At first I resented the costly repairs. Then I took a closer look.
The church is made of people. But they need a home.
"It feels vulnerable to be the weird lady outside preaching sermons."
A physical space can be at the vital center of ministry—if you don't make it an idol.
If I were to put up a plaque at church, I’d want it to honor our crew of sextons.
As I think about all of the complex questions we have ahead of us concerning downsizing, restructuring, property, and buildings, I’ve begun to have one guiding question.
The National Fund for Sacred Places aims to help churches raise funds, restore their buildings, and find new community partnerships.
There's a budget shortfall. What's the congregation going to do?
What happens when a congregation's ministry is something we can't see without a rearview mirror?
Why, asks Dalil Boubakeur, should hundreds of empty churches not be converted to mosques? It's an intriguing question.
Perhaps normal people no longer assume that church is part of what it means to be normal. Or perhaps the idea of a normal center was flawed all along.
Our call is a close call, one that draws us close to the sharp edges of life. "While we live, we are always being given up to death for Jesus' sake."
Mercy Junction has a dedicated group of people, but it's not financially self-sustaining. Recently, it started managing a large church building.
Buildings and grounds can be leveraged to support a church’s mission—and to extend its presence in the community.
The point is, I wonder if this might be a time to remember that God was present in the temple and the tabernacle. I love architecture. I love soaring structures and hope we can find uses for them. But I also realize that they have become a tremendous burden for many congregations to do the sort of love-your-neighbor work that they long to do. Are we moving into a moment when we need those tent pegs in order to be led where God wants us?