The mainstream churches are hemorrhaging committed, gifted, passionate, knowledgeable, prayerful, spiritual seekers.

Women who have given twenty, thirty, forty, fifty years in the service of their spiritual or parochial communities.

Women who may still be actively involved in ministry but who are struggling with identity, relevancy and meaning. Women who dwell on the fringes - burnt out, frustrated, bewildered by change.

Or, women who have simply and quietly drifted away searching for a place of belonging.

Partly, I think the exodus reflects a growing intolerance for bureaucracy: the need to control and oragnise; the need for licences and mandates and membership fees and subscription lists.

There is a delicious freedom, a real connectedness to the essence of LOVE and the breath of the spirit, in allowing groups and rituals to arise organically from seeds sown; to allow these to flourish and nourish the lives of those who encounter them; and then to allow them to wither and die until the next season.

You also get to an age where exclusive language becomes offensive. In the first half of life, we can rationalise the use of exclusive, male-oriented language; ignore it or become too busy to even notice it, but sometimes, there comes a moment when it is no longer acceptable.

But more, I think the exodus reflects a shift in how mature women view themselves in relation to God. We are seeking intimacy; to be known deeply and sensually by God. We are more content to hold and honour the question - we no longer want definitive, unsatisfying, shallow or rote answers. We want to encounter and recognise the divine, as Mary Magdalene did when the risen Lord whispered her name. We long for authenticity: to be given space to become who we truly are.

Many older women are seeking a more collaborative, non-confrontational, inclusive, gentle approach to life and community. There is a definite move to more loosely-gathered, organic, cyclical groups which honour and respect the people who gather; which treat those gathered as adults; and which do not impose unnecessary obligations. Increasingly, there is a desire amongst us to share the wisdom and fruits of lives lived in the search of, and companionship of a loving, compassionate God, without the fear of constraint or complaint.

I, along with many women of my generation, desire new ways, fresh ways, to be daughters of God, sisters of Christ.

Perhaps the large, institutional churches need to loosen their vice-like grip on "religion" and "ritual" and "spirituality" and "God". Perhaps these institutions need to recognise and nurture new ways of being church, of being a people of God.

Perhaps they need to embrace change before the new wine bursts the old wineskins.

Perhaps they need to recognise and honour the hundreds of unofficial, informal, organic gatherings where God is present in many guises:

• women gathered knitting blankets for orphans;
• women gathered in shared silence;
• women gathered planting native seedlings along waterways;
• women meeting and supporting each other as they seek meaningful and relevant employment;
• women gathering, recognising the divine in diversity and variety.

Source

• Liz Pearce, mother of 3 adult children, loves story, dollmaking, writing and silence.

Banks of lights pulsate in waves of colour, and cameras project images on to three monstrous screens. And there is plenty of noise from a seven-piece electric band, bolstered by a retinue of backing singers. A lead vocalist, blonde, lithe and liberal in the use of facial contortions, hammers out her stuff.

Not a rock concert, but a church service. It's 10am on a Sunday and it's show time at the City Impact Church on Auckland's North Shore. The only thing missing in this 2000-seat auditorium is the dry ice.

It's big and flash enough to film New Zealand's Got Talent here. That was on Wednesdays and Thursdays - when Rachel, Jason and Ali sat in the bit down front that is now the Sabbath-day mosh pit.

Where once the NZGT judges passed judgment on the array of talent before them, now the voice of authority is coming from onstage.

"Hello, Church!" shrieks the blonde. Cue the first in a series of oft-repeated performances from the floor: a sea of arms waved above heads in jubilant salute.

Young arms are held high. Hesitant arms clearly belong to newer recruits. Arthritic arms challenge themselves to reach beyond their shoulders.

After 30 minutes of rousing decibels and volcanic anthems, senior Pastor Peter Mortlock appears on stage with the Bible in one hand, a giant microphone in the other. He's smart in a green shirt and dark suit. If his followers had just one hand held high before, their efforts are doubled now.

"Not an hour goes in my day without thinking about Jesus!" he bellows. Mortlock and the blonde songstress work as a well-rehearsed pair: a soundbite from the pastor is followed by an affirmation from the singer.

"Who's looking forward to the second coming of Jesus?' he roars, to plenty of applause. This, after sharing with his devoted audience the story about how he gave his life to the Lord and how he's just come back from a trip to Fiji - see, there are the holiday photos on the big screens showing him and wife Bev with a glass of wine. Continue reading

Sources

• Geraldine Johns in The New Zealand Herald

• Image: Anglicans Ablaze