Brandon Methodist Church reaches out and looks within

BY STEVEN JUPITER

BRANDON—The Brandon Methodist Church (BMC) has stood at the intersection of Franklin and Carver Streets in downtown Brandon since 1876.  The beautiful building has taken some hits over the years—it’s seen fires and floods and even lost its steeple—but it’s still rooted to its place, a fitting edifice for a congregation that’s determined not to disappear.

The sanctuary is large enough to hold over a hundred worshippers; these days, however, not more than 7 or 8 are likely to show up for services.

“When I got here, it was just us four,” said Pastor John Hardman-Zimmerman, referring to himself, Myron “Mike” Clarke, Janet Galusha, and Carol Houle. The four of them, along with Vicki Disorda, gathered at the church on a recent afternoon to talk about the challenges of keeping BMC going and the success they’ve been having with some of their newest initiatives.

Hardman-Zimmerman came to BMC in 2021, determined to revitalize what had once been a thriving congregation.  The Pastor and his wife live in Poultney and divide their time among 6 local congregations, a sign not only of their commitment to their faith but also of the struggle of Mainline Protestant churches to maintain ample numbers.  In fact, a rumor had been circulating in Brandon that BMC would be closed by the Methodist Conference and the building would be sold.  When Hardman-Zimmerman arrived at BMC, word was that he had been sent by the Methodist Conference to wind things down.

“There was never any intention to wrap things up,” Hardman-Zimmerman said.

“Our previous pastor, Kenneth Bevan, wrote an article for The Reporter to dispel those rumors,” added Carol Houle, who has been a congregant at BMC for 25 years or so.  “But apparently no one paid attention to it.”

But neither the Methodist Conference nor Pastor Hardman-Zimmerman nor any worshipper at BMC had any desire to see the congregation phased out.  But the task of resuscitating a moribund church, best intentions notwithstanding, was daunting.

“It looked like a phenomenal challenge,” said Hardman-Zimmerman.  “A miracle was needed.  And I think that miracle is underway.”

Early attempts at attracting new members fell flat.  Mike Clarke, organist and in-house composer, pulled out all the stops decorating the church for Christmas services in 2022.

“The church was stunningly beautiful. No one came,” said Hardman-Zimmerman.

Clarke was crestfallen: “It was demoralizing.”  But the congregation soldiered on, confident that it had something special to offer the Brandon community but unsure how to draw people in.

“The quality of our services is top notch,” said Hardman-Zimmerman.  “And every week Mike has one or two original compositions.”

The congregation tried organizing a 7-session prayer course, to teach people how they can integrate prayer into their daily lives in different ways.

“We got the basic course from the internet,” said Janet Galusha, “but we expanded on it here.”

The Pastor even reached out to The Atlantic Paranormal Society (TAPS), hoping to initiate a sincere dialogue with them about their work investigating paranormal activity.  But TAPS ultimately declined the invitation, apparently worried that the experience would be adversarial rather than collegial.  “I thought it would be stimulating.  Their history with churches hasn’t been positive,” said Hardman-Zimmerman.  

But BMC has historically not been a typical church.

In years past, BMC was known as an open, progressive place.  Jennie Masterson, who grew up in Brandon and whose family was involved with the church in the late 60s and early 70s, recalled that it was a great place for kids.

“It was very liberal, and we had some really neat pastors who worked closely with teenagers, taking lots of trips and getting them out of Brandon to see the world,” Masterson said.  “We had rap [60s/70s slang for conversation] nights when we would stay overnight at the church in sleeping bags, play guitar, watch movies, discuss world issues.  Anybody was welcome from any denomination.”

But over the years, participation in organized religion has declined in the Northeast.  Mainline denominations, such as the Methodist, Presbyterian, and Episcopal Churches, have all seen steep drops in numbers, as congregations age out and younger generations opt not to get involved.  Vermont, in particular, has been dubbed “the least religious state” in the U.S.  

The only Christian denominations that have seen increases among the young are evangelical, a trend that Hardman-Zimmerman attributes to those denominations’ propensity for boisterous services with rock music.

“Our appeal is to more mature worshippers,” he offered. “We’re introspective, contemplative, meditative.  We ask the big questions about life.  It doesn’t have to be all hype.  We try to bring everything back to the love of God.”

Vicki Disorda is a current member, one of the more recent additions to the congregation.  She had not been affiliated with a church for many years and originally approached BMC simply to see whether the church would be willing to get involved in community charity work, such as the Brandon Food Shelf.  But once she began getting to know BMC, she felt a strong connection and now leads services when Pastor Hardman-Zimmerman is at one of his other congregations.

“I came out of curiosity,” Disorda said. “It was so welcoming; I came back every Sunday.”

“Vicki has been a godsend,” said Hardman-Zimmerman.  “She’s been a real initiator of the new activity here.  We’re very open to trying new things.”

“That’s what I love about this church,” Disorda responded. “Nothing is outside the realm of possibility here.”

The “new activity” that the Pastor referenced includes a new home for the Brandon Food Shelf, which relocated from the Brandon Congregational Church to the Brandon Senior Center during the pandemic and is now housed at BMC.  

It also includes a successful new effort called Friends Zone, which takes place every Tuesday from noon to 3 pm and is designed to give community members a time and place to gather for camaraderie and connection.  The program was created in the wake of the pandemic, which had left many people feeling isolated and alone.  

“It didn’t take long to catch on,” said Hardman-Zimmerman.  In recent weeks, as many as 17 people have shown up.

“There seemed to be a core group that was very eager,” added Galusha.

Friends Zone is a place to socialize, play board games, talk, have homemade soup.

“We always have goodies on Tuesday,” laughed Disorda.

Friends Zone is not a religious event, and the point is not to convert anyone to Methodism, but some attendees of the program have become regular church members and one has been baptized.  In contrast to the meager attendance at Christmas, the more robust attendance at Easter was heartening. 

“You have to give the love away,” said Clarke, speaking of the need to engage with the larger community in order to sustain the community at BMC.

“Spiritual growth has to be expressed in outward ways,” added Hardman-Zimmerman.

The future at BMC is looking bright, thanks to the renewed energy of the pastor and the committed crew he shepherds.  The dormancy of recent years is being replaced by action and optimism, even as concerns the physical structure of the church itself.

“There’s been concern that we weren’t taking care of the building,” said Carol Houle.  It frustrated the congregation to hear people around town propose other uses for their spiritual home, as if it had been abandoned.

“We’re actively pursuing grants,” said the pastor.  “If we had the money, we’d take care of it all.  But we are doing what we can.”

In addition to grants, BMC raises money with a small in-house store that sells used items, much like a scaled-down version of Nifty Thrifty, with whom BMC often partners.

“Outreach is key,” said Hardman-Zimmerman.  “We want to be a community resource.”

“Faith by itself, if not accompanied by action, is dead,” said Disorda, referencing James 2:17.

“If you’re wanting to cultivate your inner life, this is a good place to do it,” added the pastor.

“It’s real here,” said Disorda.  “We’re just getting started.”