Croneberger, Newark's bishop for six years, said in his November/December column that "maybe as many as one-third" of the diocese's 114 churches, "from everything I know, or read, or hear, are struggling mightily to keep the doors open."

The diocese, he wrote, "can no longer afford the luxury or the apathy of doing business as usual ... blowing smoke up 114 smokestacks and worrying about how to gather the resources to maintain 116 sets of buildings. I believe we can be an even stronger diocese with more communicants and fewer plants."

Now, Croneberger wrote, is time to "facilitate conversations" with clergy and lay leaders from each church in the diocese on the subject.

He said the diocese's placement of churches, which spreads from Essex, Morris and Warren counties north to the New York border, is outdated.

Croneberger would not comment for this article, but several church officials said they agree with the column's tone.

The diocese is "perfectly designed for the beginning of the 20th century when people walked to church," said Canon Carter Echols, who is in charge of congregational growth and development for the diocese. "Well, now people drive to church. The world is different."

Other problems, church officials said, stem from other shifting demographics and the recent troubled economy.

While Croneberger's column does not use the word "close" as an option for troubled churches, closures are what he appears to be suggesting, said the Rev. Elizabeth Kaeton of the Church of St. Paul in Chatham.

"What I've been hearing him doing for several months now is laying the groundwork for closing some congregations that quite frankly have needed to be closed for a very long time," Kaeton said.

"Unfortunately, we're past the point where remedial stuff or marketing or leadership development will save some of those congregations. They need to be closed. They've needed it for a long time, and it's fallen on (Croneberger's) watch to do it. Because he has a pastor's heart, he is trying to prepare us pastorally for a very difficult task."

Diocesan officials said they realize that closing churches can anger loyal parishioners, especially those whose families have held the most important religious events of their lives there.

"It has the potential to raise anxiety," Echols said. "Too much anxiety paralyzes people. What the bishop is hoping to help people see is the need for change, without creating so much anxiety that we get paralyzed."

Though no timetable has been laid out, the subject is likely to be mentioned at the diocese's annual convention in January in Parsippany.

A report on the issue is expected in the next year by the Congregational Vitality Working Group of the diocesan council, a church official said.

While Croneberger and other diocese leaders are stressing that congregations will have a major say in their fates, the bishop and the diocesan standing committee have the final decision over whether a parish closes -- unless the congregants themselves already want to close it.

The Episcopal diocese is not the only church in the region contemplating major changes. The Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Newark announced this spring that parishes across Essex, Union, Bergen and Hudson counties could close or merge with other churches in the next few years.

Unlike the Archdiocese of Newark, the Episcopal Diocese of Newark has not targeted specific churches for closures, mergers or sharing resources, officials said.

Still, some churches that fail to meet certain benchmarks -- for example, not being able to support a full-time priest, or not drawing at least 50 people each Sunday -- could come under increased scrutiny from the diocese, said Kim Byham, president of the diocese's standing committee.

Among the churches said to be struggling is St. Barnabas in Newark, which has a part-time priest and had 35 people for its 10 a.m. service last Sunday.

While the church's community services include a food pantry and an AIDS resource center, the parish has been in trouble for years, said Frank Waiters of Newark, a member since the 1960s.

"We were down at one point to about a core of 10 or 15 people," said Waiters. "We try not to talk about it, because we want to be here for the duration."

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