The afterlife of a church

A few weeks ago, I was feeling nostalgic. It was the fifth anniversary of my family’s pilgrimage from Southern California to suburban Chicago for my interview weekend at First Congregational Church of Western Springs. It feels odd to call it that, though; it wasn't so much an interview as a time of holy conversation, prayer, worship, laughter, feasting, and fellowship. The terms of my call were unofficially worked out at a kitchen table while the Super Bowl droned on in the other room. There have only been a handful of times the movement of the Spirit has been abundantly obvious to me, and the thunderous call to serve as one of the pastors at First Congo was one of them.

As joyful as I was about our return to the Midwest, leaving California was excruciating. I've written about the pain of leaving my beloved church, and I've written about the grief of witnessing, from afar, the closure of that church. There isn't much more to be said about that.

Now I'm witnessing, again from afar, the church’s afterlife. The space was deeded, wisely, to the Disciples of Christ Pacific Southwest Region. Last fall at the Disciples Pastors Conference, I heard about the plans for it—innovative, risky, wonderful plans.