The Lonely Church
(Although the Church’s name and location have been changed most of this actually happened.)
It’s well known by people with active imaginations that buildings, like family pets, have unique personalities.
There are many stories about buildings with personalities. This is one about a church. And when we say “church”, we aren’t talking about a gathering of people.
We are talking about the actual church building.
The church, in this story, is a building made with red bricks and has occupied a corner on South Marion Street for over a century.
It was built, as they used to say, “in the middle of nowhere” but as the years passed, houses and neighborhoods popped up around it. It was known by its neighbors as Marion Street Presbyterian Church.
We’ll call her Marion for short.
Marion was not the only church in this town. In the middle of downtown there lived a big cathedral of great importance. His name was Saint Andrew. (No one would have dared call him Andy.) He was the grandest church in town and he was very proud of that.
He hosted a small congregation, and he felt that they were very fortunate to have him as their church. Many visitors came to admire the grandeur of his French Gothic architecture.
If they wanted to sit quietly and enjoy the somber organ music floating gently through his lofty rafters, that was fine with him. But the only thing he really desired from them was their admiration, not their love.
However, Marion was not that kind of church. Like St. Andrew she had a bell tower, a large sanctuary, a pipe organ, lofty high ceilings and rafters.
“Every good church should have rafters” Marion said proudly. She loved that feeling when the music touched her rafters.
Unlike St. Andrew she was a neighborhood church, and had a strong connection with her congregation. She also was admired and revered, but not for her architecture. Her people were a part of a community, and she was the center of that community, and that gave her a great sense of belonging.
Of course, Sundays were her favorite days. She had classrooms for the children and even a nursery. She loved the nursery. And as the years passed, she watched the children grow up and their children take their place.
As the families grew, so did her congregation. Several times, over the years, her sanctuary had to be made bigger to hold all the new people. She felt a great sense of security knowing that she was a church of families. She was their church and they were her people. Marion was especially proud that her congregation was made up of multigenerational families; children, parents and grandparents. There was a feeling of security in this. She felt complete.
But that was many years ago. Sadly, Marion’s people were all gone. It had been a long time since anyone had walked through her doors. The sanctuary, which used to be filled with people and music, was now empty and silent. She felt a deep sense of loss.
She was alone and lonely. The years of silence had caused Marion to fall into a prolonged and profound sadness. She had lost her sense of purpose and her identity. “What is a church without people?” she asked. She couldn’t understand why her people had left her. She was a good church and she had done her best to make them feel safe and secure.
What she didn’t know was that, (despite what she was telling herself) it was not her fault that her people had left. But we’ll get to that topic shortly.
1950s
During these long months and years of loneliness, she would think of happier times. Her favorite memory was the day of her dedication; a very special day in the life a church building. It was 1954 and her congregation had just finished construction on a new and bigger sanctuary. They had even added a new piano. Her sanctuary was full on Sunday mornings. This made her happy.
During her dedication service people were putting objects into a steel box, (a time capsule). It seemed to her that these objects must have great importance to them. As each person placed something of prominence in the box, they explained why it was an important item to the history of their congregation. It would be her responsibility to keep them safe and secure. As they placed the time capsule behind her corner stone and the cement dried, Marion felt a great sense of pride and a warm connection to this congregation which referred to her as “their church home”. She would not let them down.
She had an identity. She had purpose. She was loved. And that made her happy.
Marion loved the sound and feel of the organ and piano music. She especially liked it when they would open her windows and the loud melodious music would spill out into the neighborhood. (The neighbors like it too!)
Church buildings are keenly in tune with the emotions of their congregation. Marion loved all the experiences that went along with being a church. Weddings and holidays were times of happiness.
She also felt the sadness of funerals and did her best to make the solemn music of the organ as comforting as possible. She would comfort her people in such times.
Each year when it was cold outside and the ground was white her congregation put a tall tree in her sanctuary. Even though the ceiling was tall, the tree almost reached the rafters. It was decorated with lights and shiny ornaments.
She felt it made her look pretty.
1970s
What she didn’t know was that her congregation was changing. A time came, in the 1970s, when a new youth pastor began recruiting from a local university, resulting in more and more young people attending the church.
This influx of young people meant that her sanctuary got even more crowded than before. A second service was added to accommodate all the new young people. The music changed as well. Marion could feel that there was more energy in it. And she liked it. There was more laughter, as the young are prone to laugh. These young people lingered in the church long after the families had left to go home. She liked that too.
Little did she know how all these new young people would change her life.
1979 – The Split
While church buildings are keenly in tune with the emotions of their congregation, they know nothing about church politics or church doctrine. Marion began to sense something new from her people. It was something that she had never experienced before. She didn’t recognize it at first, and didn’t have a word for it, but she learned later that it was called “disagreement” or “division”. She didn’t understand why, but she felt that something was terribly wrong within her congregation.
What Marion didn’t know was that her congregation was actually a small part of a much bigger collection of congregations from all over the country. The word we use to describe such a collection of congregations is “Denomination”. There are as many different types of denominations as they are different types of people. People are free to choose a denomination that best fits their personality. Marion’s congregation was part of a denomination called Presbyterian, which is a formal word meaning “ruled by elders”
In 1979 the Presbyterian denomination decided that all their congregations (including Marion’s) should be ruled by elders that were “representative of the make-up of their congregations with respect to age, race, and gender.” What this meant for Marion’s congregation, was that anyone could be an elder, including young people and women.
The leaders of Marion’s congregation agreed with the idea of having young elders. As a result, half of the board of elders were made up of newly arrived young people who had no history and no allegiance with the church building.
As to the other point, there was a disagreement over whether women could be pastors and elders. Some of her people agreed with the Presbytery and thought it was okay for women to be elders and in positions of authority. However, the pastors and elders (composed entirely of men) believed that the role of women was to be submissive to men. In addition, they believed that women should never be in positions of authority over men. After many discussions it became clear that the two sides could not come to an agreement. It was a very tense time in the life of Marion’s congregation and there was nothing she could do to help.
Had she known what dark clouds were looming on the horizon, she would have been even more distressed. Her life was about to change… and not for the better.
Dark Clouds
Later that same year, when there were leaves on the ground, the pastors and elders left the building to have another meeting with the Presbytery to discuss the issue of women as elders. While they were gone some men arrived and began changing the locks on all her doors. “What are they doing?” she wondered. “How will my people get back in?”
So, when her people returned, they were locked out. They tried their keys and peered through the windows, but to no avail. They finally left. “Maybe those men who changed the locks forgot to give my people their new keys”, she thought. “They’ll be back!”
The next day, Marion heard a key at one of her doors. “My people are back”, she thought. But they were accompanied by a gruff, rather stern looking man, whom she didn’t recognize and instantly didn’t like.
Her people were carrying boxes.
Under the watchful eye of the stern man, they put their personal things in the boxes. She could feel that they were stunned and a bit sad. And then, still being carefully watched, they were escorted out of the building.
If Marion had had the words to describe this day, she would have said that it felt like a divorce. Someone she deeply cared for was leaving, and they didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye.
Little did she know that they would not be coming back.
The next Sunday she anxiously waited for her congregation to return. Her sanctuary, which was normally full to overflowing twice on Sundays, had barely enough people to fill up half of the sanctuary. She was confused by this, “Where are all my people?”
What she sensed from those who were there that day was sadness and shock. There was no happy music. Their singing was soft and solemn and their voices hardly even reach her rafters. She began to feel a sense of panic. Something devastating had happened but she didn’t understand what.
The following weeks she anxiously waited for all of her congregation to return, but they didn’t. The small group that stayed with her, were mostly the older people who had been with her for years. The new young people, who had no history with Marion, left with the pastors and elders.
Marion sensed that those who stayed were sad, and she was sad with them. Over time she came to realize that those who remained, no matter who they had as elders, were still her people, and she was their church. It was her responsibility to be as comforting and as welcoming as ever. And she was!
The first woman elder of this congregation that stayed behind, was a grey-haired woman named Adda. (center)
Marion liked her for the kindness she showed to others, (something that wasn’t always the case with men who were elders). In addition, Adda was nearly as old as Marion and had been part of Marion’s congregation for many, many years. She felt a special connection with Adda, and as she watched Adda getting older, she realized for the first time that she was getting older too.
2000s
Twenty years passed and the church was a much quieter place. With each passing year there were fewer and fewer people in her congregation. It seemed to Marion that there were also more funerals. Her congregation was literally dying and that made her sad.
There was very little music in those days and what music there was, would not have been able to spill out into the street, even with the windows wide open. Parts of the building had not been used for years. The nursery which was once an active place wasn’t used at all anymore.
Adda was now 91 years old. She and the other gray-haired people that made up her congregation were old and tired. Like Adda, Marion had given so much of herself over the years and she wondered how much more she could give.
She was an old building and now there were fewer people to attend to her maintenance. Her windows were dirty and filled with dust bunnies and spider webs. There was dust everywhere. Marion felt old.
Saying good-bye – 2003
One Sunday in early 2003, there were more people than normal in the sanctuary. She liked that. Maybe the worst was over and she would have a congregation again. But she felt no joy or happiness from the people who were there. It was a somber and sad occasion.
What she didn’t know was that her congregation could not afford to keep the church open any longer. The forty members who still remained voted unanimously to dissolve the congregation. Which meant they were all leaving. This would be their last Sunday Service at the Church on Marion Street.
They called it a “celebration”, but it was anything but a “celebration”. Some former members and some neighbors came to bid their farewell. Everyone felt a great sense of loss, but none more than Marion.
When the service was over and the last person left, the door closing behind them echoed loudly within her empty walls with a great sense of finality. Then there was only silence. Her worst fear had come true. She had lost the people who had been with her for such a long time and she knew now that they would not be coming back.
Adda passed away two months later.
New Life in a New Language
Marion was still reeling from the loss of her old congregation when a new congregation showed up. They spoke a different language and their music was different but none of that mattered to Marion. There were families again in the sanctuary.
She cherished their voices, their laughter, and their music. She was somebody’s church again and she would be the best church she could be for these people. She was aware that she was still in need of some repairs, but when these new families gathered in her sanctuary, she felt happy again.
These people stayed for several more years and Marion loved every minute of her interactions with them. But the day came when they went away as well. She was confused. She wondered if it had been her fault they were leaving? She knew that she was in need some repairs, but she was still a good-looking church. At one time she had been revered in the neighborhood. What happened? She couldn’t understand why her people kept leaving her. She had done her best to make them feel safe and secure.
2017 – Demolition
One day in 2017 something unusual happened. Men in suits came and walked through her hallways and stood in her sanctuary. “Oh goody”, she thought. “They will see what a lovely building I am and they will bring a new congregation for me.” But that is not why the men were there.
What she didn’t know was that these men were real estate developers who wanted to buy the church building and turn it into apartments.
When she finally understood what these men wanted, she was perplexed. “I’m a church. That’s what I was built to be. I’m not an apartment. I wouldn’t even know how to be an apartment.” The little she knew about apartments was that they had walls. They were planning to divide her sanctuary and put-up walls, lots of walls. “How could there be community with so many walls? I’m a church”, she repeated.
One day a new sign appeared outside her front doors. What she didn’t know was that the sign was a notice of demolition. The developers where petitioning the city to allow them to tear down the old building.
She didn’t understand what “demolition” meant, but one day she heard some neighbors say as they were walking by, “So, they want to tear this old church down? That would be a shame. It should be designated as an historic landmark.”
“So, that’s what ‘demolition’ means,” she thought. “They want to tear me down? But, I’m still in good shape. I have a lot of life still left in me. I could still make a good church home for some congregation.” She didn’t understand what “historic landmark” meant, but she felt it might be something that could save her from “demolition”.
2018 – Buildings are like elephants, they never forget.
One day, a large group of people arrived. They were obviously happy to see each other and greeted one another loudly and with such happiness. There was laughter too. It had been a long time since she had heard such sweet laughter, and she liked it.
As they walked through the hallways and into rooms where no one had been in years they talked about their memories of being in the building. Remember this room? We had some great times here. Remember this person or that person? Remember? Remember? Remember?
“Yes, I remember these people”, thought Marion. “They are the ones who left so many years ago without even saying goodbye. They’re back and maybe they’ll want me to be their church again. That would be so nice. Maybe I won’t be made into apartments after all.
After reminiscing their way through the building, everyone gathered in the sanctuary.
Marion was a bit embarrassed by her appearance. What would her unexpected guests think of her? The organ was gone and there was so much dust on the piano. But none the less, she was so happy to be hosting a congregation again.
People were talking about their memories of attending church here. Some of them had been married here, others had attended funerals in this sanctuary.
Some of them spoke of the Holiday Tree that had made her feel so pretty. Someone even mentioned the time capsule which was still behind her corner stone. Maybe they had come for it.
Many of the people who were there that day had a been a part of that group of young people who had left so many years ago. Someone pointed out that they had become a group of senior citizens. Everyone roared with laughter because it was so true. Where had the years gone? Marion loved the laughter. It had been many years for her too. Marion wished they would sing a hymn. This was the group that had made her rafters vibrate.
No sooner had she made that wish when a woman, named Marlane, stood up and started singing a hymn (without organ or piano). “I recognize that voice and that song,” Marion thought.
“How can I say thanks for all the things you have done for me. Things so undeserved, but you gave to prove your love for me…”
Soon everyone was standing and singing with her. “There’s that old feeling again”, thought Marion. She wished someone would jump up and open the windows so this music could roll out into the neighborhood like it used to. She remembers these people like it was yesterday, and it felt so good.
But after the song, their laughter turned to tears. Their sadness reminded her of the many funerals she had hosted over the years. It was then that she realized they were saying goodbye to her.
Then it hit her like the ton of bricks that she was. “This is a funeral… it’s mine. I’m hosting my own funeral.”
Marlane stood up again and said, (now in tears), “This church is our home and our family. I kind of feel like a stepchild where I go to church now, because nothing has ever felt quite like this church.”
There were many affirming Amens.
Marion wanted to cry with her because she had missed them too. If she had arms, she would have embraced Marlane and everyone else as well. She wanted to thank them for such a wonderful day.
As the service ended people lingered about in the sanctuary as if they didn’t want to leave. Marion didn’t want them to leave either.
When the last person left and the door shut behind them, Marion desperately tried to hold on to the echo of the hymn that had touched her rafters, but there was only silence. This time she knew for sure that they had said their final goodbye and were never coming back. She began to weep.
2020 – The beginning of the end… or so she thinks.
Another year passed. Occasionally, a few people wandered through the building, but Marion hardly noticed them.
One day some workmen arrived and removed all of the pews in her sanctuary. “This is it”, she thought. “I cannot be a church without pews.”
“Where would my people sit?”
“This is the beginning of the end for me. Soon there will no longer be a church on Marion Street.” She resolved herself to her fate.
Two things she didn’t know:
First thing was, that she was still revered in the neighborhood. Her neighbors wanted her to stay a church too. They did not want the old historic building torn down, especially to make way for high density housing. They took their protest to the city and requested that the church building be designated as an historical landmark. They were able to block any attempt to rezone the property.
The developer admitted defeat and put the building back up for sale.
Second thing was that a thriving congregation, on the other side of town, was looking for a church building to accommodate their growing congregation. They were in need of classrooms for their children and a fellowship hall where people could hang out. They were the ones who had removed the pews, to make way for a new floor and new chairs.
Marion had been mistaken.
The men who arrived with tools weren’t preparing the building to be demolished. They were fixing her up to be their church.
Day after day these people returned to work on the building. They painted her walls and cleaned the spider webs from her windows.
Over the next several weeks Marion began to realize that these people were not tearing her down. “This is not demolition”, she thought, “this is construction.”
Finally, she was receiving the much-needed repairs she had been longing for.
The sanctuary began to change and look much different.
New carpet!
New floor in the sanctuary!
New Speakers
New chairs so her people had some place to sit.
New paint for her sanctuary.
All the dust was gone and she looked pretty again.
The Wait is Over
She began to feel hopeful and optimistic for the first time in years. “I’m going to stay a church”, she said joyfully! And she was correct. These people were preparing her to be their church.
The reconstruction took months but one Sunday the long wait was over. There were people again.
This felt so familiar, but when the music began there was a noise she didn’t recognize. She would later learn that the new “joyful noise” was caused by guitars and drums. “Oh my, how things have changed with church music”, she thought. She preferred organ music but the drums and guitars really were quite exciting, and it was so nice to hear music and singing again.
A Hateful Note.
One day while everyone was away, a person came to her front doors. She peered out to see what he was doing. He was taping a note to the door. As she watched him, she perceived something that she had never known before. It made her reel back as if she had been stung. When her people returned and discovered the note they too were visibly upset. What was it in that note that made them so upset?
What she didn’t know was that some people from other churches disapproved of her congregation because they were “inclusive”. The note was condemning her congregation for offering unconditional love to everyone, no matter who they were or who they loved.
Despite the opposition from these outsiders, Marion’s congregation went ahead and offered unconditional love anyway. That pleased Marion greatly.
Marion later learned that what she had felt with the note-giver was something called “hate”. She had been fortunate as a church building and had never experienced hate with any of her congregations. Little did she know that other church buildings experienced hate on a regular basis. But for Marion it was new, and she didn’t like it. There was no place for it within her walls.
The Irony of it all
If Marion had known anything about irony, she would have appreciated that the people who had left so suddenly all those years ago, had done so to prevent women from being in roles of leadership. Conversely, the congregation that had rescued her from demolition and had given her new life, had women pastors. But that didn’t really matter to Marion because she had learned from Adda that LOVE is more important than who’s in charge. And the love she felt from this new congregation was strong. Besides, Marion had long known that women were more nurturing than men and that they were the glue that held congregations together.
In addition, Marion felt a strong connection to many of the people in this congregation. Like her, many of them had felt alone and lonely. Many had been rejected by other congregations. Some of them, like her, had experienced periods of discouragement and despair. Some new visitors who walked through her doors felt apprehensive and fearful, wondering if this church would be any different than others they had attended. They feared they would be rejected again. Marion joined her congregation in welcoming them all. They would be accepted here under her roof.
It had been a long time since Marion had thought about the steel box (time capsule) that was still safely behind her cornerstone. “If someday, someone comes back for that steel box, they can have it” she thought. She no longer needed it. She was creating all new memories with her new congregation.
Safe at Last
One day there was a ceremony, and they hung a sign above her front doors. It looked like a badge, with the words “Historic Landmark”. Marion wore it proudly, knowing that she would never again have to worry about being demolished.
She had a renewed sense of purpose and identity. She was their church, and they were her people. They had finally found each other! She felt young again because she was useful and needed. This loving congregation had given an old church, like her, a new chance at life and she would not let them down.
The Church on Marion Street is no longer lonely.
From Where I Stand
Dale Crum
