As the recession's hardship spreads, faith communities face not only extreme budget pressure but a crisis of purpose and identity.

For one thing, congregations aren't being spared. Endowments are shrinking, as are those of other not-for-profits. Congregations weren't even exempted from scams.

Their members face the same layoffs, salary-cutting and factory closings as other citizens. Constituents handle their religious giving as they do other expenses: cutting freely. Congregations, in turn, are behaving like other economic entities: trimming staff, cutting programs, and deferring maintenance.

Nor are congregations being spared difficult decisions about staying in business. Bedrock institutions that once defined American communities are vanishing: newspapers, banks, longtime stores and restaurants, local factories, schools. Some are victims of recent financial pressure, but many are victims of faded business models and inattention to changing conditions.

Congregations face the same dilemmas: collapsing revenues and ineffective business models. It's true not just for small neighborhood congregations --- long ago given up for dead --- but also urban "destination churches" and suburban megachurches, whose well-honed methodologies can't prevent a falling tide from lowering all ships.

Will faith communities follow the lead of other community pillars and simply close their doors? Will they hang on, shrinking and shriveling, until the last light bill can't be paid or prosperity resumes, whichever comes first? Or will faith communities find fresh purpose and a more durable identity?

Congregations have options, but accepting those options will challenge centuries of self-perception.

For example, people clearly matter more than buildings. A building can be closed temporarily and reopened when funds permit, but a staff decimated by layoffs, and ministries starved of funds, can take years to rebuild. In fact, many congregations put their facilities first and consider maintaining inherited buildings their most solemn obligation.

It seems clear that staying in business is more crucial than providing comfort and convenience. If the early Christians met in caves and tunnels, we certainly can sit for an hour without heat and full lighting. We can worship God without the pipe organ and printed bulletins. We can enjoy Christian fellowship without coffee and doughnuts. But can we? Is our actual faith deep enough to endure discomfort?

We can follow the example of early believers and meet in homes. But will we? Is our religious identity wrapped up in private acts of piety carried out in public places, not in oneness?

Put most baldly, are we defined by customs and facilities that we can no longer afford, or by the God whom we worship? Are we an institution or a dynamic body? That is no small dilemma.

Imagine this: A congregation can no longer afford comfortable pews and warm spaces. It moves outside to sidewalk, parking lot and garden, and there does its singing, praising and breaking bread for all the world to see.

Yes, some would simply leave. No pew, no point. But many would discover their need to worship and to be together. And the world outside would see us, perhaps for the first time, and be moved by our witness.

Tom Ehrich is a writer, church consultant and Episcopal priest based in New York. He is the author of "Just Wondering, Jesus," and the founder of the Church Wellness Project, www.churchwellness.com. His Web site is www.morningwalkmedia.com.