What is a church?
In the present conditions of The United Methodist Church, a very large number of people are attempting to leave. This presents little difficulty if they leave by ones and twos, but if they desire to leave as a body – and take their property with them – it becomes an expensive and difficult process, fraught with conflict. Some contemplate leaving their property behind, but continuing as a community in a new place. And the Global Methodist Church, even in its infancy (we’ve been operating as a denomination for only eight months) is already launching new congregations, which have the dual problems of building a community and seeking a place to occupy. It is an opportune time to ask, amidst all the passionate rhetoric, exactly what constitutes a church.
A church is, among other things, a place to meet. It doesn’t have to be big or fancy. It is a convenience. One of my first churches was a single room, the basement of which was dug out some time after the building was erected. Most of us would like more than that, but that’s the essence of a place. We need a place we can get access to whenever we need access. We need a place where we can store whatever paraphernalia we use in our worship or teaching. Questions of parking, aesthetics, signage, etc., are all secondary to that sense of control over “our place.” It also helps to have a regular place. People associate activities with fixed locations.
If you protest that the church is not a building, well, fine. You have a point. But when you start a new congregation, one of the first problems you have to solve is where to meet. And all the questions of convenience, control of access, and (eventually) parking, aesthetics, signage, etc. have to be addressed. Yes, we can have a real church that has no fixed address. But keeping it together presents a set of problems most of us aren’t used to dealing with. Having a place of our own – or at least, being able to imagine having one within a foreseeable time – is a very great help. So let’s not denigrate the value of buildings. It’s all well and good to say we’ll meet at the park and worship outdoors until it starts to get frosty.
Still, a building is only in service to a community. An abandoned church may still strike us as something special, but without a body to inhabit it, there’s something sad about it. A community is a group of people united in a common purpose; in our case, to seek after God – and also to love and support each other. You have to succeed at building a community strong enough to acquire and maintain a building, if you’re going to have a building, so building the community is the first task. And it is a continuing task. Buildings are just means to an end; only the community can perform the mission. And that mission can be stated in various ways: to make disciples of Jesus Christ; to reform the continent and spread Scriptural holiness; to maintain public worship and seek and save the lost. Sadly, a community can maintain itself long after it has ceased to perform its mission. Or its mission may have changed without people noticing. The community may continue to seek after God and support each other, but it has become effectively cloistered, and has lost the ability to attract new people.
There are many congregations that are steadily shrinking. They rattle around inside their magnificent buildings, remembering past glories. They may, indeed, be faithful to God. But they are reaching the end of their life cycle. This is painful to contemplate, but is not a betrayal. And when they reach their end, some new and growing community may acquire their property and use it for their seeking after God and support of each other. A growing congregation may fret at their lack of space or their inconvenient location. They may strike out and build anew somewhere else. This is all to point out that the community and its building are separate things, but they are in dynamic relation to each other.
And a church is another thing. The church is an experience, an encounter with God. We need to remember something about “holy ground.” We do not build holy places in order to meet God there; a place becomes holy because God has met us there. We keep going back to that place because we want to renew that experience. And a place where many people have been met by God over the years acquires a holiness that even those that have not yet met God – or at least, not there – can feel. A brand-new church is not yet really a church. No fire has yet been laid on the altar, nor yet kindled by the holy Spirit. Once that happens, though, the community rapidly begins to yearn after the place of its happening. And the fanatical loyalty to “our church” begins.
For some of us, the holy ground we remember is a camp – a church camp or a Scout camp. For some, it is Grandpa’s Farm. For others, a college chapel or a military cemetery. It is special to us because we have met God there. Perhaps for most, it is a church, a particular church. Whatever the place, it may stand in ruins, the glory fled, but we remember. And always, we can go back there deep within our souls, for there the bush is yet burning and the awe we felt still lies over the mountaintop. We wrestle with our buildings and we grapple with the problems of managing community, but only God can hallow our lives and our locations.
“Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these [other] things will be added unto you.” Which of course doesn’t mean that the other things – a place, and a people to fill the place – are unimportant. Quite the opposite. But without God, the church – whatever its official name – is merely Ichabod.
A church is, among other things, a place to meet. It doesn’t have to be big or fancy. It is a convenience. One of my first churches was a single room, the basement of which was dug out some time after the building was erected. Most of us would like more than that, but that’s the essence of a place. We need a place we can get access to whenever we need access. We need a place where we can store whatever paraphernalia we use in our worship or teaching. Questions of parking, aesthetics, signage, etc., are all secondary to that sense of control over “our place.” It also helps to have a regular place. People associate activities with fixed locations.
If you protest that the church is not a building, well, fine. You have a point. But when you start a new congregation, one of the first problems you have to solve is where to meet. And all the questions of convenience, control of access, and (eventually) parking, aesthetics, signage, etc. have to be addressed. Yes, we can have a real church that has no fixed address. But keeping it together presents a set of problems most of us aren’t used to dealing with. Having a place of our own – or at least, being able to imagine having one within a foreseeable time – is a very great help. So let’s not denigrate the value of buildings. It’s all well and good to say we’ll meet at the park and worship outdoors until it starts to get frosty.
Still, a building is only in service to a community. An abandoned church may still strike us as something special, but without a body to inhabit it, there’s something sad about it. A community is a group of people united in a common purpose; in our case, to seek after God – and also to love and support each other. You have to succeed at building a community strong enough to acquire and maintain a building, if you’re going to have a building, so building the community is the first task. And it is a continuing task. Buildings are just means to an end; only the community can perform the mission. And that mission can be stated in various ways: to make disciples of Jesus Christ; to reform the continent and spread Scriptural holiness; to maintain public worship and seek and save the lost. Sadly, a community can maintain itself long after it has ceased to perform its mission. Or its mission may have changed without people noticing. The community may continue to seek after God and support each other, but it has become effectively cloistered, and has lost the ability to attract new people.
There are many congregations that are steadily shrinking. They rattle around inside their magnificent buildings, remembering past glories. They may, indeed, be faithful to God. But they are reaching the end of their life cycle. This is painful to contemplate, but is not a betrayal. And when they reach their end, some new and growing community may acquire their property and use it for their seeking after God and support of each other. A growing congregation may fret at their lack of space or their inconvenient location. They may strike out and build anew somewhere else. This is all to point out that the community and its building are separate things, but they are in dynamic relation to each other.
And a church is another thing. The church is an experience, an encounter with God. We need to remember something about “holy ground.” We do not build holy places in order to meet God there; a place becomes holy because God has met us there. We keep going back to that place because we want to renew that experience. And a place where many people have been met by God over the years acquires a holiness that even those that have not yet met God – or at least, not there – can feel. A brand-new church is not yet really a church. No fire has yet been laid on the altar, nor yet kindled by the holy Spirit. Once that happens, though, the community rapidly begins to yearn after the place of its happening. And the fanatical loyalty to “our church” begins.
For some of us, the holy ground we remember is a camp – a church camp or a Scout camp. For some, it is Grandpa’s Farm. For others, a college chapel or a military cemetery. It is special to us because we have met God there. Perhaps for most, it is a church, a particular church. Whatever the place, it may stand in ruins, the glory fled, but we remember. And always, we can go back there deep within our souls, for there the bush is yet burning and the awe we felt still lies over the mountaintop. We wrestle with our buildings and we grapple with the problems of managing community, but only God can hallow our lives and our locations.
“Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these [other] things will be added unto you.” Which of course doesn’t mean that the other things – a place, and a people to fill the place – are unimportant. Quite the opposite. But without God, the church – whatever its official name – is merely Ichabod.