We planned to visit this congregation for 52 Churches but couldn’t—because they didn’t exist then.
Back then, two churches—one we skipped and one we visited (Church #25, “Embarking on a Metamorphosis”)—planned to simultaneously shut down for a few months and then reopen as a new, merged entity.
It took more than a few months, and they didn’t start their services until after the original 52 Churches project ended.
As they moved forward, the process went by various names, but for simplicity I’m calling it a reboot. Along the way, two other churches joined in, sending people and support. Today, we’ll see the results, eight months after their launch.
The large parking lot has ample room, but it also looks full. It’s a nice sight. A warm day, people mill about outside, including two greeters by the entrance, bantering with all who pass. One opens the door for us.
Inside is a bustle of activity, almost chaotic—at least to the uninitiated. As our eyes transition from outdoor glare to indoor normal, we pause to take in everything. There’s a nursery check-in station, a table for missions, and another for visitors, but we don’t make it that far.
A woman greets us. We connect with each other, but, as our conversation wanes, I wonder what to do next.
“Oh, nametags,” she says. “Do you want a nametag?”
“That’d be great.” But I’m not sure she hears me.
“We all wear nametags here.” She gestures to her own and guides us to the nametag table. By the time we finish, she’s disappeared, and a line has formed behind us.
With no room in the lobby to mingle, we have two choices. We can turn right to the fellowship hall and socialize, or head into the sanctuary and sit. We didn’t arrive as early as I wanted. The service should start in a couple of minutes, so we walk straight ahead and choose our seats.
Waiting to Begin
The floorplan of the facility remains the same. However, the lobby received a makeover, and the sanctuary underwent a complete transformation.
Gone are the pews, organ, and more formal elements. In their place are padded chairs for a couple hundred, a stage for the musicians, and a contemporary altar. What once approached stodgy is now chic. Subdued lighting adds to the allure. I’m quite sure something special awaits us.
A countdown clock, displayed on dual screens, implies the service will begin in two minutes and thirty-two seconds. While some churches employ this as an absolute trigger to launch the service, for others it’s a mere guide. Based on how organized they are, I expect the first, and I’m correct.
With twenty seconds remaining, the worship team starts playing softly. There are two on guitars, one who’s also the lead vocalist, another patting the congas, and a fourth who sings backup vocals. Their sound is light contemporary.
When the singing starts, a few people stand but most don’t. Slowly, others rise to join them and by the end of the first verse, most are standing, including Candy and me.
Changing the order today, communion—something they do every Sunday—follows.
The program—they’re careful to not call it a bulletin—says communion is open to “anyone who acknowledges Jesus Christ as the risen Savior.” Children are welcome to take part, too, as determined by their parents or caregivers.
In the pre-communion teaching, the minister, a thirty-something hipster, talks about mercy and grace. Mercy is not receiving the punishment we deserve, while grace is receiving the good that we don’t deserve.
I like these simple explanations and use them often, but I’ve never contemplated them during communion. As I do, I realize how perfectly they fit. Jesus exemplifies both mercy and grace. Communion celebrates this.
There are two communion stations, one up front and one in back, to serve the 160 or so present. The method is to dip the bread in the juice and eat, either at the communion station or later in our seats. As the worship team plays, we may go up whenever we want, but for most that means right away.
Candy and I sit, conspicuous by our inaction, as the throng surges forward. I try to concentrate on what I’m about to do, but as the only people still sitting, most of my effort focuses on not fidgeting. I sense my bride is anxious too.
After most of the people finish, we get in line. When it’s her turn, Candy breaks off some bread, while the man holding the cup says something appropriate.
Candy dips her bread and pauses. Normally, we celebrate communion as a couple, eating it together as I declare Jesus’s gift to her while she agrees. When it’s my turn, the man says something different to me. Perplexed, I mumble a disconnected response.
I dip my bread and Candy waits for me to say something. Today no words come, and I eat the bread without her. She follows. She seems disappointed over my break from our practice. She should be. I know I am.
Once again, I fail to fully embrace the wonder of what Jesus did. I went through the motions of communion, but failed to commune with God or my wife. We were the last to take communion, and now I just want to sit as quickly as possible.
Mother’s Day and Children
I shake off my failure at communion as a children’s choir sings. There are twelve girls and one boy. Today is Mother’s Day, though the song doesn’t follow that theme, but I’m not really listening. I’m more taken in by the animated antics of their leader.
Bubbling with expression, she leads them well—and entertains me. Afterward, they distribute carnations to all females, “honoring all women.” This nicely avoids the risk of having a celebration of mothers that inadvertently disregards those who desperately long to be moms but aren’t.
Candy doesn’t like carnations, but she accepts a red one.
Then all the children come forward for a blessing. The pastor says, “Let’s talk to Jesus.” I appreciate his simple, kid-appropriate reminder of what prayer is. Then the congregation sings “Jesus Loves Me” as the kids head off for their classes.
Giving as Worship
For the offering, the minister reminds us, “Giving is an act of worship.” This again strikes me as profound, just as it did the first time I heard it at Church #13 (“A Dedicated Pastor Team”).
Even so, every Sunday during my teens, I heard the phrase “Let us worship God with our tithes and offerings.” It meant nothing to me then. I assumed it was merely a polite euphemism for “give us your money.”
I understood the offering as merely a way to fund the church, and I missed it as worship.
The Importance of Rest
The church is in the middle of a series about the importance of rest. Today’s message is “Abide, Grow, Fruit, Prune,” based on John 15:1–8. The goal is to produce fruit: the fruit of the Spirit (see Galatians 5:22–23), good deeds, and transformation.
The minister asks, “Are you bearing fruit?” As the text reminds us, apart from God we can do nothing (John 15:5). Abiding will produce fruit. Rest will result in good works. We need to “find a place of rest,” says the pastor.
We will have “cycles of pruning and of growing.” He ends with the advice “to rest in Christ.”
The worship team plays softly as we exit the sanctuary. One man introduces us to some of his friends. He’s outgoing, with an engaging personality. We talk at length.
Connecting and Fellowship
He says sometimes he’s a greeter. Other times his role is to mingle and interact with visitors. Today he has the day off.
“You’re doing it anyway!”
He smiles. “Yes, I guess I am.”
“When you’re serving where you should be, it comes naturally and gives life.”
He nods, and Candy adds, “But trying to serve in the wrong place is never good.” We acknowledge her wisdom.
Eventually our conversation wraps up. As I turn to leave, I spot the worship team at the communion table serving themselves communion. It’s beautiful.
Despite the changes made in the facility’s appearance, the service unfolded like most others. They merely housed typical expectations in a new package, updating the form but not the format.
We exit the sanctuary and, once again in the lobby, we have two choices. Head to our car or veer into the fellowship hall for food and more conversation. We stay and enjoy both.
For an eight-month-old church, they have much to offer: many who are involved, several programs and areas to serve, and great community. May God continue to bless them on their reboot.
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Peter DeHaan writes about biblical Christianity to confront status quo religion and live a life that matters. He seeks a fresh approach to following Jesus through the lens of Scripture, without the baggage of made-up traditions and meaningless practices.