He's joined on stage by two singers, a drummer, and Brittian's wife, Reverend Kris Tenny-Brittian, who plays piano. They peel into a soft-rock version of the hymn "We've Come to Praise You." Some parishioners tap their hands or feet to the music, which is exactly what Brittian is looking for. Involvement. Engagement. And if the music doesn't draw people in and keep them coming back for more, there's always the $50 he'll pay to newcomers who show up for four consecutive weeks and share their opinions on God, religion, and Brittian's ceremonies. The payout is $75 to those who bring family members.
The music and the money are all part of Brittian's attempt to build a younger congregation at a time when the older folks who have been attending services every Sunday for umpteen years are dying off. He wants to keep his fellowship--part of the First Christian Church of Auburn--alive by attracting people between 25 and 50 who wouldn't otherwise attend, people he calls the "unchurched."
"The message of Jesus Christ hasn't changed, but the packaging has," says the fast-talking, energetic Brittian, a native of Kennewick who's been an ordained minister since 1992. "The church has had a tendency not to keep up with the technology, the culture, and the society," he says.
In his attempts at remedying that, Brittian--known to his parishioners simply as "Bill"--utilizes an arsenal of technological gadgets to illustrate teachings from the Bible. The back part of the church is stocked with a video projector, a 16-channel Peavey mixing board, a 1,200-watt amp, a VCR, CD and cassette players, and a computer loaded with Microsoft's Power Point program.
Brittian puts down his guitar, climbs off the stage, and begins today's sermon, which is all about identity (hence, the Who song) and personal relationships with God. There are no long robes, no monotone voices, and no endless, boring readings from the Good Book (though he does have a habit of sprinkling short bits from Matthew, Romans, and Luke into his repertoire). In return, the audience doesn't nod off or start snoring. Brittian, a father of five and grandfather of two, spends very little time behind the pulpit, and instead walks back and forth in front of the three rows of folding chairs. He waves his arms around and talks excitedly, his voice carrying well in the small room. He quotes Pollonius from Hamlet, shows a clip from the 1993 film Falling Down (about a man, played by Michael Douglas, who cracks after losing his job and family), and finally, rejoins the band to perform Jim Croce's song "I Got a Name."
Though it's hard to imagine Jim Croce appealing to a 25-year-old, his tactics work like a tonic on some of the older attendees. "It's realistic to life today," chirps Diane Lindeman, a 43-year-old woman from Tacoma. Lindeman says she hasn't worked in eight years, and admits that she signed up for Brittian's service for the money. She adds that she also came to the Rock because she recently learned that her mom's cancer had returned, and she was looking for a little comfort.
The Rock opened last Easter Sunday as part of an experiment. Brittian and his wife, who is the pastor at the Rock's parent church, First Christian, were trying to figure out how to keep the more standard First Christian from dying out. Brittian was given a budget of $5,000 to come up with a solution, so he developed the payment scheme. So far, seven people have been issued checks for $50, though Brittian says the new congregation is drawing crowds as large as 60. "It's been widely successful," he says. Most parishioners don't come for the money, he adds, but show up for inspiration and to help get his congregation off the ground.
Kathi O'Reilly, a 56-year-old from the town of Pacific, did sign up for the dough, but says she likes Brittian's services so much, she's considering giving it back when her four weeks are up. "I feel comfortable here," she says.
Brittian has tried maverick strategies before. While living in suburban Atlanta in 1995, he regularly stood on the side of a highway on Monday mornings, dressed in a robe, with a sign that read "Coffee, Blessing, Next Left." Commuters who stopped got a cup of joe and a brief talk about the importance of religion in one's daily life.
When it came to attracting crowds in Seattle, which Brittian says has the lowest church membership in the country, he had to employ even more extreme measures. He got out his checkbook.
"The Seattle skyline is not dominated by religious buildings," says Jan Shipps, a professor of American history and religious studies at Indiana University-Purdue University at Indianapolis. According to data she collected in 1990, the percentage of Seattleites regularly attending church was only 35.8, while the percentage in cities like Providence, Rhode Island and Lynchburg, Virginia reached almost 70. Even in Indianapolis, considered an average city, more than 45 percent of citizens attend church. Shipps says people in Seattle often do not identify themselves as belonging to a particular denomination. Her research suggested that in Seattle, "talking about going to church or even discussing your faith is countercultural."
Still, Brittian's tactics have some members of the clergy and academe raising eyebrows. "I'm glad he has the freedom in our denomination to try this approach and see if it works," says Reverend Marvin Eckfeldt, the pastor at the neighboring First Christian Church in Kent. But, he says, "It's questionable when a church uses secular marketing to promote the church."
Suzanne Holland, a professor of religion and social ethics at the University of Puget Sound in Tacoma, adds that Americans live in a culture where just about anything can be bought or sold. Now, she says, this includes spirituality. "I don't think it sets a good precedent," she remarks. "I don't think that our places of worship need to become marketing centers and our pastors marketing analysts."
The Rock has temporarily stopped making payments to churchgoers due to financial concerns, but will start again in the fall. If all goes well, Brittian hopes to start a new church every two years, and generate enough interest on the part of young people so they continue a relationship with God and the church, even without the rock band and the multimedia sermons.
"Churches as an institution need to survive," says Reverend John Boonstra, the executive minister of the Washington Association of Churches, a statewide ecumenical organization of Protestant and Roman Catholic churches. Boonstra wouldn't comment on Brittian's tactics specifically, but he did say the clergy is always searching for new ways to attract parishioners. "There are new ways of preaching on the text and there are new ways of singing the songs."
