Church Beginnings and Endings

The last few weeks (or months, or even year . . . which makes it a constant, not a new thing) have been a bit chaotic.  From hurricane to delayed school, from school to September 11, we've been riding the usual rollercoaster of life's offerings.  Trying to do so with togetherness, patience, compassion, good cheer, and practicality.

But lurking behind all of this is something I haven't discussed in awhile:  the enormous changes at my church.  After losing our full-time minister in February or so, and then losing our interim minister to a permanent job, our church has continued to struggle financially (and by extension politically and spiritually).

And so a few weeks ago, not at all unexpectedly, we learned that the church building was being sold.  Our last service there will be in a few weeks.  Our beloved church family will continue, in rented spaces, somewhere, as we all try to remember that the building was just a shell and that the important thing is the congregation.  But even without a home, our church must continue to put its house in order, so to speak:  to heal from the deep wounds of a divisive ministry, the strains of financial duress, the loss of members.  It's been a difficult journey.

I'm conflicted about the sale of the building.  I've been attending services there for almost 8 years.  We were "civilized" there and then married; our children were dedicated there.  We've celebrated, mourned, learned, taught, and eaten (a lot) there in that time.  It's my first church.  Architecturally, I never liked the building, even the sanctuary.  It was unattractive and inadequate.  And it was never in really great shape.  But I overlooked its flaws like you would that of a loved one.  Because I loved the people and the principles.

I fully understand the need to sell. (Though I'm shocked there was a buyer.  Denial?)  Otherwise, we'd go bankrupt and have to sell anyway.  Better to get out ahead.  But then I'm angry that the congregation, now and for decades previous, has squandered its inheritance, having opened this space in the 1950s (the congregation itself dates to the first decades of the 19th century). Of course, we're culpable too, supporting church financially in some years less generously than others, never being at the forefront of (the endless) fundraising attempts (though we always supported them!).  

I guess I'm experiencing the traditional stages of grief.  Maybe acceptance will come after the last service, when I see the same faces in our new place.  Because really, there is nothing in my church's covenant about the building . . . . 

Love is the spirit of this church
And service its law.
This is our great covenant:
To dwell together in peace, to seek the truth in love,
and to help one another.
--James Vila Blake