for mental health and happiness (Francis 2010). People who are more religious, according to many studies, enjoy a higher quality of life and wellbeing, along with better mental health and lower rates of depression and suicide (Weber and Pargament 2014, 358). According to Kevin Seybold and Peter Hill, one cause for this is the fostering of community and friendship, and the increased social rapport that often comes with religious groups. Another is the adoption of a healthier lifestyle that often is associated with religious practice. Further, there is often a positive correlation between good mental health and physical health. This strong connection can be seen in the effect of positive emotions such as forgiveness, hope, and love, which “might benefit the individual through their impact on neural pathways that connect to the endocrine and immune systems” (Seybold and Hill 2001, 23).

Psychiatrist Miro Jakovljevic argues that religion can play a significant role in promoting public and global mental health, which he says consists of “resilience, well-being, peace, security, solidarity, and mutual service.” Looking from a public mental health perspective, Jakovljevic describes religion as helping people and communities to thrive (Jakovljevic 2017, 236, 237). The Adventist Church, with its long-standing history of public health advocacy and health care, is well-placed to contribute in this area through the centres of influence initiative. Psychiatrist Carlos Fayard says that in this area Adventists are “blessed by a number of opportunities.” First, a theology that sees mental health as integrally connected to physical and spiritual health. Second, a network of Adventist health and education institutions with a wholistic focus and a commitment to service. And third, graduate and postgraduate programs in mental health, combined with clinical training locations with a wholistic focus. However, he adds, these rich resources remain underutilised. This is the case partly because of Adventist “sub-cultural idiosyncrasies,” but “primarily because we have not sought to develop and articulate core ideas in a systematic way, and across contexts of learning and social delivery” (Fayard 2011, 19). The denomination’s health resources include large hospital systems throughout America including Adventist Health in California, Kettering Health in Ohio, and Adventist HealthCare based in Maryland. Adventist Health System, headquartered in Florida, operates the largest hospital in America, has 45 hospital campuses, and is America’s largest not-for-profit Protestant health care provider. In addition, the NAD operates a Health Ministries department, and this is replicated in dozens of local field administrative units of the church. But perhaps the church’s greatest resource is the network of more than 5,100 churches with thousands of volunteer members across the United States, many of which regularly run health programs for their urban communities.

140 Building Resilience Community health is a vital component of “resilience,” a term increasingly used among theorists— sometimes as an addition to, other times as a replacement for, the term “sustainability.” Sustainability literature tends to highlight three dimensions, ecological, economic, and social (Dudley 2013, 12). But as Hiroshi Maruyama points out, as society becomes more complex, it is getting harder to sustain these three dimensions and various types of “shocks” can cause them to fail. Resilience refers to the ability to survive and recover from these shocks (Maruyama 2016, 3). Possible shocks to urban communities include surging crime, excessive infrastructure development, ecological disasters, and increasing poverty and social inequality. Andrew McMurray says that sustainability is more of a static term, suggesting a “defensive posture,” while resilience “implies action” and “implies an inner toughness” to be able to bounce back from difficult situations (quoted in Dudley 2013, 9, 10).

Resilience has for decades been a familiar concept in engineering, psychology, ecology, and other disciplines. It is a particularly apt metaphor when considering cities, which can helpfully be seen as complex, interconnected, living, and adapting systems. In a sense, cities are a morphing amalgamation of thousands of communities, whether defined in geographic, familial, ethnic, virtual, or interest-driven terms. Communities can provide a sense of belonging and stability, and robust communities strengthen that sense. On the other hand, urban communities can be fragile, with decades of shared history undermined seemingly overnight through zoning changes, infrastructure redevelopment, or even the process of gentrification. Spirituality can play a key role in personal and community sustainability and resilience, and this is being increasingly recognised by urban researchers (Senbel 2006, 96, Orr 2002, 1459). Ecologist geographer Pablo Martinez de Anguita argues that religions can actually help “sustain sustainability” (Martínez de Anguita 2012, xiii). According to researchers at The Center for Trauma Studies and Resilience Leadership at Loyola University, Maryland, any definition of resilience must include the role of spirituality, because resilience requires spirituality (Grady et al. 2016, 166, 167).

Research shows the close connection between resilience and the concept of “social capital” (see, for example, Houston, Aldrich, and Meyer 2015). Andreas Schröer describes social capital as the idea that “involvement and participation in groups can have positive consequences for the individual and the community” (Schröer 2012, 1557). The idea was popularised by sociologist Robert Putnam, who describes social capital as connections between people (social networks), which build trust and cooperation. Social capital is responsible for, among other things, increasing people’s productivity. 141 Putnam and David Campbell argue that faith communities are the major source of social capital in the United States (Putnam 2000, 18). Building on this, Chris Baker refers to “religious capital,” which he defines as the contribution to the community made by faith groups. Religious capital, in turn, is fuelled by “spiritual capital,” which provides a “value system, moral vision and a basis of faith” (Baker 2014).

Not only do religious organisations strengthen social capital through building worshiping communities to which people can belong, but also by advocating for social reform and strengthening urban communities. For example, Putnam and Campbell point to the Industrial Areas Foundation, which finds its base in congregations across the country, as “the most successful model for grassroots community organizing in America” (Schröer 2012, 68). But in a finding that is cautionary for a conservative religious denomination such as the Seventh-day Adventist Church, Putnam finds that religious groups that “proselytise” are better at creating “bonding social capital” than “bridging social capital.” In other words, they are good at fostering internal community, among themselves, but not so good at bridging across social networks to other social groups (Putnam 2000, 410). Once again, the research highlights the importance of community. Indeed, Miller and Phillips state: “Communities may be the most powerful resource in promoting resilience for the people living in urban environments.” They argue that social interactions in urban communities that promote positive neighbourhood values can help offset risk factors. Anything that promotes a sense of belonging can help combat feelings of isolation and depression (Miller and Phillips 2005, 56, 58, 59).

Urban Quality of Life The issues of sustainability and resilience are essential in any discussion of urban quality of life. The question of how to make the city a better place in which to live is, according to Bowen and colleagues, the greatest value in urban studies, which they say is driven to serve the community rather than just serve a particular academic discipline. Lim Lan Yuan and colleagues refer to more than 100 definitions of quality of life in the literature. Quality of life includes not only material aspects of life, but also “less tangible” things such as health and opportunities for recreation. They argue that research has not yet delivered a wholistic understanding of quality of life or how it can be improved, even though individual components have been investigated (Lim, Yuen, and Low 1999, 3).

A host of measurement tools have been developed to measure the sustainability of a city, including its quality of life. A partial list includes: Monocle's Quality of Life Survey, Mercer's Quality of Living 142 Ranking (Quality of Living Index), Economist Intelligence Unit (EIU) Global Liveability Ranking, European Green City Index, City Blueprint, European Green Capital Award, Global City Indicators Programme and Quality of Life Index, and Quality of City Life Multiple Criteria Analysis. Each framework has a distinctive emphasis, but naturally many of the criteria overlap. The EIU Global Liveability Ranking, for example, divides 30 indicators under five headings: Stability, Healthcare, Culture and environment, Education, Infrastructure. By comparison, Monocle’s Quality of Life Survey lists 11 indicators: Safety/crime, Medical care, Climate/sunshine, International connectivity, Public transportation, Quality of architecture, Environmental issues and access to nature, Urban design, Business conditions, Pro-active policy development, Tolerance (Kaklauskas et al. 2018, 83, 84). Many urban theorists use the 1987 Brundtland definition of sustainability: “. . . development that meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs.” Merlina Missimer and colleagues acknowledge that this, like all definitions of sustainability, arise from a normative stance for which there is no objective scientific basis. They refer to a framework that was established by Swedish researchers in the early 1990s to address “lack of clarity” in the field of sustainability studies, and to try to provide some sort of a “unifying structure.” It is called the Framework for Strategic Sustainable Development (FSSD) and includes a social dimension of sustainability (Missimer, Robèrt, and Broman 2017, 43).

In this social category, the FSSD goes beyond economic and materialist considerations and comes close to acknowledging the importance of spiritual factors. It attaches importance to concepts such as “trust” and “trustworthiness” along with “common meaning.” Goran Broman and Karl-Henrik Robert, who helped spearhead the FSSD project, argue that a low level of trust is a “severe social problem in itself,” but it also inhibits society’s ability to deal with ecological challenges. They state: “A sense of meaning is strongly linked to the individual’s mental and emotional health” and “common meaning” refers to “having decided together what is important in a group of people or society at large.” Common meaning is closely related to “integrity,” “standards of behavior,” “espoused and acceptable values,” and “strong purpose” (Missimer, Robèrt, and Broman 2017, 47). They also point to social sustainability literature that highlights the importance of empathy, and even turn to a biblical reference to underline their argument: “To apply this capacity to put oneself in the shoes of other [sic] for the sake of doing good is called the Golden Rule. ‘Do not do to others what you do not want them to do [to] you’” (Missimer, Robèrt, and Broman 2017, 50).

143 Ronald Anderson refers to “community well-being” as a major subset of “social well-being.” He argues that community well-being is probably the most essential type of social well-being for most people, because it provides the platform that offers “caring, giving, and collective action,” which in turn lead to “trust, solidarity and mutual respect” (Anderson 2017, 3). This leads to another closely related concept, social cohesion, which is discussed by urban theorists in much the same language as they talk about sustainability. In many ways, the city is anything but cohesive. In his incisive 1949 essay “Here is New York,” for example, E. B. White captures the diversity and complexity of city life: “New York is the concentrate of art and commerce and sport and religion and entertainment and finance, bringing to a single compact arena the gladiator, the evangelist, the promoter, the actor, the trader and the merchant.” But White also realises that the idea of a “single compact arena” is somewhat deceptive, because the city is itself “literally a composite of tens of thousands of tiny neighborhood units” (White 2002a, 296, 702). The same pieces that fracture the urban jigsaw can also help strengthen the total picture. Each neighbourhood, often representing ethnic diversity, can bring particular assets and skillsets to contribute to the welfare of the city. They can also offer hubs of collaboration and specialisation that foster innovation and production. When all is working well together, the result is social cohesion.

The issue of cohesion dominated urban studies in the early 1900s as sociologists tried to get a handle on the results of rapid urbanisation, where the traditional societal links of family, shared values, and shared religion were being swallowed up in the anonymity and isolation of the city (Forrest and Kearns 2001, 2125). Caterina Cortese and colleagues acknowledge that social cohesion is a “fuzzy term” that is not easily defined or measured. But it is now widely accepted as a “multi-dimensional concept” including concepts such as “common values and a civic culture; social order and social control; social solidarity and reduction in wealth disparities; place attachment and identity; or social networks and social capital” (Cortese et al. 2013, 2052). In their comprehensive review of recent literature on social cohesion, Schiefer and van der Noll define it as “the quality of collective togetherness,” and identify three fundamental building blocks: “social relations, sense of belonging, and orientation towards the common good” (Schiefer and van der Noll 2017, 580-581, 592).

Summary Today there are competing visions of the city as urban developers, planners, and other social scientists think about, discuss, and imagine urban futures. There is talk of creative cities (Jason Rentfrow 2011), 144 smart cities (Anthopoulos 2017), ecological cities (Parham and Konvitz 1996), green cities (Kahn 2006), digital cities (Scott 2016), sharing cities (McLaren and Agyeman 2015), open cities (Allon 2013), and even spiritual cities (Sheldrake 2014). Linking these disparate labels, themes, and perspectives, is a shared vision for healthy cities that enjoy higher quality of life, economic health, sustainability, resilience, and cohesion. Although not always explicitly stated, there is an increasing acknowledgment of the need for spiritual considerations to provide a more wholistic perspective, and to help give life to otherwise secular views of the city. Clearly, religion can be a divisive force, but it can also offer resources to build social cohesion. The near-spiritual language that filters into discourse about urban sustainability, resilience, and cohesion points to the poverty of strictly material and mechanistic considerations of urban welfare. Through urban centres of influence, Adventists are well placed to bring compassionate care to help urban individuals and families in various forms, provide emotional and physical care, and build healthy community networks.

In the next chapter I will develop an Adventist theology of urban mission, and this should not be seen as something separate or remote from the discussions in this chapter. Writing to the church in the city of Ephesus, the apostle Paul26 talks in explicitly spiritual terms: “For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places” (Ephesians 6:12, KJV). While American cities can produce great beauty and promote and sustain human flourishing in many ways, they can also be places where “spiritual wickedness” is made tangible. Symptoms include systemic poverty, racism, governmental corruption, fractured families and relationships, anomie, crime, disease. The best research in social sciences such as urban studies can help combat many of these problems but will not directly address the spiritual needs of an urban community.

Centres of influence, as hubs of wholistic mission, can help strengthen what sociologist Eric Klinenberg calls a city’s “social infrastructure.” He defines social infrastructure as “the physical places and organizations that shape the way people interact” and goes so far as to claim that “building places where all kinds of people can gather is the best way to repair the fractured societies we live in today.”

26 Academics are divided on whether or not Paul authored the book of Ephesians. I take the traditional view, advocated by scholars such as N. T. Wright and Harold Hoehner (Wright 2013, 58-61, Hoehner 2002, 2-49) 145 For Klinenberg, religious institutions such as churches play a major role in maintaining a healthy social infrastructure because they act as vital sites for community building, and also because they are located almost everywhere. “Religious institutions are driven by moral and spiritual concerns,” he writes, “and are deeply engaged in the lives of their congregants” (Klinenberg 2018, 5, 11, 188). Agents of social infrastructure can also play a critical role in supporting oppressed and marginalised groups in the city. “Black Americans, and all other groups that face severe discrimination, need spaces that foster support and cohesion,” Klinenberg adds. He argues that among many other important roles, social infrastructures such as churches and barbershops can function as “safe spaces” for people who are “subjected to prejudice, discrimination, and violence.” He points to the black church and the black barbershop, for example, as prominent institutions that support what he calls “a robust counterpublic” (Klinenberg 2018, 160).

Omri Elisha paints a pessimistic picture of the contributions made by evangelical churches to wholistic urban mission. He describes many conservative evangelical churches and denominations as having maintained what he calls “positions of social withdrawal” over the past century. Instead of social action, they have emphasised proselytising and remaining culturally separate (Elisha 2008, 156). This is an overly harsh assessment in view of the large amount of city work that has been and continues to be conducted by evangelicals, particularly by black and Hispanic groups that have resisted movement out to the suburbs. Yet Elisha’s comment is a reminder that wholistic mission cannot be content with a short-term evangelistic approach. It must be an on-the-ground incarnational endeavour, strengthening the social infrastructure of the city. In serving as urban third spaces, facilitating social interaction, and promoting community engagement, centres of influence can play a crucial part in this endeavour. And this endeavour can only become stronger through dialogue with urban theorists and planners who, with perhaps some differing motives and even goals, should be seen as partners in the positive transformation of urban life.

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147 Chapter 6: Toward an Adventist Theology of Urban Mission

In the previous chapter, consideration was given to what the social sciences, specifically urban studies, might contribute to a better understanding of how the Seventh-day Adventist Church could and should conduct its urban mission. This chapter will build on that conversation by examining texts and tradition from Christianity in general and from Adventism in particular for insights into the best response to current Adventist engagement in the city. This is a continuation of the third theological task in Richard Osmer’s theoretical framework that is guiding this thesis.

There are two assumptions that I work with in this chapter. The first is something that William Myatt points to that should be obvious but is often overlooked, namely that all Christian expressions are constructed in specific historical situations. All theologies have “a culture, a cultural memory, and a history of narratives that populate that culture” (Myatt 2016, 186, 187). Adventist theology, like any other theology, cannot be conducted in a vacuum. All theologies engage, consciously or unconsciously, such things as the historical moments, the cultural environments, and the physical locations of where they are constructed. For example, it is reasonable for Johann Metz to ask whether any worthwhile theology post-holocaust can ignore this twentieth century tragedy (Metz 1994, 611, 612). Likewise, and especially relevant for this thesis, Chris Rowland correctly suggests that a theology that starts with discussing such things as life in shanty towns and the land struggles of the poor is going to look markedly different from a theology that starts with an insulated discussion of the Bible and tradition (Shannahan 2010, 10).

The second assumption is that one of the highest priorities of theology is to engage and serve the community. Duncan Forrester describes public theology as “not primarily and directly evangelical theology which addresses the Gospel to the world in the hope of repentance and conversion. Rather, it is theology which seeks the welfare of the city before protecting the interests of the Church . . .” (Forrester 2004, 6). My theological reflection in this chapter might seem like wanting to have my cake and eat it, too, but I do not see Forrester’s alternatives as mutually exclusive. Rather, I envisage a wholistic approach that is both a call to seek the welfare of the city and an invitation to repentance; a turn to God and the values of God’s kingdom, and a turn away from lives that damage and alienate. I do not equate addressing the gospel to the world with “protecting the interest of the Church” even though it is undoubtedly in the interest of, indeed is fundamental to, the church’s existence. 148 Starting Point The theological reflection in this thesis is launched not from a Bible verse or a particular theological school of thought, but instead from the current practice of the Seventh-day Adventist Church in urban areas in North America. This urban starting point will necessarily place parameters around the types of theological reflection that are relevant. It will also shape the types of questions that will be addressed in the theological reflection. Despite their focus on “action” and “lived and concrete communities,” practical theology studies have, according to Andrew Root, struggled to actually have any impact on people working in those communities. He writes that these theological works have “rarely been meaningful to the practitioners themselves, remaining instead in academic papers and monographs” (Root, Ingram, and Viisimaa 2014, 67). Despite Root’s pessimistic assessment, in this chapter it will be argued that strong theological resources can be brought to bear on and from the Adventist Church’s urban mission plans and activities, and those resources can only serve to strengthen those activities and plans.

Although various Adventist theologians have addressed the topic of urban mission to varying degrees, a comprehensive theology of Adventist urban mission remains to be developed. Adventist missiologist Kelvin Onongha argues that the church’s belated attention to urban mission is due, to a large extent, to the lack of an Adventist theological framework for the endeavour (Onongha 2019, 23).27 As has been shown in previous chapters, the dominant Adventist discourse has seen the city as an unhealthful Vanity Fair, full of amusements, temptations, and other dangers; a threat to physical and spiritual health. This perspective has been a serious impediment to ongoing engagement of any type in the city. And although the United States is highly urbanised, Adventist sympathies, interests, and resources have historically largely been placed elsewhere. And when Adventist churches have been located in the cities, they have often been commuter churches, with members and attendees driving to the buildings on Saturday mornings from rural or more suburban locations. With some exceptions, Adventist mission in American cities has tended to focus on short-term events such as public evangelistic meetings. This emphasis is revealed in language such as “large-city evangelism thrusts,” “public evangelism campaigns,” and “citywide crusades,” language better suited to short-term military

27 Onongha’s suggested theological framework revolves around six foci: “redemption, restoration, relief, refuge, relevance, and resistance” (Onongha 2019, 32).

149 strikes than long-term mission. Of course, many Adventist churches are embedded in their local urban communities, helping their communities on an ongoing basis. But the “large-city evangelism thrust” is more typical of an Adventist discourse which, almost by default, turns to the method of short-term public meetings or events.

A Theological Window As the Adventist Church looks at the city the vista can be overwhelming. The city is an enigmatic phenomenon, a conglomeration of hundreds of disparate cultures, languages, and people groups. It is a complex and complicated place, resistant to easy categorisation or description. Just as soon as one feels one is getting a grip on the nature of a city, a street corner is turned and another unfamiliar world opens up. It will be argued in this chapter that the way the church views the city is of fundamental importance to the way it conducts its urban mission, and so a theological window will be constructed in order to provide a clearer vision for Adventist urban mission (see Figure E). The bottom horizontal side of the window, the foundation that frames this vision, will be the biblical description of Jesus looking with compassion on the crowds of people he describes as “harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd” (Matthew 9:36, NRSV). It will be argued that this indicates the stance, the perspective, from which Adventist urban mission must be conducted. The left side of the window frame will be the doctrine of the incarnation, modelled on the biblical account of the logos being transformed into human flesh in the person of Jesus, who came to live among human beings (John 1:14). In this context it will be suggested that an essential part of incarnation is the principle of contextualisation, the process of adapting method and practice according to specific situations and encounters (1 Corinthians 9:22). The right side of the frame will be the concept of the gospel, or good news, and its meaning in terms of salvation, reconciliation, and healing. And finally, the view of wholistic urban mission will be framed at the top of the window by the instruction given to the Jewish exiles in Babylon to work for and pray for the shalom of that city (Jeremiah 29:7). Shalom indicates a wholistic approach, where urban mission is not fragmentary or arbitrary but seeks to provide wholistic care for the community and the individuals within it.

150

SHALOM

ADVENTIST GOSPEL INCARNATION URBAN VISION

COMPASSION

Figure E Adventist Urban Vision

Some might argue that the choice of these four framing concepts is arbitrary; after all, there are many other worthy principles that could be chosen from the Bible and Christian thinking that speak to the issues of this thesis. While this might be true, it will be shown that these specific choices speak from and to fundamental issues being faced in urban communities in North America, and they also resonate with relevant beliefs and values that lie at the heart of Adventist theology. This suggested framework could also be critiqued as focusing too much on human agency, minimising the transcendent, and downplaying the role of God’s activity. According to Andrew Root’s classification, for example, the theological approach of this chapter would be soul-mates with other theologies that he feels focus too much on imitatio Christi while neglecting “the more dynamic” participatio Christi (Root, Ingram, and Viisimaa 2014, 72). Root argues for a more prominent acknowledgment in practical theology of divine action and states: “We participate in Jesus, are called disciples, because we have died with Christ, and we are now given life through Christ’s ministry of cross and resurrection (this is Christopraxis)” (Root, Ingram, and Viisimaa 2014, 73).

One of the challenges of a statement such as Root’s is that it is essentially meaningless outside of an in-house group of Christian thinkers. What does it mean to “participate in Jesus”? What is “Christ’s ministry of cross and resurrection”? How can we “die with Christ”? Some of these phrases reflect the actual wording of biblical passages, but even within the Christian faith their meaning is subject to 151 much debate, variety of opinion, and misunderstanding. This would be less of a problem if the intention was to communicate only with an insider group of believers, but an essential part of the practical theology of this thesis is to present a view that is understandable to, and can make a difference in, the marketplace. In this thesis, as a work of Christian practical theology, it is taken as a given that God takes an active role in the church’s mission, to guide, to strengthen, to bless. How that happens is a mystery and cannot be quantified, even though some claim to have directly experienced it. While affirming the role and vital importance of the divine, this thesis is focused more on exploring the nature of the church’s response to the divine through following biblical principles, especially those found in the life and teachings of Jesus.

Compassion An Adventist theology of the city must acknowledge the church’s historic lack of attention to the city, address its current engagements and non-engagements with the city, and position the city in a central part of the church’s locus of care and concern. It must involve a new perspective of mindful engagement and compassion. Johann Metz helpfully defines compassion as the opposite of indifference: “a participatory awareness of the strangers’ suffering” (Metz 2014, 30). The Second Testament describes Jesus as displaying this type of compassion as he travels through villages and towns healing people’s physical needs and telling them the good news of how they can be part of his kingdom. This is an ideal and powerful foundation for starting to frame a theological window for a clearer urban mission.

When Matthew writes that Jesus had compassion for the crowds, the Greek word used for the feeling of compassion, splagchnizomai, does not describe some superficial feeling, a mere metaphorical nod toward caring. It denotes almost a physical reaction, a feeling deep within one’s body. Amanda Miller says this Greek word literally means “moved in the guts” (Miller 2015, 465) and Daniel Louw refers to “a theology of the intestines” (Louw 2015, 8). Karl Barth writes that Jesus experiencing splagchnizomai meant that the sufferings and needs of others “went right into his heart, into himself, so that it was now his misery. It was more his than that of those who suffered it” (quoted in Burns 2003, 47). And Metz adds that true compassion is not “a somewhat vague empathy” or “inconsequential piety” or a “philanthropic sentiment.” It is not something contained in our private lives, but something that “sends us to the front of today’s political, social, and cultural conflicts” (Metz 2014, 30-31).

152 The continuing relevance of this depth of compassion is reflected in an article in Clinical Medicine, where John Saunders draws from two biblical stories Jesus told, the prodigal son and the good Samaritan, to argue for more attention to compassion in health care. For Saunders, these two parables illustrate compassion as a virtue, an expression of character, and an emotional, not just a rational, response. In both these stories splagchizomai takes centre stage. First, the father in the prodigal son story sees from a distance his son returning home, immediately feels splagchizomai, and defying cultural expectations for someone of his status, runs to his son to welcome him home (Luke 15:20). Likewise, in the good Samaritan story a Samaritan undercuts societal and religious expectations and shows splagchizomai to a man brutally attacked and robbed on the road between Jerusalem and Jericho (Luke 10:33). His compassion stands out in stark contrast to the lack of compassion shown by religious leaders who passed by the injured man. As Saunders and many others recognise, biblical stories such as these “have become part of our culture” (Saunders 2015, 121). The power of these stories is reflected in the fact that the terms “prodigal son” and “good Samaritan” have entered common vocabulary, at least in the west, and are widely understood even in non-Christian contexts.

Lack of compassion is addressed in the First Testament story of the prophet Jonah, whom God calls on an urban mission to warn the people of Nineveh, the capital of the Assyrians, that their wickedness will result in their destruction. The narrative describes Jonah’s initial disobedience to God’s call, God’s intervention, and finally Jonah’s reluctant acquiescence. A key theme of the story is the lack of compassion Jonah has for the residents of Nineveh. Ironically the pagan sailors in the story show more compassion for the Jewish prophet than he shows for pagan Nineveh (Jonah 1:12-14). In a further ironic twist, Jonah gets more upset about the death of a plant that has been sheltering him from the sun than he does about the prospective death of thousands of people in the city (Jonah 4:7-10). The culmination and most important part of the story is the final verse of the book, where God asks Jonah a rhetorical question: “And should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city?” (Jonah 4:11, NRSV). The Hebrew word translated here as “concerned,” achus, is also translated as compassion and pity. It is used to full ironic force because a few verses earlier Jonah had felt achus for the plant that died. And so here in verse 11 the translation should probably be, “Should I not be even more concerned about Nineveh, that great city?” God’s capacity for compassion is so great that it bewilders and threatens one of his own prophets (Jonah 4:1-3).

This story reveals God’s concern and compassion extending through and past the Jewish community to include Gentile urban-dwellers. In the Second Testament, the author Luke intentionally draws on the 153 Jonah narrative to frame his description of the early church’s first Gentile convert, Cornelius. Robert Wall outlines many of the parallels in the stories: both Jonah and Peter are in Joppa when God calls them with a larger vision; they are both told to “arise and go;” God has to intervene with both Peter and Jonah to get them to go; in both stories the Gentiles choose to believe and follow God; and in both cases there is a negative reaction (Jonah himself and, in Peter’s case, the leaders in Jerusalem). By constructing his story in this way, Luke adds historic precedent and legitimacy to his argument that God’s redemptive mission also extends outside the Jewish community to the Gentiles (Wall 1987, 80).

This should not have been a surprise to early Christian leaders, because God’s concern for Gentiles is a dominant theme throughout the First Testament prophetic writings. For example, God tells the prophet Isaiah: “I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth” (Isaiah 49:6, NRSV). Isaiah also prophesies that one day there would be “an altar to the LORD in the center of the land of Egypt” (Isaiah 19:19, NRSV). Echoing Jonah, he adds Assyria to the list: “. . . and the Egyptians will worship with the Assyrians. On that day Israel will be the third with Egypt and Assyria, a blessing in the midst of the earth . . .” (Isaiah 19:23, 24, NIV). Compassion was also a notable attribute in the lives of early Christians. Susan Wessel says that compassion is “at the very heart of the Christian tradition” and that the early Christians “defined it, argued about it, urged people to practice it, and described in graphic detail how and when it must thrive. With a shared moral concern for human flourishing, they articulated the meaning and relevance of compassion for the Christian life.” Further, Wessel traces the origins of demonstrating compassion, in the sense of truly feeling for someone else’s suffering, to the early Christians (Wessel 2016, 1, 2, 24).

This Christian sense of compassion for “the other” is of prime importance for a meaningful Adventist urban mission in North America today. It means that attention and priorities should be re-focused and re-aligned not only in terms of geography, toward the cities, but also in terms of motivation. Historically, for example, Adventist “success” in mission endeavours has largely been measured in terms of numbers of baptisms and membership accessions. This is what is regularly celebrated in official church reports and front-cover news stories in church magazines. But a compassion-driven mission will measure success more in terms of no-strings-attached faithfulness, integrity, and compassion. In the early 1980s the Adventist Church in North America adopted the slogan “The Caring Church” (Johnsson 1983, 11). While laudatory in its aims and message, the slogan was flawed because such a slogan is not something you award yourself; it is something that must be earned. As 154 James Cress, then-director of the Ministerial Department at the church’s world headquarters, wryly observed, not even Adventists believed it (Cress Unknown, slide 7).

An Adventist theology of the city must have an affirmative answer to God’s rhetorical question to Jonah, “Should I not be concerned about that great city?” It is a heuristic ending to a short story that casts a compassionate vision and serves as a reminder that the church’s concern must extend past its own community of faith to others from different worldviews, cultures, beliefs, and geographical locations, including the city. Despite repeated calls for greater engagement in the cities at various times in its history, urban mission has often been a blind-spot in the church’s mission enterprise. An Adventist theology of mission must echo God’s concern for the city and call for a larger place for the city in the church’s mission horizon. To continue to ignore the city is to undermine the church’s integrity as a mission organisation. As Elizabeth Vasko says, ignorance is a denial of the heart of Christianity and “encourages isolation and, ultimately, escapism from our very humanity” (Vasko 2015, 7).

Perhaps no Adventist has been less ignorant of the needs of the city than physician David Paulson (1868-1916), who as mentioned earlier in this thesis worked with John Harvey Kellogg for many years in the Chicago Medical Mission. In a 1901 article entitled, “The True Motive of Christian Service,” Paulson addresses wholistic urban ministry not just from a theoretical perspective, but from his own extensive experience. His article distinguishes between those who focus on making church members, and those who love people unconditionally like Jesus; between those who aim to “forward the cause or some branch of the work,” and those who are focused on “humanity.” Jesus focused on “needs” and not on “results.” It is only “genuine love for humanity,” says Paulson, which will “win people” to Christ. The person who is interested in ministering only to people he or she thinks can become church members actually builds “distrust and suspicion” and “closes more and more doors” (Paulson 1901, 717). For Paulson, wholistic mission was intimately connected with demonstrating compassion. Speaking on another occasion about urban mission, he said that someone may not have genius or skill or wealth, but he or she “can bring what is far better—compassion” (Paulson 1921, 25).

Incarnation Demonstrating true compassion involves intimacy and close identification with people, which leads to the left side of the Adventist Urban Vision frame, incarnation. The importance of this approach is 155 stressed by Adventist missiologists (Gonçalves 2014, 87-88, McEdward 2011, 74, Dias 2019, 43-45, but the dominant Adventist discourse of encouraging church members to live away from the cities has led to an understanding of urban mission as something that should be conducted at a distance, from outside the cities. This approach often calls on the “outpost evangelism” narrative to support it. This narrative is based on Ellen White’s writing about “outpost centres,” which many have interpreted as places where “workers” could live safely away from the cities, and travel into the cities to minister. In a recent paper, David Trim argues that White’s outpost concept was more nuanced than simply a rural base from which Adventists could make safe sorties into the city (Trim 2018). These centres were envisaged as places of rural reinvigoration, where church workers and other city-dwellers could come to be refreshed. White never departed from the view that work would have to be done from within the cities, not just from outside them. However, as George Knight points out, the narrative of urban ministry from a distance has received most of the press within Adventism, which has downplayed or ignored White’s wider perspective on city mission (Knight 2013, 716).

The ministry-from-a-distance narrative has conveniently supported Adventists’ preference for rural living. Trim, for example, points to a decline in Adventist urban mission in the years leading up to 1920. One of the major factors for this he captures in this way: “It was difficult, dirty, smelly, insalubrious work, involving ministry to the working classes, to immigrants, to African Americans, to the poor and the prostitutes—all this meant it attracted social stigma. But Seventh-day Adventists wanted to be respectable” (Trim 2017, 13). There has also been a certain Adventist attraction to out- sourcing urban “evangelism” to literature distribution, social media, television and radio programs, or to professional evangelists who can come into the city and run public meetings for a few weeks, with limited need for ongoing commitment of time and resources by church members.

However, any attempt to reduce mission to something conducted from a distance or by proxy negates the biblical view of incarnational ministry, which the apostle John describes in John 1 in terms of the logos. To Jewish readers, the concept of the logos had a direct connection to their understanding of the word of God that created the world, as well as to his teachings, or law (Deut. 32:45-47). For Greek readers, logos had other meanings. According to Greek philosophers, for example, the logos was the all-pervasive life force balancing the natural world and keeping the universe together (Hendricks 2014). The symmetry of a leaf, the harmony of the seasons, the stars in the sky, all were kept in balance by the logos. For both the Jewish and the Greek reader, John makes a startling claim: this logos became flesh and broke into human history in a specific place at a specific time with a specific 156 purpose, to bring salvation to humanity. Neil Pembroke says that the incarnation “. . . demonstrates clearly that God was not content simply to know about human experience, God entered fully into it. (Pembroke 2019, 138). As John writes, “And the Word [logos] became flesh and lived among us” (John 1:14, NRSV).

The incarnation of the logos is a central theme in the prolific writings of John Chrysostom, a fourth- century Greek bishop, who uses the Greek word sunkatabasis to capture the concept of God’s considerateness and accommodation in coming to earth in human form (John 1:14). Often this word is translated as “condescension,” but David Rylaarsdam argues convincingly that “adaptability” more fully represents its meaning (Rylaarsdam 2000, 19). It is a rich Greek word, and Chrysostom draws a direct link between the sunkatabasis displayed by Jesus in taking on human flesh, and the sunkatabasis displayed by the apostle Paul (see, for example, Rylaarsdam 2000, 312, 320). In his first letter to the Corinthians, the apostle Paul describes his mission methodology in terms of adapting to his audience. He writes: “For though I am free with respect to all, I have made myself a slave to all, so that I might win more of them. To the Jews I became as a Jew, in order to win Jews. . . . I have become all things to all people, that I might by all means save some. I do it all for the sake of the gospel, so that I may share in its blessings (1 Corinthians 9:19-23, NRSV).

On the surface this may seem a problematic admission of dishonesty, of pretending to be somebody you are not, or acting in a way that is false. But here Paul is not talking about deception, but rather about translation; shaping himself and his message to make it meaningful and understandable to different people groups. Chrysostom compares Paul to a physician who uses different treatments for different patients, and to a teacher who varies his speech for different students (Reis 2007, 26). David Reis argues that, like the incarnation of Jesus, Paul’s methodology represents “a deliberate modification of his presentations and a lowering of his own status for the sake of connecting with the intellectual capabilities of his audience” (Reis 2007, 27). Paul follows a distinct pattern when he is speaking to Jewish people and to those who “feared God” (see, for example, Acts 17:1-3), which is vastly different from the way he engages with pagans (see, for example, Acts 14:15-17). Paul felt comfortable sharing from the First Testament with fellow Jews because it was a commonly accepted text from which to work, and he then uses this text as a springboard for discussing Jesus. But when talking to pagans he never appeals to scripture as an authority. Instead, he refers to the natural world, which he uses as a basis for talking about the creator. For example, when speaking before Stoic and Epicurean philosophers at the Aeropagus on Mars Hill, in Athens, Paul begins by noting that the 157 people of Athens were very religious, and he refers to their statue to the unknown god. He then quotes some of their own poetry: “In Him we live and move and have our being," which is possibly from De Oraculis, written by the seventh-century BCE Cretan poet Epimenides. And he quotes "we are also His offspring" from The Phenomena, written in the third century BCE by Aratus and echoing Cleanthe’s use of a similar line in his Hymn of Zeus (Minn 1974, 95, 96). Again Paul looks to the common ground of nature, and from there makes a connection to the supernatural (Acts 17:22-28).

The sunkatabasis or contextualisation in the lives of Jesus and Paul models a depth of connection that cannot be achieved at a distance and, for both of them, the purpose of this connection was mission. Jesus’ mission involved revealing God in a way that humans could grasp, at least as much as it is possible for humans to grasp (John 14:7-11; 1:18). The apostle Paul adapted himself and his message for the purposes of his mission, which was “that I might by all means save some” (1 Cor. 9:23, NRSV). An authentic Adventist urban mission, likewise, must discover appropriate forms of sunkatabasis for ministry in urban communities. Although the church may not always live up to the ideal of being a centre for healing and wholeness, it still has spiritual resources to reach out to help the varieties of brokenness that are found in the city. But it cannot do it on its own terms, in its own skin, so to speak. It must incarnate into the community not as a rigid institution or a silver-bullet solution, but as an adaptable agency of compassion and shalom. This may involve shedding cultural norms and traditions that help define a rural Adventism that may not be appropriate to the realities and rhythms of the city. This could include a range of changes, from something as superficial as the style and timing of its worship services and activities to something as significant as meeting in homes or cafés rather than in church buildings with pews. It should mean that the Adventist expressions of mission should be organic so that they will look and sound different according to geographical location and the different needs of different people groups even within the same city. Centres of influence should be embedded into the fabric of the community, ministering to and with the community, not alien imports operating on their own terms. The guiding principle is that the purpose of sunkatabasis is more effective mission to others, not greater comfort for church members.

Salvation An incarnated church that is practising sunkatabasis will seek to bring healing to brokenness and alienation in lives and communities, a concept that frames the urban vision window on the right side. In “The Great Towns” chapter of The Condition of the Working Class in England in 1844, Friedrich 158 Engels writes of “the brutal indifference” and “unfeeling isolation” that arises from humans crowded together in cities. Although Engels describes this estrangement as being part of the general human condition, he sees it manifest most markedly in cities. “The dissolution of mankind into monads,” he writes, “of which each one has a separate principle, the world of atoms, is here carried out to its utmost extreme” (Engels 1950, 24). Karl Marx expands this idea of estrangement into his theory of alienation, where people become mere cogs in the industrial machinery, separated from the fruits of their labour.

In recent years, Marx’s theory of alienation has been undermined by poststructuralist critiques and philosophical liberalism that deny any type of objective criteria for “the good life.” As Rahel Jaeggi argues, the concept of alienation depends on the assumption that there is such a thing as an objective human purpose, or good. But such an assumption flies in the face of the fundamental liberal ideas that each individual manages her own life, and defines for herself what the good life is for her (Jaeggi 2014, 28, 29). Thus, for theorists who can no longer accept that there is some kind of fundamental human nature or essence, the concept of alienation is rendered meaningless. In other words, there is no objective standard from which alienation can be measured.

And yet the concept of alienation is such a rich tool for understanding human relations and society that theorists are reluctant to lose it. As prominent philosopher Axel Honneth says, “. . . our philosophical vocabulary lacks something important if it no longer has the concept of alienation at its disposal” (Honneth 2014, vii, viii). Likewise, his colleague Frederick Neuhouser argues that there is a need to resurrect the theoretical concept of alienation to more sufficiently account for the various forms of estrangement faced today. These forms of estrangement include such things as a lack of meaning, indifference, and “bifurcation of the self” (Neuhouser 2014, xi). The nature of the city tends to concentrate and magnify these forms of estrangement, functioning almost like a human laboratory where the extraordinary density of people living in close proximity serves, almost counter-intuitively, to magnify forms of dislocation and alienation. Paul Auster captures this phenomenon through one of his literary characters, Quinn, who experiences New York City as a walker: “New York was an inexhaustible space, a labyrinth of endless steps, and no matter how far he walked, no matter how well he came to know its neighborhoods and streets, it always left him with the feeling of being lost. Lost, not only in the city, but within himself as well” (Auster 1990, 4).

Physical lostness is characterised by disorientation, and an inability to reorient oneself (Jones Christensen and Hammond 2015, 409), and the concept of physical lostness provides a useful tool for 159 understanding psychological and spiritual lostness. Nicole Ja and Paul Jose define psychological lostness as “an internal state in which one feels stuck and directionless” (Ja and Jose 2017, 2029), a state that can also elicit feelings of alienation, loneliness, and separation. Lostness is a major theme in the teachings of Jesus, and in the story of his encounter with a tax collector named Zacchaeus he links it to the concept of salvation. Details are sketchy regarding the encounter, but at the end of it Zacchaeus appears as a changed man, repenting of his past fraud and vowing to make restitution to people he has cheated. In response, Jesus declares that salvation has come to his house and, further, that Zacchaeus’s experience illustrates his mission, which is “to seek and to save the lost” (Luke 19:10, RSV). The Greek word translated “lost” (and the same is true for the Hebrew word) has as its root meaning destruction. Thus, the passage seems to indicate that Zacchaeus had been travelling down a dangerous and destructive pathway, where money and possessions had become more important than people, and he was lost in his badly misguided priorities. Because of Jesus, he repents, which literally means he turns around, and starts walking in the opposite spiritual direction. The corrupt, materialistic path he had been on was one of lostness and destruction; his new path is one of healing and salvation. The good news Jesus offered allowed Zacchaeus to find a new and more flourishing, or abundant, life. The Zacchaeus story is a reminder that there are various forms of lostness, and it is not only the urban poor who may be experiencing the condition, but also the occupants of multi-million dollar apartments who have full bank accounts but empty lives.

Earlier in the book of Luke, Jesus tells three stories about lostness (the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost son), which also take place in the context of the larger etymological meaning of destruction (Luke 15). This sheep is not only lost, it would face all sorts of mortal dangers outside the safety of the sheepfold (Luke 15:4). Likewise, the coin, although it obviously has no consciousness, completely loses its worth buried hidden in a dusty corner somewhere (Luke 15:8). And the lostness of the son, revealed in his going to a far country and indulging in “dissolute living,” takes on a harder, more dangerous edge when his money and his friends run out, and he is forced to deny his religious-cultural heritage and identity, and work in a pig pen just to survive (Luke 15:13-15, NRSV). The pivotal moment for the young man is when he “came to himself” and realised he would be better off even as a servant in his father’s house (Luke 15:17, NRSV).

Jesus describes the son finding his way home physically, but not spiritually. He heads for home in great shame, with no anticipation or conception of the depth of his father’s unconditional love that will be revealed in his welcome, and his father’s total disinterest in his son’s rehearsed speech of contrition. 160 When his father sees him from a far distance, he runs to him and embraces him. It is at that moment that the son begins to shed his lostness, and to bask in the joy of being where he belongs (Luke 15:17- 22). In these stories, Jesus illustrates what he calls the “good news of the kingdom.” The father commands the preparation of the fatted calf to care for the physical needs of his son, who no doubt has grown skinny and unwell from the nutritional limitations of eating pig fodder. But the command is more than that. It is an acknowledgment that they will eat and celebrate at the table together, with all the resonances of acceptance and fellowship that accompany that act. Moreover, he is given a ring for his finger and fresh garments to wear, symbolising celebration, acceptance, re-alignment, and a fresh start (Luke 15:22-24).

Jesus does not give details about the far country to which the son went. Chances are he went to a city, and as Paul Auster’s urban walker reveals, the city provides the perfect incubator for losing one’s identity and direction. Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard was also a frequent walker of city streets. He rarely left the city and, in fact, lived most of his life within a one-kilometre radius of Copenhagen’s Vor Frue Kirke. This was the church he attended, occasionally spoke at and, despite his lifelong struggles against the state church and what it represented, where his funeral was held (Lippitt and Pattison 2013, 44). A popular view has Kierkegaard pounding the streets of Copenhagen day and night, literally wearing out pair after pair of shoes, while his thoughts were a million miles away. According to this view, although city streets provided the physical stage or backdrop to much of his writing, his true concerns lay elsewhere. In other words, although Kierkegaard was physically located in Copenhagen, for all practical purposes his intellectual universe was unconstrained and unaffected by what was happening around him.

Although there may be an element of truth to this narrative, it became increasingly less true the longer Kierkegaard lived in the city. Kierkegaard expressed disdain for a merely intellectual faith, and argued that the challenge was to practise Christianity “here in Copenhagen, in Amager Square, in the everyday hustle and bustle of weekday life” (quoted in Lippitt and Pattison 2013, 45). In 1855 he wrote, “So preaching should not take place in churches, but on the street, in the midst of life, in the reality of the daily workaday world” (quoted in Garff 2007, 703). In other words, salvation was not just a theoretical concept to bounce around in the head and on to paper but must find its meaning and expression in city streets, where people are easily lost. According to biographer Joakim Garff, Kierkegaard’s social and political conscience was transformed after the 1840s. In fact, Kierkegaard went so far as to blame the established church for contributing to the rise of the proletariat and its associated ills. He wrote: “What 161 is unchristian and ungodly is to base the state on a substratum of people whom one ignores totally, denying all kinship with them—even if on Sundays there are moving sermons about loving ‘the neighbor’” (Garff 2007, 704, 705). For Kierkegaard an active and authentic Christianity involves, as Dooley says, “rethinking our identity so as to include those whom we consider alien, other, or foreign” (Dooley 2001, 193). Pointing in the direction of salvation involves embracing, not excluding. So, for Kierkegaard, city streets were more than just another colour to add to his literary palette; they were the location where theology should be put into action. And this is the task of practical theology: to put working clothes on theology, to show how it speaks from, in, and into situations people face in their lives.

In many ways the challenges of urban life in Kierkegaard’s time are echoed in today’s American cities. Silvia Walsh says that “ironic negativity, isolation, anxiety and despair, lack of passion, aimless becoming and bourgeois aestheticism” were characteristic of Kierkegaard’s time (quoted in Dooley 2001, 151). This type of spiritual anomie that echoes Marx’s theory of alienation can be traced from the biblical Garden of Eden story at the beginning of Genesis through to the restored New Earth of Revelation. Alienation remains a key theme throughout the life and history of Israel. It was naturally felt most strongly during times of physical exile, but also often existentially with feelings of abandonment and isolation from God. This can be seen most passionately in the Psalms of Lament. Psalm 22, for example, begins: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from my cries of anguish? My God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, but I find no rest” (Psalm 22:1, 2, NIV). It can also be seen in the despair of prophets such as Habakkuk: “How long, O LORD, must I call for help, but you do not listen? Or cry out to you, ‘Violence!’ but you do not save?” (Habakkuk 1:2, NIV).

Weaving through this discourse is what Walter Brueggemann calls a prominent theme of hope that, despite separation and alienation, Israel will once again experience “companionship and community.” He sees this hope reflected later in the apostle Paul’s words in the Second Testament: “For I am sure that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, not things to come, nor powers, nor heights, nor depths, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the Love of God (In Christ Jesus our Lord) [Rom 8:38-39]” (Brueggemann 1999, 109). Importantly, rather than just hoping and waiting for an end to alienation and separation, Paul says that Jesus’ followers are to actively work for healing and restoration, “[He] gave us the ministry of reconciliation” (2 Cor. 5:28, NIV). And this is a helpful way of looking at salvation. As John Milbank writes, “…the central aspect 162 of salvation is the creation of perfect community between humans and between humans and God.” (Milbank 2009, 345). Likewise Jürgen Moltmann says that salvation “offers us total life in this divided life” and is “a renewal of life” (Moltmann and Kohl 2012, 37).

In some ways it is surprising that Adventism has tended to emphasise a more narrow view of salvation, focusing mainly on individuals “getting to heaven.” It is surprising because such a focus downplays many of the important themes that run through beliefs that are so important to the church, such as biblical creation, the nature of humans, and the seventh-day Sabbath. These tenets of belief are rich in themes of restoration, wholeness, and renewal taking place, not just in the new earth, but now. It would be well for the church to listen to Johann Metz’s prophetic critique of what he calls “bourgeois Christianity’s” apathy in prioritising doctrinal correctness and saving individual sinners, while overlooking social injustices and failing to show solidarity with the suffering (Wessel 2016, 28). A theology focused almost exclusively on “getting to heaven” can overlook the immediate dimensions of salvation for emotional and physical healing, the more abundant life Jesus promises, and the wider implications of salvation for endeavours such as justice, peace-making, fighting racism, and ecological stewardship. Johnny Ramirez-Johnson and Love Sechrest write that when the Christian church focuses on personal salvation and out-sources social responsibility to other organisations, it artificially separates salvation into spiritual and physical dimensions. This “bifurcated ideology” provides fertile soil for unhealthy consequences, such as systemic racism (Ramirez-Johnson and Sechrest 2018, 14, 15). Richard Rice points out that a wholistic view of humanity acknowledges the wide range of dimensions that make us human, “the physical, mental, emotional, social, and spiritual.” Each aspect of these dimensions has been damaged, in some way, through alienation from God and God’s instructions. In the face of this, humans need a salvation that is also wholistic, that speaks to each of these dimensions. Rice writes: “. . . a wholistic view of salvation will envision the eventual restoration of our humanity—in all its essential aspects. Salvation involves physical, emotional, social, spiritual, social, and mental renewal” (Rice 2011, 135).

Shalom Theologian Randy Woodley describes a connection between this wholistic view of God’s salvation, which includes creativity, healing, and restoration, and the biblical concept of shalom—which is the final side to complete the theological framing of an Adventist urban vision. Woodley refers to the reconciliation between Jews and Gentiles that the apostle Paul speaks of in Ephesians 2:14, and says 163 that acts of creation, of building harmony, and of reconciliation, culminate in shalom (Woodley 2012, 43). Shalom, a multi-layered Hebrew word, is rich in meaning, including peace, prosperity, welfare, and wholeness. The central place it should play in urban ministry is highlighted in the experience of the Jewish exiles in Babylon. Psalm 137 sets the stage as it captures a poignant moment in the sixth century BCE as Jewish exiles sit beside Babylonian rivers, lamenting a lost Jerusalem. They are alienated emotionally, physically, and spiritually from their physical and spiritual home. Their captors command them to sing, but they cry out, “. . . how shall we sing the LORD’s song in a strange land?” (Psalm 137:1-4, KJV). This is a fundamental missiological question. How do God’s followers sing this song in new and unfamiliar territories, among different cultural and religious groups, in large urban areas where they do not feel at home, where they have not yet found their voice? In the book of Jeremiah God instructs the exiles how to sing in their new alien urban environment. God dashes their all-consuming hope of quickly returning to their beloved homeland and instead tells them to settle down, build houses, plant gardens, marry, and, perhaps most significantly, seek the shalom of the city: “but seek the welfare [shalom] of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare [shalom] you will find your welfare [shalom] (Jeremiah 29:7, NRSV).28

Walter Brueggemann defines shalom as “a harmonious, properly functioning, life-giving order to society” (Brueggemann 2006, 169). Nicholas Wolterstorff says that First Testament writers understood shalom as “flourishing.” It is the life that “goes well” and is “rightly related” to God (Wolterstorff 2008, 18, 19). As the exiles pray and work for the shalom of the city they, too, will flourish. This is startling counsel for the Jewish exiles. It is one thing for the psalmist to call for people to pray for the shalom of their beloved Jerusalem (Psalm 122:6). It is quite another thing for God to tell them to work and pray for the shalom of a pagan enemy, who has forced them to live in a pagan city. Also shocking is that they are not to keep themselves separate and set up a separate Jewish enclave in the city of Babylon which, sociologically speaking, would be a natural inclination for a group of enslaved captives. After all, it would be so much easier if they kept together as a cultural and religious family. Easier to keep the Sabbath, to eat kosher food, to avoid idolatrous Babylonian practices, to sing songs

28 Adventist Missiologist Gerson Santos says that for the church to accomplish that same task today it needs “to invest, influence, and make a difference in the social and cultural world” where it operates (Santos 2014, 73).

164 of Zion together, and to comfort one another with shared memories and hopes. But God tells them to do the exact opposite, to engage in their society, to bring shalom to the city. There are no specific details on how the exiles responded to this request. But in the stories of the young Jewish men Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, the ancient book of Daniel describes at least some of the exiles taking on political and civic responsibilities in which they could work for the shalom of Babylon (Daniel 1:18-21, 2:48-49, 3:30, 5:29).

The Second Testament continues the theme of shalom and the Greek word eiréné carries much of its meaning, including associations with salvation (for example, Luke 7:50). Willard Swartley outlines some of the themes connected with eiréné in the book of Luke, which include: “redemption from oppression, light to the pagans, forgiveness of sins, blessings to the outsiders (Gentiles, a sinner, women), a ‘yes’ to those of good will . . .” He also shows how eiréné cannot be restricted to only an individual, personal experience. Rather, it refers to “relational and structural realities” of how people are treated, and has overtones of salvation not only at the end of time but in people’s lives now (Swartley 2015, 29, 34). In his ministry of eiréné, Jesus continues the shalom tradition in the towns and villages where he ministers. He does teach in synagogues, but they are not the focus or centre of his wholistic mission. Rather, his healing hand and voice brings shalom to blind men beside dusty roads, women gathered by wells, and tax collectors in trees. As mentioned earlier in this thesis, Ellen White summarises the shalom ministry of Jesus as involving five components: mingling with people, showing sympathy to them, ministering to their needs, winning their confidence, and bidding them to follow him (White 1942, 143).

The early Christian church continued his shalom ministry in blessing the cities of the Roman Empire. Most biblical scholars agree that the early church was an urban church, with a specifically urban mission (see, for example, Ortiz and Conn 2001, 46, Sparks 2000, 46). Extensive research by sociologist Rodney Stark suggests that it was the practical demonstration of shalom by Christians in their communities that fuelled the growth of the early church. Stark argues that Christianity functioned as a “revitalization movement” in the context of a society that was, in many ways, a cruel and miserable existence for the masses. During times of plague and sickness, pagan priests fled the cities while Christians remained to help the sick and suffering. In an oft-quoted statement, Tertullian said: “It is our care of the helpless, our practice of loving kindness that brands us in the eyes of many of our opponents. ‘Only look,’ they say, ‘look how they love one another!’” (Stark 1996, 87). The Emperor Julian wrote: “The impious Galileans support not only their poor, but ours as well, everyone can see 165 that our people lack aid from us” (Stark 1996, 84). Christianity, with its respect for human life and the dignity of all, functioned as a liberating force in urban contexts (Stark 1996, 161, 211).

But there is an extra dimension to shalom that goes beyond personal care to social action for more just and equitable systems and institutions in the city. Wolterstorff argues that for shalom to operate properly in human relationships it must include justice, which he calls “the ground floor” of shalom (Wolterstorff 2008, 20). This is a dominant theme of the First Testament Jewish prophets who repeatedly call for fairness and justice in all aspects of life. The prophet Micah asks, “. . . what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” (Micah 6:8, NRSV). The prophet Amos adds that God has no interest in religious forms and traditions, “But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream” (Amos 5:22-24, NRSV). Working for and praying for the shalom of the city calls for direct care for individuals and communities, but it also calls for attention to structures and systems that may be undermining the shalom of individuals and communities.

Shalom is a wholistic term, and in Jesus’ ministry we see modelled a wholistic ministry that balanced spiritual and physical dimensions: “Then Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues, and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom, and curing every disease and every sickness” (Matthew 9:35, RSV). The official mission statement of the Seventh-day Adventist Church reflects a wholistic approach and lists its four major tasks as preaching, teaching, healing, and discipling. Under “healing” it states, “Affirming the biblical principles of the well-being of the whole person, we make the preservation of health and the healing of the sick a priority and through our ministry to the poor and oppressed, cooperate with the Creator in His compassionate work of restoration” (GCC 2009). The church’s seventh fundamental belief states: “Though created free beings, each is an indivisible unity of body, mind, and spirit, dependent upon God for life and breath and all else” (28 Fundamental Beliefs, 4). Ginger Hanks-Harwood writes that this wholism is “the very cornerstone” on which much of the church’s work has been built (Hanks-Harwood 1995, 127), and a North American survey in the 1980s showed that Adventist theologians viewed “wholism” as the church’s major contribution to the world (Bull and Lockhart 2008, 33). John Wong, author of Christian Wholism, concurs, arguing that Christian wholism is “one of the greatest contributions of Seventh-day Adventism to Christian faith and practice” (Wong 2002, 63).

166 Of course, Adventists do not have a monopoly on wholistic theology or spiritual practice. Other Christian traditions, in various ways and to varying degrees, emphasise the vital importance of wholism. Catholic historian Hugo Rahner, for example, describes a mature Christian as “one who has overcome the pernicious schizophrenia between soul and body, brain and heart, and thus become fully integrated . . .” (quoted in Au 1989, 15), and the term “wholistic health care” is often used to describe the type of care given in faith community nursing (Ziebarth 2016, 1801). All Christian denominations are heavily indebted to the centrality of wholeness in the Jewish tradition, which denies Platonic views of humanity, and sees a human as “a multifaceted unitary being” (Abrahams 2007, 446). Adventism’s approach to wholism elevates healthful living to a central status in its message and mission. For example, most of the 28 Fundamental Beliefs of the Adventist Church address predictable Christian theological topics such as the trinity, salvation, and baptism. But Belief 22, “Christian Behaviour,” includes this strict regimen: “Because our bodies are the temples of the Holy Spirit, we are to care for them intelligently. Along with adequate exercise and rest, we are to adopt the most healthful diet possible and abstain from the unclean foods identified in the Scriptures. Since alcoholic beverages, tobacco, and the irresponsible use of drugs and narcotics are harmful to our bodies, we are to abstain from them as well. Instead, we are to engage in whatever brings our thoughts and bodies into the discipline of Christ, who desires our wholesomeness, joy, and goodness” (28 Fundamental Beliefs, 9).

Adventists often refer to medical and health work as the “right arm of the message,” an expression derived from Ellen White’s writings (White 2002b, 134). As Adventist historian Arthur Patrick writes, “Suffice it to say that ‘the right arm of the message’ is so important to the body of Adventism that without it we would lack the wholeness and strength to aggressively press forward with our mission to bring good news to every ‘nation, tribe, language and people’ (Revelation 14:6, NIV)” (Patrick 2004). White was also the “architect and chief promoter” (Kuhalampi 2010, 30) of what is today known as the “Adventist lifestyle,” and her philosophy of health has been the subject of much research and discussion (see, for example, Reid 1982, Schaefer 1997, Numbers 2007, Robinson 1955, Bull and Lockhart 2007). John Harvey Kellogg and his Battle Creek Sanitarium gave early expression to her vision, which today is reflected in the world’s largest unified Protestant health system. The priority given to this is reflected in the fact that the church employs more than 93,000 people in health-related professions, which is more than the total number of Adventist pastors and teachers combined. The church’s health emphasis also includes long-standing public health advocacy through a wide variety of programs and initiatives promoting a plant-based diet and alcohol and drug-free living.

167 The church’s commitment to wholism is reflected also in its philosophy of education, which again is also heavily indebted to Ellen White (see, for example, Olsen 1988, Trujillo 2013, Chamberlain 2008, Snorrason 2005, Hilde 1970, Fowler 1977). She writes that true education “has to do with the whole being . . .. It is the harmonious development of the physical, the mental, and the spiritual powers” (White 2011, 13). This wholistic approach to education is today demonstrated, to varying degrees, in more than 7,500 schools, colleges, and universities around the world.

However, there are question marks about the grand narrative of Adventist achievements through schools and health institutions. Some critics say the church’s school and health care systems have departed from White’s “blueprint.” They see the school curriculum as insufficiently wholistic, focusing on achieving academic grades to the neglect of involvement in physical labour; on sports rather than proper physical development; on secular studies to the neglect of religious instruction. Likewise, hospitals are seen as focusing more on acute care and drugs rather than wholistic prevention and more natural approaches to cure and rehabilitation advocated by White. Reflecting such claims, which mostly come from the church’s more theologically conservative wing, smaller alternative networks of independent Adventist lay-run schools and health and lifestyle centres have been established that claim to more faithfully represent the wholistic approaches White advocated.

It is also worth considering more deeply, but not here, the extent to which Adventist hospitals and schools might symbolise a growing institutionalised social engagement at the expense of action at the grassroots level of the local church. A wholesale “out-sourcing” of Adventist wholistic urban mission from the local church level to official church institutions and agencies may appear an attractive option in some ways, but it would come at the high cost of individual church member involvement.

The Adventist wholistic approach to urban mission is further bolstered by three key doctrines: the church’s understanding of human nature, its experience of Sabbath, and its conviction to share the gospel in the lead-up to the Second Coming of Jesus. Adventists reject the Platonic separation of human body and soul and hold to the Jewish understanding of the inseparability of human and spiritual life from bodily experience. As Richard Rice says, humans are bodies (they don’t have bodies), and they are souls (they don’t have souls). This is not a unique Adventist view, but it allows Adventists to celebrate human nature, the body and life (Rice 2006, 5, 6). From this perspective, theology should not turn into academic discussions divorced from direct application to life. And a wholistic urban ministry 168 will not be content with caring only about some special spiritual dimension in people’s lives. True mission will speak to the whole person.

The Adventist concept of the seventh-day Sabbath is also foundational to its wholistic approach to ministry (Tonstad 2009). Adventists have often weakened the Sabbath doctrine, reducing it to a debate over whether to worship on Sunday or Saturday. While not sacrificing their commitment to the importance of the seventh day, in more recent years Adventist theologians have sought also to recapture the existential heart of the Sabbath and to reclaim its spiritual strength as an antidote to personal and social alienation and dislocation.29 Of course, it is largely a question of emphasis. Within Adventist history there has always been a rich vein of writing and thinking that explores the human benefits of the Sabbath. For example, Ellen White wrote: “The Sabbath is a sign of creative and redeeming power; it points to God as the source of life and knowledge; it recalls man’s primeval glory, and thus witnesses to God’s purpose to re-create us in His own image. . . . [In the Sabbath] He preserves for the family opportunity for communion with him, with nature, and with one another” (White 1923a, 50). A proper understanding of the Sabbath is of particular relevance to Adventist urban mission. As discussed in the previous chapter, the combination of social density and social isolation of the city, connected to a feeling of being in an uncontrollable environment, is a significant factor in pathogenic urban stress (Adli et al. 2017, 184). The randomness and unpredictability associated with urban living can, in itself, contribute to a feeling of helplessness and lack of control. In such an environment, initiatives for coherence and organisation can lower levels of stress. Psychological studies, for example, suggest that rituals such as the Sabbath can “reduce anxiety and uncertainty” and “create meaning in life, foster personal identity and overcome ambivalence and ambiguity.” The Sabbath also plays a bonding role between people and can foster a sense of community (Dein and Loewenthal 2013, 1383).

29 Some point to the visit of Abraham Heschel to Loma Linda University in 1967 as a pivotal moment in pointing Adventists toward this deeper understanding of the Sabbath. Heschel, then professor of Jewish Ethics and Mysticism at the Jewish Theological Seminary of America, and author of the monumental book The Sabbath, spoke at the annual lecture series on religion and medicine sponsored by the School of Medicine Alumni Association (see The Year in Review 1968, 6, Paulien 2016). 169 The ritual of Sabbath provides a weekly lived experience that can provide a tangible oasis from dislocating forces in the city. Adventists see the seventh-day Sabbath as a 24-hour immersion in physical, emotional, and spiritual rest and renewal. It is a weekly time to subvert the dominance, particularly evident in urban areas, of busyness, acquisition, entertainment, business, and markets. It is a reminder that people are more important than things. Adventist theologian Sigve Tonstad, for example, says: “The Sabbath brings a message of togetherness instead of separation, permanence instead of subjugation, continuity instead of discontinuity, wholeness instead of disintegration . . .” (Tonstad 2009, 514). In addition, the Sabbath commandment with its prohibitions on work and its inclusion of resident aliens, slaves, and the disenfranchised, is rich with implications for equality, ecology, and social justice—concepts of increasing importance in urban areas. Tonstad says the seventh day was the “launching pad for the most exceptional and ambitious project of social justice in the ancient world (Tonstad 2009, 126).

The other half of the name Seventh-day Adventist suggests another central emphasis, the Second Coming of Jesus. In the one-and-a-half centuries since its establishment in 1863, the Adventist Church’s focus on preparing for an imminent Second Coming has led it to be in a hurry and it is not surprising that direct evangelism in various forms would dominate its agenda. With roots deep in Millerite Movement history, the church has clung to the belief in a “soon return” of Jesus, and “time is short” has been a consistent rallying cry. The tenacity to which Adventists hold to hope in the Second Coming is matched by a pessimism about establishing utopia on earth. Central in their belief is that only at the Parousia will final and true justice, freedom, and harmony be inaugurated. And yet while pointing to the importance and urgency of the Second Coming, the church has also invested billions of dollars to “do business” on earth while waiting for Jesus to return (Luke 19:13, RSV), establishing schools, hospitals, media centres, publishing houses, food companies, and numerous other endeavours. The instruction to the Jewish exiles to work for and pray for the shalom of the city while waiting to return to Jerusalem is a reminder to the Adventist Church to not have its sights fixed so firmly on the Second Coming of Jesus that it forgets its responsibilities here on earth. Conversely, the promise of Jesus’ return (John 14:1-4) is a reminder not to have its sights fixed so firmly on this earth that it forgets about that return.

Adventists have connected the Sabbath and the Second Coming of Jesus to the three angels’ messages of Revelation 14:6-12, which they have adopted as their raison d'être and which they see as vital in the lead-up to the Second Coming (Tonstad 2009, 491-495). These messages centre on the loving and just 170 character of God, the free gift of salvation, particularly in light of a coming judgment, and instruction to reject false gods of every variety and worship only God as creator (hence the Sabbath connection). It is perhaps a timely message to urban areas crammed with a plethora of false gods.

Summary The Seventh-day Adventist Church is a relatively young Christian denomination that was naturally shaped and formed in the crucible of the location and times in which it was born. The 1850s and 1860s were a time of spiritual fervour and energy in northeastern America, and the church’s first youthful members and leaders (most were in their teens and twenties), included refugees from the Millerite movement and former Baptists, Methodists, First-Day Adventists, and members of the Christian Connection and other denominations. Naturally in many ways this new denomination reflected the culture, beliefs, and priorities of its Protestant heritage. To this it added its own theological emphases and, soon enough, its own prophet with her own distinctive priorities. Despite the fact that it has now grown from a small American movement to an international church, the unique package that is Seventh-day Adventism today is to a large degree indebted to other Protestant traditions, from which it has liberally drawn.

That is to say, the Adventist theological framework suggested in this chapter has as its foundation a larger Christian framework, and consists largely of insights shared with other Christians. As Adventism brings to the theological table its own touch, its own history, its own insights, its own limitations, it should do so from a stance of humility and gratitude to the wider Christian community. However, it does have its own voice, and this chapter has endeavoured to suggest a way that its practice and beliefs can come together in a unique, compassionate, adaptable mission approach that serves and blesses urban communities. As the Adventist Church moves forward into the twenty-first century, it must allow the principle of the shalom-making ministry of Jesus to guide its discourse about cities and mission to cities. At various points in its history, Adventists have impacted their urban communities with shalom and care, but too easily this has been discarded or placed low on the church’s list of priorities. Clearly, Jesus’ shalom ministry demonstrates that urban ministry involves words and action. It cannot be done from a religious enclave, or on a short-term basis with only passing contact. It involves rubbing shoulders, touching hands, looking into eyes with compassion (Matthew 9:36). It is not just about telling people about the truth of the logos; it is also and more importantly about demonstrating the truth of the logos. In any city, parks should be cleaner, children 171 better-educated, the hungry better-fed, the poor less-exploited, the elderly less lonely, and the spiritually bankrupt more enriched, because Adventists are working for and praying for the shalom of the city. The theological framework outlined in this chapter frames an urban mission vision that can include centres of influence as one way to put that vision into practice.

As noted earlier, there is an inclination within Adventism to separate working-for-the-shalom type activities from direct evangelism and proclamation of church beliefs. Within North America the church is seeking in different ways to integrate its wide range of activities in a more wholistic way. The NAD’s Education department, for example, is continually looking for ways to integrate faith with learning in its 900 elementary and high schools, and many of the 65 hospitals in the various Adventist Health Systems are appointing directors and departments of mission to ensure their shalom ministry is a spiritual ministry. On the other hand, as it spends millions of dollars each year on public evangelistic meetings and Bible study and lifestyle resources, the church must closely examine how this relates to the type of ongoing, on-the-ground shalom urban mission advocated in this thesis. And that will be the subject of the next chapter.

172 Chapter 7 Centres of Influence in a North American Context: a Contemporary Approach

In this chapter I address the final of Richard Osmer’s four theological tasks for a work of practical theology. This is a pragmatic task that is a response or answer to the other three tasks undertaken in previous chapters. In other words, in light of the description, interpretation, and data contained in the first six chapters, what proposals can now be made for improved practice in Adventist mission in the cities of North America? My answer to this question will include proposing a contemporary approach to urban centres of influence and suggesting an accompanying practice framework.

Practice frameworks, which are more commonly found in disciplines such as social work, nursing, and occupational therapy, are guides for translating theory into effective practice. As such, they can serve as a useful way to undertake Osmer’s fourth task. Often practice frameworks are personalised, serving as personal mission statements for the practice of individual practitioners. They outline what contribution a person or entity can make to a particular intervention or practice in the community. Connolly and Healy point out that practice frameworks have the potential to integrate research evidence, ethical principles, and the experiential knowledge of practitioners in ways that support good practice in the field (Connolly and Healy, 2013). They function at a level between theory on the one hand, and a handbook of specific instructions on the other. As a guide to good practice, an effective practice framework can be an invaluable resource. It should not be something written in stone, but should be flexible enough to grow, adapt, and improve according to practice and experience.

In the previous chapter I suggested a theological framework for Adventist urban mission and, in a similar way, this chapter suggests a practice framework for that mission. However, both frameworks should not be seen as separate entities. Instead, at every level the practice framework and the theological framework should be seen as interacting.

Toward a Practice Framework One of the central values of the centre of influence concept being proposed in this practice framework is that it is wholistic and rejects a one-method-only approach. As was pointed out in the introduction to this thesis, Ellen White never set out a formal centre of influence model. Rather, she saw initiatives 173 that, to her mind, were working well and she called them centres of influence. My purpose is not to replicate her concept for the twenty-first century, but rather to take key principles that undergird it, and suggest how these can be translated into a contemporary approach. The goal is to utilise these principles as a basis for an approach that may look and sound different, and yet remain dependent on and find its purpose in the principles demonstrated in Christ’s method of ministry. In other words, the framework suggested in this chapter means that although urban centres of influence will take different forms and shapes they will still have the same goal of reaching out to people in all dimensions of their lives (White 2005, 364). On the one hand they involve more than just persuading people to accept certain doctrinal beliefs, and on the other hand they involve more than giving a cup of soup to the homeless. They permit Adventists, motivated by compassion, to bring hope and well-being—shalom— to urban-dwellers and their communities. They provide an opportunity to bring together Adventist historical and theological strengths into practical mission. They are not just community service centres with a spiritual label; spiritual values are the foundation for, and should infuse the activities of, centres of influence. People working in these centres should be prepared, trained, and supported in maintaining this fundamental spiritual dimension.

“Being with” Before going any further, I would like to pause to reconsider the focus of this thesis. By the very nature of it being a work of practical theology, my emphasis has been on doing, on action. What can the church do to improve its engagement in urban mission? I have tried to emphasise the importance of working with the community rather than just for the community. But there is a vital facet of a wholistic approach to urban mission that should not be overlooked, and that is illustrated by the experience of Anglican clergyman Samuel Wells. In 2005, when Wells moved to Durham, North Carolina, to serve as Dean of Duke University Chapel, he raised the importance of the church being “in partnership with the poor.” Someone took him aside and told him, “‘I think you ought to know that the problems of this city are greater than you’re going to be able to fix on your own.’” Wells writes, “Why would he think the only way to interact with a challenging neighborhood was to fix it? What made him see the city as the repository of the problem and I (or he) as the overburdened source of the solution?” (Wells 2015, 306). Wells describes four approaches to mission: “working for,” “working with,” “being for,” and “being with” (Wells 2015, 23). He acknowledges the role that all four approaches can play, but particularly emphasises the importance of “being with,” something that does not fit naturally with our human propensity to manage, to repair, to correct. But for Wells, “being with” is just as important as, 174 in fact more important, than the other types of engagement. Rather than providing some grand program to reform and restore, “being with” is expressed through “silence, touch, and words” (Wells 2015, 307). In my focus on what the church can “do” in the cities, I do not want to lose sight of Wells’s insight: at times it is most important just to “be with” individuals and communities. In the face of problems that may have no known solutions, of pain that has no known cure, “being with” can be the best the church can offer.

Three Major Components The practice framework being suggested in this chapter is constructed and held together by three major components. First, the principles outlined in Ellen White’s description of Christ’s method of ministry and referenced throughout this thesis: mingling, showing sympathy, ministering to needs, winning confidence, inviting people to follow Jesus (White 1942, 143). Second, insights from the social sciences discussed in chapter five regarding urban quality of life, community, and resilience. Third, the four fundamental spiritual principles discussed in the last chapter: shalom, compassion, salvation, and incarnation. These three components provide robust scaffolding for a practice framework for centres of influence. Again, this is not presented as an inflexible template, but rather a guide for innovative and wholistic urban mission practice.

CENTRES OF INFLUENCE PRACTICE FRAMEWORK

CHRIST'S COMMITTED 1 METHOD 2 TO BUILDING 3 GUIDED BY

A. QUALITY OF A. MINGLING LIFE A. SHALOM Community health

B. SHOWING B. INCARNATION SYMPATHY B. COMMUNITY Social and Spiritual C. MINISTERING C. SALVATION TO NEEDS

C. RESILIENCE D. WINNING Sustainability D. COMPASSION CONFIDENCE

E. INVITING PEOPLE TO FOLLOW

FIGURE F Centres of Influence Practice Framework 175 Figure F provides the structure for a vision statement for the practice framework as follows:

Vision Statement

Centres of influence are platforms for wholistic mission in urban areas that: 1. Follow Christ’s method of ministry 2. Have an ongoing, long-term commitment to building: a. Quality of life b. Social and spiritual community c. Personal and neighbourhood cohesion and resilience

3. Are guided by the fundamental themes and goals of: a. Shalom b. Incarnation c. Salvation d. Compassion

1. Follow Christ’s Method of Ministry

In her description of Christ’s method of ministry, Ellen White says that he first “mingled among men as one who desired their good . . .” (White 1942, 143). This crucial step of mingling is a challenge for many American Adventists. Sociologist Eileen Barker from the London School of Economics perceptively observes: “During the course of one’s life . . . one can be born in an Adventist hospital, educated in Adventist schools from kindergarten to university, buy Adventist food, enjoy Adventist media, work in Adventist institutions, live in Adventist communities, and die in an Adventist retirement center” (Barker 1991, 416). Malcolm Bull made the same point two years earlier: “. . . it is possible for a twentieth-century Adventist to spend his entire life within the Adventist subculture. He or she can be educated from nursery to graduate school entirely by Adventist teachers, receive medical attention only from Adventist doctors, work only for denominational institutions or businesses, travel the world as a guest of Adventist missions, retire to one of the church’s rest homes, and expect to die in the Adventist hospital in which he or she was born” (Bull 1989, 184, 185).

As these quotes suggest, the way in which Adventists often structure their lives can actively work against associating with people from the wider community. This tendency is compounded by 176 communities with a high density of Adventists, usually in close proximity to Adventist institutions. Within a 20-kilometre radius of the Adventist World Headquarters in Silver Spring, Maryland, for example, there are two Adventist hospitals, an Adventist university, numerous schools, and other church administrative offices. In this geographical circle there are some 80 Adventist churches ranging in size from new church “plants” to congregations with thousands of members. Likewise, within a 20- kilometre radius of the Loma Linda region of southern California, home of Loma Linda University and Medical Center, there are several schools, two universities, and more than 50 Adventist congregations—ranging from small churches through to the Loma Linda University Church with nearly 6,500 members.

Given these considerations, plus distinctive Adventist beliefs and practices such as keeping a seventh- day Sabbath, adhering to certain dietary restrictions, and abstaining from alcohol, many Adventist church members must take an intentional step outside of their comfortable Adventist framework to mingle with the wider community. The tendency to remain aloof from the community is supported to a certain extent by more traditional Adventist mission efforts to attract people in the community to “church,” the building where church members worship, through methods such as special church events for the community and designing friendly and appealing worship services. Here the onus is on the person from the community to come into the Adventist context. Adventist missiologist Marcelo Dias says the fact that people are “increasingly resistant and repulsed by organized religion” speaks to the limitations of such an approach (Dias 2019, 47).

To a large extent centres of influence reverses this approach, and makes it the church’s responsibility to go to where people are located. Centres of influence must be situated in the heart of urban neighbourhoods for the community’s convenience, not the convenience of church members. This leads to the other dimensions of Jesus’ ministry for people, where he “showed His sympathy for them” and “ministered to their needs.” The Adventist Church has a long history of meeting health and educational needs, and centres of influence can provide a specially tailored platform for delivering these and other services in urban communities.

White says that through his method of ministry Jesus inevitably won the confidence of people, and after doing this he invited them to become his followers (White 1942, 143). The final goal of a centre of influence is to help bring restoration and wholeness; helping people become all they can be not only in this life but in a promised life to come. This has echoes of Maslow’s “self-actualization” concept, 177 discussed in chapter five, and Jesus’ own purpose, which he described as bringing a more abundant life to people (John 10:10). Helping lead people to this stage is not an after-thought, or an artificial and arbitrary step to “close the sale” after luring people with the other steps. If it happens, it is a natural, and never forced, result of following Jesus’ method of ministry.

As centre staff mingle, sympathise, care, and win confidence, spiritual matters often become part of the conversation and shared experience. Staff should be prepared, trained, and supported in building on this interest, and in providing small groups for Bible study and prayer, places where people can discuss spiritual things, and learn about salvation. In some cases, contacts from centres may find a spiritual home in existing churches, but the task of centres of influence is to provide alternative, less-formal and less-structured opportunities for this to happen. As noted earlier in this chapter, the cultural leap into the four walls of these churches may be too much for many people. In such cases, the apostle James’ speech to the Jerusalem Council provides sound counsel: “It is my judgment, therefore, that we should not make it difficult for the Gentiles who are turning to God” (Acts 15, NIV). Centres of influence must be in the business of removing any cultural barriers that stand in the way of someone having a full spiritual experience. Small groups connected to the centres are one important way of helping with this challenge. They may never meet in formal church buildings but will become organically embedded in the community meeting in homes, in the centre, or in some other neighbourhood space. If there are established churches in the area, their role can be that of “mother” churches, helping care for these new groups through prayer and resources as needed.

2. Ongoing, Long-term Commitment.

The central tasks of a centre of influence include working for quality of life, social and spiritual community, and personal and neighbourhood cohesion and resilience. Goal 11 of the 17 sustainable development goals set by the United Nations is: “Make cities inclusive, safe, resilient and sustainable” (Singh 2019, ix). Centres of influence can promote this through their own programs, through partnerships with other community identities, through the spiritual concern and care shown to all by centre staff, and, as Samuel Wells reminds us, through simply “being there” with the community. In his work on a theology of sustainable practice, urban scientist Peter Newman writes that for cities to have a sustainable future, they need to choose “the direction that enables them to be inclusive, productive, and sustainable.” He argues that throughout history cities have collapsed because they have 178 not been willing to change, and because they “do not respond to the prophets of their time.” Newman calls this a spiritual issue, and cites First Testament prophets Jeremiah and Isaiah warning the inhabitants of Jerusalem of the dire consequences of their lack of social justice (Newman 2018, 299- 301).

Although centres of influence will avoid partisan politics, they should be centres where social justice is modeled, worked for, and promoted. Thus, centre staff should be well-remunerated and cared for, and centre initiatives and activities should embrace people of all social classes, ethnicities, and religious backgrounds. Centres of influence should also take every opportunity to join with other community organisations to influence governmental decision-making, to fight prejudice of all forms, and to promote community well-being, proper care of immigrants, safe streets, access to quality health care, and the strengthening of families. In other words, they should be a prophetic voice, and agents of shalom.

3. Be Guided by Fundamental Themes and Goals

a. Shalom—Helping Make Things Right A centre of influence serves as a vehicle of shalom to the urban community. Cornelius Plantinga describes the richness of shalom: “The webbing together of God, humans, and all creation in justice, fulfillment, and delight is what the Hebrew prophets call shalom. . . . In the Bible, shalom means universal flourishing, wholeness and delight—a rich state of affairs in which material needs are satisfied and natural gifts fruitfully employed, a state of affairs that inspires joyful wonder as its Creator and Savior opens doors and welcomes the creatures in whom he delights. Shalom, in other words, is the way things ought to be” (quoted in Harris 2017, 71, 72). Several key concepts arise from Plantinga’s definition of shalom, but the idea of making things “the way things ought to be” lies at its heart. Shalom is not a static idea, but carries with it the importance of renewal, restoration, and movement toward the ideal. The task of contemporary centres of influence is to play a part in restoring urban communities and the lives of families and individuals to the way they should be, a condition of health and flourishing, justice and delight.

The central task of centre of influence staff is to work for and pray for the shalom of the neighbourhoods where they are located. This translates into concrete goals to increase the wellbeing, 179 peace, and prosperity of the community. It may take place in a large public way, such as removing graffiti from buildings, cleaning city parks, or even sponsoring an outdoor concert for the community. It can involve lobbying and advocating for justice issues at government levels. But it can also be at the more personal level of family counselling, dealing with depression, or even helping individuals with legal problems.

In order to effectively help urban communities be “the way they ought to be” and to minister to their needs, it is vital to first understand the community. The social science literature provides a consistent reminder of the vital importance of research, planning, and assessment in any urban endeavour. In order to understand the community, time must be taken to study and identify the sources and indicators of brokenness and indicators of health in the community. In certain urban areas there may be more visible indicators such as drug addiction, anomie, poverty, and alcoholism. In other areas, indicators such as loneliness, fractured families, and depression may be better hidden. The symptoms of brokenness can often be confused with the sources of brokenness; in fact, it can often be a classic chicken or egg kind of question. For example, a relevant question could be: did drug addiction cause the brokenness, or did brokenness cause the drug addiction? A certain amount of a centre of influence’s mission will be to treat symptoms, and this alone is helpful and needed in the urban community. But a larger goal is to reach to the heart of a person’s need, and to help address what could be causing the problems. On the other hand, it is important to understand the sources of health and wholeness in the community. What things are working well for the community that can be supported and strengthened? Ross Brownson and colleagues, writing in the context of public health, agree that community assessment needs to be one of the first steps in any evidence-based approach. Proper assessment helps to identify and prioritise key issues faced by the community. It also provides a baseline from which to assess the effectiveness of interventions. Further, effective assessment should also review what activities have proven successful in other communities, and assess what relevant strengths or assets can be found in the community (Brownson et al. 2017, 115).

Community engagement enterprises such as Missioninsite offer detailed demographic services to faith- based and non-profit organisations seeking to better understand the communities where they operate. Missioninsite, for example, provides the option of choosing a demographic study of everyone living within a, say, five-kilometre radius of a centre of influence. This study gives details of people living with that circle that include such things as racial/ethnic mix, educational attainment, median family income, religiosity, age, and household type. It also gives a breakdown of what it calls Mosaic 180 Lifestyle Segmentation Types that classifies people according to “behaviors, attitudes and preferences.” These categories include: “Family Union—Steadfast Traditionalists,” “Flourishing Families—Cosmopolitan Achievers,” and “Young City Solos—Status Seeking Singles.”

But as helpful as such services may be, nothing can replace personal observation: walking through the streets of a community, rubbing shoulders with people in neighbourhood shops, talking to local business owners and thought leaders, reading the local newspaper and Internet blogs, asking questions, living in the community. Of course, as Meredith Minkler cautions, community assessment is never a value-neutral exercise. For example, an organisation that holds annual community health fairs may do an assessment of what times and locations would work best for residents, but not address the more fundamental question of whether health fairs actually address their needs (Minkler 2005, 153). Minkler also emphasises the importance of engaging the community’s help in the assessment process. How do residents conceptualise and refer to health, and what would a healthy community look like to them? (Minkler 2005, 156). Even the concept of community gardens which, on the surface, would seem to be an unequivocally good thing—beautifying the city, building community cohesion, providing healthful food—can be problematic. Urban geographers Fernando Bosco and Pascale Joassart-Marcelli, for example, argue that “emphasizing the benefits of community gardens rests on romantic conceptualizations.” According to them, one must consider the “broader political and economic context” and “. . . community gardens cannot be viewed as inherently democratic, just or inclusive.” They conclude: “The growing popularity of community gardens needs to be understood in the context of urban neoliberal governance that shifts the responsibility of social reproduction and neighbourhood revitalization on the very communities in need of assistance” (Bosco 2017, 51, 60). This does not mean that they are not needed, but that they should not distract from bigger issues underlying urban food deserts, and the need for better policies to help the underserved in urban communities.

b. Incarnation—Engaging Locally As discussed in chapters 3 and 6, most urban Seventh-day Adventist churches in North America are so-called “commuter” churches, where believers travel from outer suburbs to a church building in the morning, and then commute home in the afternoon or evening. Their only connection to the church’s community is that once a week for a few hours they worship in a building geographically located in that neighbourhood. In a study of Adventism in New York City, sociologist Ron Lawson points to the Adventist initiative in the 1970s, referenced in the introduction to this thesis, to run vegetarian 181 restaurants in the cities. Adopting the “outpost” method, their staff lived outside the city and commuted in and out of New York each day. “However,” writes Lawson, “it was discovered that New Yorkers did not trust strangers easily, and the restaurants, deemed a costly failure, were allowed to fold” (Lawson 1998, 341). Although the reasons for the failure of this initiative are far more complex than New Yorker distrust of strangers, Lawson does highlight a vital factor—distance. Rather than embedding the ministry in the community, and facilitating ongoing mingling and identification with that community, this model unwittingly built a wall between the urban community, which naturally remained where it was, and the centre staff, who had daily sallies in and out of the city. It also unwittingly sent a message of superiority or privilege: living in the city may be good enough for you, but it is not good enough for us. Lawson also points out that Adventist churches in New York are not “community churches” in so far as they do not engage with local community issues. Indeed, “urban members now typically pass near several other Adventist churches closer to their home en route to the congregation of their choice.” In addition, most Adventist pastors do not live near their churches, preferring to live in houses in the suburbs rather than apartments in the cities (Lawson 1998, 343).

There are downsides to an “outpost centre” concept with a long-term arrangement where centre of influence staff live outside the city to minister to the city. There is no better way to understand a neighbourhood than to live in it, and there is no better way to become accepted in a neighbourhood than to become part of it.30 So it is critical that centres of influence are embedded in the urban community, and that centre staff come from the local neighbourhood and live in the area where the centre is serving. If we are practicing incarnation in the city, then we should, says Soong-Chan Rah, have “a desire to be with the people of the city” (Rah 2014, 28). Prominent American community development leader John Perkins writes, “The importance of our physical presence in these [urban] communities can’t be overstated. . . . There is no question that our ministry will be more effective if we are living among the people we serve” (Perkins 1993, 75, 76). The growth of “new monastic” communities within the evangelical church in recent years, which are intentionally situated in places of social and spiritual need, reflects an awareness of closely identifying with the communities in which

30 However, there are strengths to an “outpost centre” if it is understood as somewhere to provide a sanctuary away from the city for rest and revitalisation, and where interested city-dwellers can be taken from time to time for a rural retreat from urban stress and to learn more about wholistic health.

182 they are serving (Markofski 2015, 2). As much as possible, centre of influence staff should be recruited from people already living in the community, or who, like Stephen and Hetty Haskell in 1901, are willing to relocate to that community.

The Adventist Church operates several volunteer programs from which centres of influence can draw (for example, Adventist Volunteer Services, One Year in Mission Volunteers, Global Mission pioneers). However, there is a danger to relying too heavily on short-term volunteers. The core staffing should be from a pool of local volunteers committed to long-term, on-the-ground wholistic mission in their local urban community.

c. Salvation—Sharing Present and Future Hope While working for the shalom of the community, centres of influence do not offer, are incapable of offering, some sort of universal panacea for urban challenges and problems. And yet they do offer hope: hope that the future is not determined and can be changed by certain choices, that neighbourhoods can be revived and renewed by working together, and that urban-dwellers can be saved from the worst aspects of themselves and the unhappy conditions in which they might find themselves. In his cultural theology of salvation, Clive Marsh examines themes of redemption and salvation in the broader culture and concludes that salvation can be from such things as “inner turmoils,” “the consequences of abuse,” and even “political and economic exploitation.” Here Marsh is not denying the hope of “full salvation” that Christianity teaches will be realised beyond this life. Rather he is emphasising that such salvation “is at least anticipated now” and can be experienced in tangible ways (Marsh 2018, 7). As Mothy Varkey says in his study of the Gospel of Matthew, “‘salvation’ refers both to an eschatological and a present blessing” (Varkey 2017, 10). In this sense, part of a centre of influence’s task is to give a “present blessing,” a pre-tasting as it were of the richness of the ultimate salvation that God offers.

This broader view of salvation’s implications for life today is central to the effective operation of a centre of influence. Marsh concludes his study by listing ten concepts of salvation that together give a fuller picture of that concept: ultimate well-being, health, acceptance, being forgiven, forgiving, safety, celebration, happiness, contentment, and blessedness (Marsh 2018, 216, 219-28). This wholistic approach is echoed across many different Christian faith traditions. Mennonite Duane Friesen, for example, writes: “To be made whole by the good news of the gospel is to live a life as God intended it. 183 Restoration to wholeness touches everything from a meaningful life of work to adequate food and shelter to the practice of justice and the nourishing of loving relationships” (Friesen 2000, 263).

Educator Paulo Freire also emphasises a broader view of salvation and calls it an illusion that “the hearts of men and women can be transformed while the social structures that make those hearts ‘sick’ are left intact and unchanged.” He adds that “consciousness is not changed by lessons, lectures and eloquent sermons but by the actions of human beings on the world” (Freire 1973, 524, 525). Centres of influence bring hope to the communities where they operate. They help build and rebuild lives that may be broken for many reasons: abuse, loneliness, drug addiction, poverty, family dislocation. They help people turn their lives around to take paths that are healthier, safer, and more rewarding. Lostness among urban-dwellers can manifest itself in a variety of symptoms, and is not limited by age, ethnicity, or socio-economic status. Centres of influence staff can help people get to the root of their problems and reorient their lives not only through seminars and formal programming, but especially by taking the time for one-on-one care and nurture.

d. Compassion—Doing Something The compassion shown through centres of influence must be more than a feeling; it must be demonstrated through action. As Roger Crisp writes, “the compassionate person will not only feel compassion, but act compassionately” (quoted in Zylla 2017, 2). Empathy belongs to the same family of meanings as compassion and speaks to engaging with the feelings of another person in a sympathetic way. Building on empathy and the desire to alleviate pain, compassion is a call to do something. This speaks to the orientation of a centre of influence, the way it “shows sympathy” without being patronising. A compassionate mindset among centre of influence staff is crucial to its success. People engaging with a centre of influence must be seen as more than mere customers or clients. At the Veg Hub restaurant in Oakland, Sarah Bellot, a staff member, is noted for calling out to every customer who enters through the door, “Welcome family!” From any other person it might sound artificial or strained, but not from Bellot. As of writing, there are more than 250 online Yelp reviews31 for the Veg Hub, giving the restaurant an overall 4 ½ out of 5 rating. Among the comments regarding the food, there are repeated references to the kindness and friendliness of the staff. For

31 Yelp is an online review forum where reviewers are noted for their candour, and where it is notoriously difficult to get high-starred reviews. 184 example, “Sarah’s personality made the experience so nice I came back twice!!,” “Everyone is so friendly and accommodating, feels like family,” “What makes this spot even more special are the people who run it,” “uber friendly,” “super welcoming,” “friendly and welcoming” (Yelp 2019). As centre staff mingle, show sympathy, and minister to needs, they naturally win confidence (White 1942, 143).

Centre of influence workers see customers, clients, and contacts as individuals whom they care about and want to see enjoy the highest quality of life. Veg Hub director and chef G.W. Chew says their motto is “Friends first, customers second.” Centres of influence staff may simply be serving a vegetarian meal, selling second-hand clothes, or helping plant a community garden. But beneath the level of a mere transaction, such activities provide opportunities for staff to show compassion, and model that they care about people. As Phil Zylla writes, “from a Christian theological perspective, compassion is a radical call and orientation to move into the situation of the suffering of others with active help” (Zylla 2017, 2). Centres of influence staff must put people first, which means supervisors must take a fluid approach to their staff, allowing them the flexibility to, for example, “stop their work” for an hour or so to address a need, or simply talk for a while with someone in need.

A centre of influence driven by compassion will still be guided by policies and rules of operation. It will still seek to be self-supporting and operate on a carefully prepared business model. But operational rules and regulations should not define the centre. In 2012, the prestigious Academy of Management Review devoted an entire issue to the role of care and compassion in organisations. Perhaps surprising for a leading journal devoted to business and management matters, it states: “Care and compassion, which are grounded in relationships and relatedness, have much to contribute to an interconnected, suffering, and surprising world.” They point to a “paradigm shift in the social sciences” that emphasises ways of interrelating “that have other-interest as opposed to self-interest at their core.” Indeed, the contributors to this special edition of the journal conclude that care and compassion should be considered central to the work of organisations (Rynes et al. 2012, 504, 507).

Compassion must drive the ministry of a twenty-first century centre of influence. Any program, service, or project must be motivated by genuine care for people. Financial and other strategic decisions are made within the framework of that compassion. This directly affects all aspects of a centre of influence’s work, but especially the way it views and treats people in the community. It means that people are not merely a number or a project or an address. 185 Summary

The practice framework suggested in this chapter is based on three components: Christ’s method of ministry, insights from the social sciences, and fundamental Christian principles, which allow for flexibility in what a centre of influence does. Whatever the chosen platform—juice bars, second hand shops, health centres, migrant assimilation centres, cafés and restaurants, tutoring centres, gyms, health food shops, climbing wall gyms etc.—it can legitimately serve as an urban centre of influence so long as it is framed within the parameters provided by these components. Thus, within this framework, an ideal centre of influence would be:

1. Embedded in an urban community. 2. Consistently researching and assessing community needs and its response to those needs. 3. Providing a platform from which to implement Christ’s method of ministry for the long-term. 4. Operating from an orientation of compassion. 5. Working for the shalom of the community and, wherever possible, partnering with existing community organisations in doing this. 6. Starting new spiritual groups for people who are interested. 7. Providing no-strings-attached service to meet individual and community needs. 8. Functioning as an agent for salvation in all its dimensions. 9. Taking a wholistic approach—concerned with the physical, mental, social, emotional, and spiritual dimension of personal and community life. 10. Functioning as a third space to help build community, social cohesion, and personal and community resilience. 11. Working to raise the community’s quality of life in all its dimensions. 12. Aiming to become self-supporting. 13. Staffed and operated by people living within the local community. 14. Advocating for fairness and justice in issues affecting the local community.

186 Conclusion

In this thesis I have argued that the urban centres of influence concept, far from being outdated, has the potential to be a very significant twenty-first century missional force. These centres can provide a non- threatening urban space for human connections between the church and the community. As centres of influence act as platforms for Christ’s method of ministry, they provide a vehicle for the church to conduct wholistic urban mission in a non-threatening way; but this, of course, is not always the way it happens.

Authentic Mission For example, in 2014 an independent group of Adventist church members conducted mass mailings of an Ellen White book, The Great Controversy, to cities across the United States. In social and other media there was a negative outcry from some citizen residents. Writing in The Bold Italic, self- described as “an online magazine celebrating the free-wheeling spirit of San Francisco,” freelance journalist Jules Suzdaltsev referred to the “unwanted, unordered, and inexplicable book miraculously appearing amongst their regular mail.” He wrote, “Turns out, since San Francisco is still considered a godless city of pinko liberal heathens, the Seventh-Day [sic] Adventist church [sic] is pretty set on helping us all out—and spreading homophobic ideas, lucky us—by sending everybody a copy of their prophetic text.” He concludes that what the Adventists have missed is that “SF’s gay-friendly, liberal community isn’t easily reachable through . . . an unsought religious text. The Adventists would probably have more luck getting support by donating that quarter of a million to any number of SF charities. You know, like Jesus would’ve done. Just a thought” (Suzdaltsev 2014).

For Suzdaltsev and the urban community he represents, receiving an unsolicited religious text in the mailbox can be seen almost as an act of aggression.32 Although some no doubt well-meaning Adventists saw this as a good way to share their beliefs with urban-dwellers, many recipients were not only not “easily reachable” by such a method, they were offended by it. The church’s efforts would be better directed, Suzdaltsev suggests, toward San Francisco charities that are working on the ground to

32 The Great Controversy does not mention homosexuality, but this does not negate Suzdaltsev’s larger points. 187 meet the needs of the community. Suzdaltsev’s free advice to the church is a caution to a one- dimensional approach, and speaks to the two major research questions in this thesis: what should an authentic and effective Adventist mission in North America look like today, and how could a re- envisioned centre of influence approach fit into that mission?

The concept of centres of influence and the type of urban mission being recommended in this thesis is in part an acknowledgment of the thinking behind Suzdaltsev’s free advice. It is a realisation that authentic wholistic ministry in the city cannot be separated from long-term engagement or reduced to a sermon here or a piece of literature there. It is a refusal to treat people as objects or targets, and an acknowledgment of the vital importance of Jesus’ method of ministry, which involves an ongoing process of mingling, showing people sympathy, ministering to needs, winning confidence, and sharing the “good news” about Jesus. It is something that cannot be conducted from a position of isolation, from a distance.

Mission in the City This is a difficulty for Adventists who have historically held a pejorative attitude to the city and living in the city. Adding to the challenge is that cities in many ways offer a stronger challenge to effective mission than do rural areas: they are complex, busy, expensive, diverse. Urban residents in North America are also generally better-educated (United States Census Bureau 2016a), and there is far more competition for the limited time they have available. The complexity of urban life resists simple quick- fix solutions in all arenas of life, including the spiritual.

Thus, the research questions of this thesis are increasingly relevant today as sharp divisions between rural and urban America continue to polarise, and as “rural values” are being conflated by many as “Christian values.” These divisions are reflected, for example, in urban coastal-dwellers who patronisingly refer to the rural Midwest as “flyover country.” On the other hand, they are seen in a growing retreat from and critique of the city by many Christians. This was shown in the 2016 elections where Donald Trump appealed to “rural values” and rural dwellers on his way to the presidency (Vasilogambros 2019), and received 80 percent of the “self-identified white, born-again/evangelical” vote (Wells 2015). It can also be seen in a recent bill in the Illinois House of Representatives to separate Chicago from the rest of the state. Republican state lawmaker Brad Halbrook, who introduced 188 the bill, says, “Everywhere I go, people say we just need to get rid of Chicago. It gets rid of all of our problems” (Vasilogambros 2019). “Chicago values aren't Illinois values,” he adds (Holbrook 2019).

As I have argued in this thesis, antagonism to the city has helped define the witness of the Adventist Church in North America. I have described how the Adventist Church has tended to focus its mission activities in rural areas, but now struggles in the face of a dominantly urban world that is increasingly unfamiliar to it. Classic Adventist methods of outreach such as public lectures on Bible doctrine were first tested and refined in rural America. Such approaches relied on audiences that believed the Bible, were already Christian, but were open to hearing about different doctrinal beliefs. Typically, an Adventist preacher would arrive in town, a tent would be pitched, meetings held, and a new group of Adventist believers established. Today, variations of such approaches may still attract the interest of a handful of people in cities, but the vast majority of urban-dwellers remain culturally distant and unresponsive.

It is still common practice for public evangelistic meetings in the United States to be held in Adventist churches; some even begin with hymn singing. While such programs may be attractive to some other Christians, the fact that they are being held in a church building is alone a significant barrier to many from a secular or non-Christian background. For many in the community, a church building, rightly or wrongly, can stand as a symbol for a history of hypocrisy, religiously motivated violence, sexual abuse, mistreatment of the LGBTQ+ community, judgmental attitudes, and establishment-type religion more concerned about money than people (see, for example, Group 2015).

A centre of influence may thus benefit by not looking like a church, but its purpose should not be to simply replace one four-walled structure with another structure that has the same purpose of attracting people from the community. Rather, the flow of influence of a centre of influence should be the other direction, with the centre seen as a launching pad for meeting the community where it is. As Wes Via, former director of Simplicity Outreach in Allentown, says: “We never wanted to get to a place where it was only us saying, ‘Come to us.’ We always wanted to be going out into the community.” It was a principle emphasised 150 years ago by Adventist physician Daniel Kress, who wrote about the work of the Detroit Medical Mission in reaching out to needy people: “We cannot expect these people to come to church; we must have places of worship, or missions, in the parts of the cities where these people congregate, and conduct meetings in such a way that they will feel at home” (Kress 1869, 835, 836). This is just a stepping stone from the key concept of “third spaces” addressed in chapter 5. A centre of 189 influence, operating as a welcoming third space, can serve to bring Adventist mission into proximity with the community.

An Outward Focus In building this proximity, a contemporary centre of influence must resist “institutionalising” its activities, becoming just another inward-focused organisation. At the beginning of this thesis I quoted John McClarty, who as a young seminary graduate was sent by the Adventist Church to minister in New York City. Later he shared his scepticism regarding the New York Center, which denominational leaders also considered a failed experiment. “It seemed to me an ‘evangelistic center’ was wrong- headed in its very conception,” he said. “Evangelism is the movement of the church outward, away from itself. But the idea of a ‘center’ was the ambition to draw people in. It was hoped that the public would come to us. Time had proven that what we offered was not sufficiently attractive for the Center to work” (McLarty 2011). Here McLarty identifies a major potential threat to the effectiveness of an urban centre of influence—namely the default tendency to try to attract people to the centre, rather than using the centre as a platform to reach people where they are. Thus, a restaurant or a health centre or any other type of centre will only function as an effective centre of influence if it builds friendships with clients and connects to community activities that have a life outside of the centre.

A centre of influence will become involved in and support existing community activities, invite the community to participate in projects the centre initiates, and keep the focus outward and on interaction, not merely on attracting people into the centre. Centres of influence must never become destinations in themselves; but rather platforms for putting Christ’s method of ministry into practice. It is important for centres to find ways to partner with work being done by other community groups and invite other community groups to partner with their activities.

A Wholistic Mission As shown throughout this thesis, many factors affect the way the Seventh-day Adventist Church in North America has shaped its approach to urban mission. Naturally tradition and habit, “the way we have always done it,” has played a significant role. The preferred outreach method of the Adventist Church in North America continues to be events such as public meetings sharing Adventist beliefs. When church leaders are questioned about the public-meeting approach, often the response is 190 something along the lines of: “It still works,” or “Well, at least we know we will get some results this way.” In 2001 the NAD’s Evangelism Institute (NADEI) did a survey of conferences throughout America to ask what was their most successful outreach method apart from public evangelism. The finding was, according to Russell Burrill, “Nothing else was working as well as public evangelism” (Hartman 2007, 7). On the other hand, this could perhaps be seen as inevitable since this is where the church tends to invest most of its outreach funds and efforts. Sociologists Ronald Lawson and Ryan Cragun write of Adventist public evangelism, “Large meetings have been most successful where little public entertainment is available . . .” (Lawson and Cragun 2012, 234).

While not negating the importance of publicly sharing Adventist faith, my argument is that in an urban context public evangelism can at best be only a part of a wholistic mission paradigm, and that Adventist urban mission is best served by moving from reliance on event-based approaches.33 More than a hundred years ago Ellen White, a strong proponent of public evangelistic meetings, also saw the limitations of that approach and argued that in cities there are people who can never be reached by that method (White 2005, 364). In advocating a centres of influence approach to urban mission (White 1948b, 115), White was envisioning small urban wholistic ministry centres linking the church to the community through service. As we have seen in this thesis, she was talking about things such as small health centres, treatment rooms, healthful food shops, and vegetarian restaurants. The goal was to engage with people at a deeper and longer-lasting level than just convincing them of new doctrinal beliefs. Thus, the concepts I have suggested should underly urban centres of influence are drawn from the history, culture, and beliefs of Adventism. Indeed, centres of influence should bring together in a systematic and purposeful way, best practices of Adventist urban mission. Clearly White’s main goal for these centres was evangelistic; she saw them as avenues to interest people in studying the Bible and joining the Seventh-day Adventist Church. And yet she also saw them as platforms for educating people and improving their lives, and she wrote extensively about using such centres to help the poor, to educate the community about proper nutrition and eating habits, and to share other basic health principles.

33 This is not the place for an extended discussion of the strengths and weaknesses of Adventist public evangelism. There is no question that it contributes to the growth of the Adventist Church. Evidence shows that these public meetings appeal mostly to people with a religious background (Santos 2016, 116, Batten Jr 2015, 289, Gustin 2008, 64, Bauer 2016, 185). 191 Limitations of the Research I see limitations of the research of this thesis in two areas. First, throughout this thesis I have contrasted long-term, community-embedded approaches to urban mission such as centres of influence with short-term approaches such as literature distribution, seminars, public evangelism meetings. However, to a large extent my reflections on short-term approaches have been based on observation and anecdotal evidence because there has not been any rigorous research on public evangelism and other short-term activities in urban settings. If more time was available, the research could have been strengthened by comparing my proposed centres of influence approach with a more robust picture of short-term projects, in terms of costs and levels of effectiveness.

Second, although being a Seventh-day Adventist working in the arena of the denomination’s mission program has brought some benefits to the research of this thesis, it has also brought some limitations. I cannot escape the fact that I am looking with “insider” eyes. In some ways this has facilitated my research, but in other ways it may have blinkered me to certain insights that might have been made by someone from an “outsider” perspective. And throughout, I must admit, I have been conscious of how my arguments and conclusions might be received by other church leaders and members. Although I have been rigorous in seeking to write honestly, no doubt this consideration has affected the way I have expressed things at times. I have benefited from having other Christian and a non-Christian academic reading my manuscript, which has helped somewhat to off-set “insider” biases.

Suggestions for Further Research Apart from this gap in research, I would suggest that further research could profitably be done in four main areas: first, as has been mentioned in this thesis, similarities to the Adventist centre of influence concept can be seen in some evangelical urban mission initiatives, and a case could even be made that enterprises such as Capital One Cafés are a kind of secular centre of influence. Further research into the strengths and weaknesses of evangelical centres, and even secular centres, could then be compared with Adventist centres of influence. What, for example, could be learned from third spaces such as Starbucks? While operating as a multi-billion dollar business, Starbucks also manages to build a certain type of community and even promotes ideology such as fair trade and LGBTQ+ rights (see, for example, Peiper 2019). And in what ways do evangelical versions of centres of influence differ from Adventist centres?

192 Second, further study could be done into best practices for urban centres of influence. Are there identifiable commonalities between centres that have proven self-sustaining financially? Are there any patterns among centres of influence that “fail” in various ways, which could serve as lessons for those looking to start similar centres?

Third, the research of this thesis could be extended further by comparing North American centres of influence with overseas centres of influence. This thesis has discussed centres operating in different locations in the United States among different people groups. But how, for example, do centres of influence in Europe and Australia, operating in more post-Christian environments, compare with those in North America? In what ways do the principles undergirding American centres of influence “translate” to African, or Asian, or South American centres? What lessons can be learned by cross- cultural “pollination” of ideas?

Finally, study could be done in the area of what I would call virtual centres of influence. These would not operate in one designated physical space. Rather, they would take their cue from the Internet platform meetup.com, which uses the Internet to help people with shared interests meet together in “real life”—it uses the Internet to get people off the Internet. So rather than using a single physical space as a centre of influence, virtual centres would focus on particular services that could be delivered in a variety of spaces throughout the city. For example, a variety of English as a second language services could be offered on the Internet and ongoing classes could be held in cafés across a city. Further research could examine what these types of centres could look like, how they could best operate, and what would be the strengths and weaknesses of such an approach.

In this thesis I have attempted to address how a denomination that has idealised country living can best reorient itself and its mission to a dominantly urban demographic, while staying true to its fundamental values and beliefs. In seeking to answer this question, I have “dialogued” with the social sciences and Adventist theology, and then I have drawn from an old Adventist concept of centres of influence and reshaped that concept into a suggested urban mission strategy for the twenty-first century. I have argued that an effective Adventist urban mission cannot be limited to brief sorties into the cities to conduct outreach events, but must be incarnational, long-term, and wholistic—addressing social and physical needs along with the spiritual. An authentic urban mission will involve working for the shalom of the city, showing compassion, and offering salvation in all its dimensions. Centres of influence can be one exemplar of this mission, enjoying the benefits of being a third space that helps to 193 bring the church into proximity with the community, and seeks to build quality of life, social and spiritual community, and personal and neighbourhood cohesion and resilience.

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