Closing a Church

Confessions of an Unemployed Minister - Part 12 : Closing A Church

My time as a part time United Church minister came to a close at the end of December 2015. My final sermon was from Luke 2, when Jesus was presented at the Temple. I asked these people, on the last day of services at their church, “What if the story ended there?” What if the Christmas story ended there? It would only be an interesting, sentimental story about a cute baby then, not what it is, the greatest story ever told.

In the 19^th Century, writers like Dostoyevsky, Dickens, Bronte, and Austin invented the modern novel. Its unique characteristics were an omnipotent third person voice; a storyteller who knows everything, and who reveals things even the characters themselves don’t know, like feelings, motives, histories, and futures. It’s fun to enter into story with this omniscient view.

None of us know our own whole stories. Imagine if we only knew the first chapter of some great stories: We would think: Harry Potter lived his whole life in the little room under the stairs; Luke Skywalker lived the rest of his days as an obscure moisture farmer on Tatooine; Pip never saw his ‘Great Expectations’ fulfilled, but his story peeked in that dismal graveyard. What if we only had the opening three chapters of the bible? We would have a story about creation, fall, expulsion - but no redemption! No Christmas! No new heaven & earth!

Imagine the Hebrews who lived in Egypt - 200 years after Joseph, and 200 years before Moses. They might have thought, “Well, I guess it’s all over. That’s the end of the story”. Or what about those who saw the destruction of Solomon’s Temple? They’d have thought, “Well, I guess that's the end of it all”. Or, surely those who saw the destruction of Herod’s Temple 500 years later thought, “Well, I guess this is the end of the story”. What about Anna and Simeon seeing the baby Jesus at the Temple that day? Did they think, “Well, I guess this wraps up the whole story”?

No! The rest of the story, the best of the story, was still coming. There was always more to come with God. What happens next is always even better. Simeon and Anna never saw the rest of the story. But they believed it. They could never conceive of how God was going to fulfill his great promises of a wonderful, redemptive, expansive story. But they believed it.

I told that grieving flock, on their last Sunday, that we had only seen the opening chapter of the story of their church. If someone were reading their story, she would only have gotten through the introductions of the characters, the setting, this building, and the story so far. But then she would turn the page, and the story would continue, but only in that way a story can when you are not in it. We only get to see the opening chapter. The omniscient storyteller only reveals part of the story. The whole story is beyond our knowledge. The rest of this great story is beyond our imagination.

For over 50 years, the Word of God has been proclaimed in that church. In Isaiah 55, God proclaims:

“As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it. You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands. Instead of the thorn bush will grow the juniper, and instead of briers the myrtle will grow. This will be for the LORD’s renown, for an everlasting sign, that will endure forever.” (Is. 55:9-13)

The Word of God was read, sung, prayed & preached in that church. The Living God was praised and glorified there. God, our Heavenly Father was adored, confessed to, thanked and petitioned there. And, invisibly, that living, all-powerful God acted in the history of that place. God acted in the hearts of her members. God did miracles and inspired three generations of families and friends there. The people of that place have gone out around the world. And the work of God in us and through us has been multiplying through out the earth. And even that is only the opening chapters of her story. What God did there (in us and thru us) will continue to reverberate and multiply in the lives of people and the ongoing histories and the families of that church forever. I believe this!

I personally only saw a little glimpse of the bigger story of that church. But I did see a glimpse. I saw evidence of generations of families of faith multiplying and spreading around the world. There were stacks of photo albums of the 50-year history of that church. Every photo is a world of continuing stories. And it’s all just the first chapter. Can you believe that? Can you believe that for your own life? In spite of all the unfulfilled dreams, in the face of disappointments and shattered expectations, can you trust God in that? Can you rest in that? Can you go on in hope and peace and joy and love in that?

There’s a little word that starts most of the historical books in Old Testament. The word is “And”. Exodus, Joshua, Judges, Ruth, First and Second Samuel, First and Second Chronicles, Ezra, Nehemiah and Esther each begin with “And...” The story didn’t end after chapter three of Genesis. It didn’t end at the end of Genesis. It didn’t end with the death of Abraham. It didn’t end with the death of Moses, It didn’t end at the death of David, or Isaiah, or Jesus. It doesn’t end at the closing of a church. This is not the final chapter in the story of that church. We have only seen the opening chapter of the great story that is God’s omnipotent story in the lives of her people. And...

Part Time Pastor

Confessions of an Unemployed Minister - Part 11 : Part Time Pastor

As our host church decided to close, we determined to help in any way with their transition. They very graciously decided to move their service to 9:30am so that we could meet at 11am upstairs. That meant I could occasionally attend their services, to show support and to learn from them and their minister. This has been another gift of being in my own vocational transition period. It was fun to enjoy a traditional, liturgical, hymn singing service like that of my youth, followed by a contemporary, casual, youth filled gathering. They even invited me to preach sometimes at their service.

Though the denomination had decided to close our host congregation, they determined to stay open for another eight months to transition into their amalgamation with the other church. However, they could only afford a part-time minister. I had raised some personal support to be part time employed with our church plant, so I was available to help our “upstairs” friends with their final months of life. I applied for the 10 hour a week position.

I was informed, that to be eligible to be their interim minister, I had to be a candidate for ordination in that denomination. So, I also applied to be accepted into this process. This included meeting with a local minister who might sponsor me, attending an inquisition with the provincial Candidacy and Admissions Board for approval, and committing to take several courses. I passed through each of these hoops and into official acceptability. And I got the job.

My two main responsibilities were organizing the weekly Sunday morning services and meeting individually with each of the church members to help them consider how they might transition into their new amalgamated church. Each Monday morning I went to the church and worked on the coming week’s service. I planned my sermon, then picked hymns, wrote prayers, and designed the bulletin. I then sent messages to our pianist, the choir leader, the children’s ministry person and my one-woman worship committee. I had to collect their input and finish the bulletin to be printed by Tuesday at noon, as we shared admin support with the church we were amalgamating with. The rest of the week I tried to meet with several of the church members. It was such a privilege to be invited into these people’s homes, their lives and even their recovery rooms as some were hospitalized during this time.

Sundays were fun each week. I would arrive at the church early to open it up, make last minute notes on my sermon and make notes in my copy of the bulletin. Soon the choir would arrive and practice. Then the members would trickle in. Each Sunday I had to wear three different outfits. First I would dress in slacks, a dress shirt (sometimes with a tie) and a formal jacket. This was a compromise for these elderly church folks, as I was not eligible to wear an ordained minister’s robes yet. Then, at the end of the 9:30 service, I would throw off the jacket (and tie), roll up my sleeves, and join the people downstairs for coffee. This was my in-between outfit to have coffee with the early service people as well as the people who were arriving for the casual, contemporary church plant. Then, I would dash upstairs to the minister’s office where I would tear off the rest of my formal wear and don jeans, t-shirt and runners to lead the next service. I usually timed it right, but still, there were some mornings when I got looks from members of each group who saw me in the “wrong” outfit. 

We decided we would preach from the same passage at both churches. That way, I could use the same sermon on those Sundays when I spoke at both services. I was preaching every Sunday at the early service and about half of the time at the latter. It was interesting to deliver the same sermon to two different crowds. It was like giving the same massage in two different languages. Of course the later service also included a discussion time after the message, as well as the occasional habit of some to interrupt with questions and comments in the middle. It was also interesting to preach some mornings, and then sit and listen to someone give a very different message from the same passage an hour later.

My part time ministry came to a close at the end of December 2015. Those fall months felt like a long hospice experience full of love and honour and memories. We were helping each other through our transitional journeys. This was the very church I had attended as a youth (age 8-23). My father had been the finance chair for the building committee. I had been the youth delegate on the building design committee. Now I was leading the church services for the final months of her life. I was reminded of the line for the life of Esther, when Mordechi says, “You have come to this position for such a time as this?” This was a surprising gift of mutual help and healing for all of us through the passage of change. What a delightful privilege!

The Basement Church

Confessions of an Unemployed Minister - Part Ten : The Basement Church

The delightful experience of seeing God do some astonishing things through our church plant being hosted in the basement of the very church I had attended as a youth has been a fun adventure. We determined from the beginning to be in a kind of partnership with our host church. These old saints were some of the very people who had been my Sunday school teachers and my parent’s friends. Their children had been in my own Sunday school classes, youth groups and Young Life clubs. It was like a home coming for me.

At the beginning we met in the basement at the same time (10am) as the old saints met upstairs. I told the United Church minister that it was a beautiful experience for us when, during a quiet moment in our congregational prayers, we could hear them singing their hymns upstairs. I said it was like hearing the angels above us. She said that they had a similar experience. Sometimes, during their quiet prayers, they could hear our drums and choruses in the basement. She said it was like hearing the demons below them.

She was joking! We had a wonderful mutual respect. We even shared coffee time in the basement after our services. We had to make sure we ended promptly, as they wasted no time heading to the basement for their traditional post-service coffee and treats. Sometimes they finished early and gathered at the back of the basement watching us finish off. It must have been a mystery to these old saints why a growing number of young people were gathering in their basement each week. We also transformed their basement each week into as close of a proximity to our beach experience as we could. Artists had designed a setting of beach blankets, large photos, and even an old log on which we had sat to preach our sermons on the beach. All of this got put away each week, usually before the “angels from above” descended for coffee. Then we would share coffee together; several generations mingling and getting to know and love one another over the following months.

We found other ways to be united in our mutual support. We joined forces to help them with their annual Spring Fair. We added our own talents to their traditional event. We brought in extra artisans and a local high school band and I volunteered to play host on the roving microphone. We had church suppers together. We held seasonal services together celebrating Advent, Christmas Eve, Ash Wednesday, Lent, and Good Friday together. We celebrated communion on the same Sundays, and even swapped pastors to celebrate the elements for each other’s congregations. Our people took over organizing the weekly coffee time. We did some building and grounds maintenance for them.

Sometimes I felt like our group was the teenagers living in their grandparent’s basement. We helped with chores around the place in exchange for cheap rent and generous use of their space. A real love and respect grew between our two churches as we shared life and faith together. Unfortunately the host church had already come to the place of deciding to close and amalgamate with another United Church. Some hoped that our church plant could partner with them to keep their congregation going. But, the decision was made to close that church. We determined to do what we could for their remaining time to love and support them through their final stages of life, and to enjoy whatever time we had left being a united church with them.

Planting a Church

Confessions of an Unemployed Minister - Part Nine: Planting A Church

Another gift of being in employment transition has been the opportunity to work with a group of people to plant a new church. It started with a colleague inviting a group of us to pray with him about his own vocational transition. He had worked in the same church as me for many years, but had decided to leave there. After completing doctoral studies, he gathered this group of us to talk, pray, listen and wonder about what God might have next for this minister. As a group, we discerned that God was calling this man to start a new church, especially for those who in our neighbourhood who had never been in a church, or had wandered away lately. He invited any from the group to join him in this adventure.

My wife and I felt led to join the team to plant this new gathering. I had been let go from the church we had been serving for many years, and this friend was the only person to invite me to volunteer in congregational leadership for about a year’s time. We joined the “launch team” and I volunteered to team teach with him. About half of the original discernment group also joined the leadership of this new plant.

We had heard of a strategy for planting a church that included meeting as a small, home group for about six months before inviting others to join us for an official “launch”. One of our members said he wasn’t waiting. He would be taking his guitar to the beach the upcoming Sunday and if anyone wanted to join him, this would be the beginning of the new church. Both the lead (part-time paid) pastor and myself were away that coming Sunday, and so, the church started without us. There were about 15 people on the beach that week. There was worship, prayer, bible reading, and expositional proclamation. Because of the size of the group and the informal nature of the beach setting, there was lively discussion following the short bible exposition.

Over the following several weeks, the gathering grew, especially with teenagers from a few local youth ministries as kids returned from outreach camps. The basic elements remained the same: worship, prayer, bible reading, exposition, and discussion. Kids played on the beach and local strangers wandered by, probably wondering what this group was all about.

As the weather grew worse, we looked for a place to congregate indoors. My pastor colleague announced he had found a place, in our neighbourhood to meet. A local United Church was willing to make their basement available Sunday mornings. The Minster was interested in supporting us and intrigued to partner with us in not only using the building, but also in mutual friendship and encouragement. When the pastor announced what church this was, I was stunned. This was the very church I was a member of from age 8 through 23; from the time I had moved into that neighbourhood until the time I moved away to work in full time ministry in another city. What was God up to? The next eighteen months have been a delightful experience of seeing God do some astonishing things.