A Prayer for Small Churches
Gems appear in places least expected. Among the multitude of facts, figures, and massive amounts of information and numerous appeals, there are shafts of light and heartfelt emotions. The following is one of those lovely things that appeared in The B.C. Regular Baptist in its March/April 1980 edition. It was written by Mrs. Dorothy Brotherton who was a regular contributor to the newsletter.
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In the carousel of daily activity there are those moments of arrest. God taps you on the shoulder, your sensors sit up, and even the surroundings become vivid.
That day it was an empty church building. I was exploring the unused balcony, scrounging for a table to hold visual aids. The child-in-me could not resist peaking over the balcony’s edge.
The tap. Perhaps the closeness to laminated beams and curved wood-grain answered a need within me for beauty. Or perhaps I’d never before viewed the auditorium from this upper perspective. Perhaps it was simply God’s arresting hand.
The pews wore a look of bravery, lonely for people to fill them, as if aware of how readily people jam theatre seats, stadium benches, bar stools or a car’s bucket seats. Did those pews straighten their shoulders as I watched? Though empty, they stood undiscouraged, expectant. Their solid presence seemed to fling a defiant faith across our society. “Yes!” they asserted. “There will be those who recognize their need and sit here to receive God’s Word. We are not going away and we are not about to collapse in splintered defeat.”
The musical instruments stood silent, pregnant with praise, ready to erupt in tribute to God with His people.
The pulpit spread wide and flat like a table from this overhead view. I sensed lingering about it the ghosts of past banquets and the promise of future feasts—for those who hunger. The pulpit seemed to wait, with a poise fitting its message, confident that many would hunger.
The simple pieces of furniture sparked my tears. And prayers.
Of course, pews aren’t “brave.” Wood doesn’t have “faith.” But their vigil drew faith from me. Bravery too, perhaps, to identify with those brave and faith-filled people who continue to keep small churches open in a world more and more rejecting. Who continue to come, service after tiny service, to gain sustenance to live in that rejecting society with openness, sharing the Word of life. Refusing the natural hurt of rejection, to offer those Words yet again.
Small, half-empty church buildings have always depressed me. And there are so many across BC. I almost prefer the boarded-up, let’s-face-reality, ghost buildings.
But a glimpse from God’s higher point of view swept my vision clear as He called my prayers over the balcony’s edge that day.
This building stands in this neighbourhood as a reminder of the presence of God in this world. As do the courageous ones who defy defeat and keep its doors open.
“Hey, world!” their faithful attendance cries, “There is an answer! This is something offered in this building that is worth getting!”
Oh God, bathe this building, and sister-structures all across this land, with the tears of Your Spirit. Fill these patient pews with newborns, eager and alive beside the war-weary disciples. Kindle them afresh together for the work of the ministry. God, hinge the doors of this building so that they will swing both in and out. And then, please wear out the hinges
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