On Church Buildings

I’ve always loved old church buildings. There is just something about the smell, the atmosphere, the feeling that you get inside an old church, especially when you are alone inside the building.

I’ll always remember the church that I grew up in. It was a new building, at least compared to the buildings around it in the little town I grew up near. A friend of mine and I were the first babies baptized in the new church building in 1976. The sanctuary still has the same carpet, the pews are the same, nearly everything is original right down the the big iron bell out front. That congregation has stood in some form or fashion for 125 years.

My grandfather’s funeral a few weeks ago was held at the church my mother grew up in, where my grandfather was a deacon. It’s a much older, much bigger building, built in the 1920s. Like most buildings in Kansas, this church has a very large basement where I remember having 4H banquets, family gatherings, and visiting my grandmother when she was quilting with other ladies from the church.

I think this is the primary reason why I fall in love with old church buildings. Each one of them has a such a unique history. These buildings were the dreams of the congregations that built them, who poured blood, sweat, tears, and money into them, often sacrificially so. These buildings were where the community came together at least once a week to share their joys, their sorrows, and many times their food. These buildings held the dreams of parents who wanted to raise their children in a Christian environment. These buildings represent the starting line for couples who were married there, and the finish line for those whose lives are celebrated at funerals. These buildings are where people first come to know Christ, and where people grow in their knowledge of Him. These buildings are more than brick and mortar, wood and nails. These buildings are the heart of communities, the single strand around which everyone’s life intertwines. These buildings are built to be houses of worship, a place where we commune with God and with each other. These buildings are special.

Our church doesn’t really have that sense. We meet in an old bank building, which is nice, but it doesn’t have the history, the gravitas that a church building does. Our church is growing more rapidly than our building can hold us. It’s painful, difficult, and frustrating, but it is the situation that God has us in. However, because of the people in our congregation, our building is special. Our building is where we worship together. Our building is where we’ve had small groups meet. Our building is where we fellowship, enjoying each others stories and recipes. Our building is where people have been baptized, where people have accepted Jesus. Our building has been the starting point of service to our community. If and when we move out of this building, it will be missed.

I guess my point is that the church building is important, but yet it isn’t. The place where we meet is only as special as the people who meet there. The heart of the church isn’t the building, it’s the people and the faith we share that makes the building what it is. The old church building is a representation of the Christian heritage that we all have, a demonstration of the faith declared by those who came before us. Each building is infused with the memories, the joy, the pain, the laughter, and the tears of the people who have passed through it. When this is combined with the Spirit of God, these buildings transcend their earthly materials and become beacons of light that shine into the darkness of the world around us. The church building is special because the people of God are special.

That’s why I love old church buildings.