Skip to main content

The church is the people, not the building.

This old adage has been repeated so often it hardly seems worth saying any more.  But, like all good clichés, it gets an outing on a pretty regular basis.  Someone said it at my church on Sunday.  And I realised it isn't true.

Or if it is, we no longer attend the same church that we stepped into almost two years ago.  We started going there in December 2009, when it met on Saturday nights and we were childless and free.  By the time Toby's baby shower came around in October 2010, almost all the people we'd initially got to know had left.  Half a year later, when the founding pastor moved back to Canada and a new minister took over, very few of those who had signed Toby's baby book for us were still around.  Not only the congregation but also the leadership had changed completely, twice.

Yet the building is still there, and still pretty much the same.  Whatever else has changed, there is still a sense of calling to that particular place.  What does this mean, and how does it affect how we do church as such a changeable congregation?

Most church plants start with a group of people.  They meet in a house, a coffee shop, a rented school.  Later, as the group grows, they may start to think about buying a property and calling it a church.  By then, the church-as-people is already well established.  They have been through a few struggles, lost some people, gained some people, and hammered out what they are there for.

Through a combination of circumstances, my church plant came at things backwards.  It was gifted with a building while the fledgling congregation was still small and finding its wings.  The people part of the church is still working out who it is and what it is there for.  But meanwhile, the building is there, designated as a house of prayer.  Go and open the heavy oak door to a small stone English country church.  As you step over the threshold, your footsteps will become quieter and your voice will hush, and your eyes will lift to the stained glass that depicts the glory of God.  The centuries of Morning and Evening Prayer whisper in your ear and a peacefulness comes into your heart.  All this without another person present.  The building itself holds the atmosphere of holiness, and although ours is so much newer, it too is acquiring that hint of peace.  Perhaps this is our first calling: to so worship and so pray in that building, that whoever enters it is moved to recognise the presence of God.

Downtown Fort Worth is not the gritty urban setting that might come to mind when you hear the words "city centre church".  The streets are clean and spacious, the bars and restaurants are generally free of drunken yobs, and the condos in the tower blocks sell for a million dollars.  If there is a ministry here, it is to sophisticated urbanites who quite probably regard churches as outdated, inflexible and irrelevant.

But they drink coffee.  Coffee shops are not outdated, inflexible and irrelevant.  They're where you go to deepen relationships, hear live music, and discuss the meaning of life over a quick meal.  So nothing like church, right?  Well, this building happens to be half coffee shop, half church.  And maybe the two halves have more in common than either the churchgoers or the non-churchgoers might think.  So perhaps this is our second calling: to throw open the doors between the two; to discuss God in the coffee shop and the latest news in the church.

So is the church the people, not the building?  What do you think?

'Mister,' Anna took his hand and pulled him to the wall, 'mister, is the Thames the water, or the hole it goes in?'
The policeman looked at her for a moment and then replied, 'The water, of course. You don't have a river without water.'
'Oh,' said Anna, 'that's funny, that is, 'cos when it rains it ain't the Thames but when it runs into the hole it is the Thames. Why is that, mister? Why?'
I grabbed Anna's hand and led her away. 'Nice work, Tich, nice work. A good bit of thinking, all that Thames stuff.'
'Oh,' murmured Anna, 'but when do you, Fynn? When do you start calling it the Thames and when do you stop calling it the Thames? Do you have a mark? Do you, Fynn?'
From Mister God This Is Anna, by Fynn

Comments

Charles Crookes said…
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

Popular posts from this blog

Ten books that shaped my life

Ten books that shaped my life in some way.  Now that wasn't a problem.  I scanned the bookshelves and picked out nine favourites without the slightest difficulty (the tenth took a little longer). The problem was that, on the Facebook challenge, I wasn't supposed to explain why .  Nope.  Having picked out my ten, I couldn't let them go without saying why they were special to me. These books are more than a collection of words by an author.  They are particular editions of those words - taped-up, egg-stained, dust-jacketless and battered - which have come into my life, been carried around to different homes, and become part of who I am. How to Be a Domestic Goddess Well, every woman needs an instruction manual, doesn't she? Nigella's recipes mean lazy Saturday mornings eating pancakes, comforting crumbles on a rainy night, Christmas cakes, savoury onion pies and mounds of bread dough.  If you avoid the occasional extravagance (20 mini Bundt tins...

Erewash Valley Trail: Ilkeston

You could spend a lot of time following old canals and railways in the Erewash Valley. This walk included parts of the Erewash Canal, the Nottingham Canal, the Nutbrook Canal, and the Stanton branch line, and I could have continued further along any one of those, if I'd had the time. I started in Kirk Hallam, which is mostly a post-war housing estate with a distinctive outline on the map: the main road to Ilkeston through the middle, and a loop road encircling the village. It looks like the London Underground logo. I parked at the lake at the top of the loop. There was a sculpture commemorating the nearby Stanton Ironworks - the ground remembers the roar of the blast  read the inscription around the base - and the remains of a lock on the Nutbrook Canal. Heading towards Ilkeston, I crossed a former golf course, now a nature reserve called Pewit Coronation Meadows, passed a large sports centre, and was soon in the town centre. There was a general impression of red-brickiness, with l...

Unto us a son is given...

Did I mention something about life getting back to normal in October? Oh yes, I was just finishing work and looking forward to at least two weeks off to organise the house, stock up the freezer and buy baby stuff. Then little Toby threw a spanner in the works by turning up five weeks early! Which would put his birthday in... let's see... October. So much for normal! For those who would like the gory details, here goes. If you are a mother who had a long and protracted labour, I advise you to skip the next bit - or if you don't, please don't start sending me hate mail. You have been warned. You see, we'd been to all the childbirth classes (yes, just about managed to finish them) and learned all about the different stages of labour, and how many hours each lasted. We learned some relaxation techniques and various things Graham could do to help coach me through long periods of contractions. And then we turned out not to need any of them, because the entire thing...