Requiem for a church!

The Christmas cards are coming in at a pretty good clip now, from parts near and far away, reminding us again of how many folks have wondered in and out of our lives over the years, and of what each one has meant to us. Some are merely signed, others contain a brief note of greeting, while still others are accompanied by the ubiquitous annual letter updating friends and family of the events of the past year.
Frankly, I enjoy getting these updates. Life has just become too busy to be able to keep up with all those we care about, and while these letters can never substitute for the intimacy of moments spent together, at least they allow us to catch up with one another.
But one letter, received from a dear member of one of our former congregations in Illinois, has proven to be bittersweet. While it contained the usual information on their family, it also sought to fill us in on some of the news in our former churches. We were delighted to learn that a food pantry that my wife helped launch over 23 years ago was still operating. To be sure it’s having it’s struggles, especially with the demand on it’s services of late, but it’s still in place. It’s nice to know that ones time and efforts have made a difference. But other news was not so welcome, for we also learned that one of our former congregations will be closing it’s doors after this Christmas!
The Scotville UMC is a small but beautifully maintained white building that sits one block off the town square. When I served there attendance averaged in the low twenties, mostly women and children. It wasn’t that they were all widows. Some were, but the rest were married to men who were Masons, and in that community they seemed to think that the Masons were an adequate substitute for church. There was no running water in the building in the mid-80’s, and the restroom facilities consisted of a two seat outhouse in back, but that didn’t stop the ladies from serving a huge turkey dinner every fall as a major fundraiser. Jugs of water were hauled in from home, heated on the stove, and some of the best food I’ve ever had in a church basement was served there! “City” water service came to the town in the late-eighties, and the church hooked on and put in a bathroom. They also added central air, again just after I left! They were proud of their building, and the congregation was a supportive community for one another and those in need around them.
But Scotville has been afflicted with the same population trends that have hit other rural areas. Their school closed decades ago. Young folks have gone off to college and not returned. The aging population (around 200 when we were there over twenty years ago) was down to 136 as of July of 2007. Declining numbers, as well as rising costs to heat and maintain the building and pay for pastoral coverage, all conspired together to help the remaining members make a difficult choice.
I trust that this is sad news for those of us who pastored in Scotville. It’s painful enough for me to approve the closing of a church at Annual Conference even when I have never served there, but the personal tie makes it that much more difficult. Still, in the midst of this loss I hold on to the conviction that while a local congregation may shutter its doors and windows, it lives on in the lives it has touched. Young people who grew up there, and who learned of Jesus from faithful Sunday School teachers and pastors, are passing that same faith on to others in new churches now. One of the last times I was back one young man who had grown up in that congregation was wrestling with a call to the pastoral ministry. I never heard whether he went on to seminary or not, but if he did that congregations love and care will continue in his ministry as well!
And I can’t help but think that it’s like that for us too. In the end our real “worth” won’t be measured by the size of the estate we leave behind, the notoriety we've achieved, or the things we've accomplished, but by the people we’ve touched and the lives that have been enriched by our love.