Resurrection Hope: Church Closure and a Faithful Future
Lorrin Radzik’s UMC LEAD talk on holy closure and resurrection.
“Resurrection Hope: Church Closure and a Faithful Future” by Rev. Lorrin Radzik
Pastor Lorrin Radzik took to the LEAD stage to preach resurrection — even after closing two churches. In this 15-minute TED-style talk, Lorrin challenges the church to be courageous and to tell a new story about church endings.
Read the transcript below!
Go change the world
It is one minute ‘til noon, so good morning!
In 2013, I graduated from seminary and like most other seminary graduates, I was ready to go and change the world! I was clear about my call to ministry and ready to unleash all my theological knowledge onto any unsuspecting congregation where the bishop saw fit to appoint me. Though I’d spent my final year of seminary serving a small United Methodist Church as their student pastor, something about having that Master of Divinity in hand and the Commissioning Certificate on the wall made it feel a bit more official.
But nine months into that first appointment out of seminary, I found myself standing in front of my congregation, leading their final worship service.
Congregational death
I didn’t go to seminary to close churches.
I didn’t expect to walk with a congregation as they did the hard work of discernment. And yet, there I was.
I had been sent to a church that had already died – but there was no talk of that in my appointment letter.
As you can imagine, those nine months weren’t pretty. When I arrived, I was greeted by 50 friendly people who were excited about what their “new, young pastor” would bring to the congregation. That was what they were told about me before I got there.
Options beside church closure
Shortly after I arrived, Conference Leadership began a conversation with me about a shared ministry opportunity that was something I could get excited about.
My tiny, white congregation was being asked to consider sharing space with a United Methodist Hmong ministry. It sounded too good to be true! Such a partnership could transform our ministry, and it was exciting to me.
But I quickly learned that my congregation wasn’t the least bit interested in sharing space with others who were different. And no one told me that they had already had this conversation.
My congregation was only interested in doing church “the way they’d always done it.” In our humanness, we hold on to what we have, failing to let go and see what God can do.
Sharing space was not an option for my people. One member of my congregation very pointedly told me that his church would share space over his dead body — and he meant that literally.
During those nine months, more than half of the congregation walked out the door. Those that were left had to step into new leadership roles and make decisions about what to do next.
Choosing faithful futures
They decided to do the hard work of discernment — to be faithful stewards of what God had entrusted to them. They decided to close their church with money left in the bank.
And in those moments, my call to ministry shifted too. Everything I thought I knew about what God wanted from me and my ministry was turned on its head, and I had to discover the places where God was creating new life and writing a different story for me.
I learned that I’m really good at helping folks have honest and difficult conversations. I learned that part of God’s call for me is to think strategically and fix broken systems. I learned that I value honesty as a ministry gift, and that it is vital to my ministry that I am able to tell the truth about what I see and what I experience — even and especially when I don’t know how well it will be received. The amazing thing is that God shows up in the messy honesty that is community life.
On our last Sunday, the congregation and I gathered for worship. We spent time together doing a normal service. We cried together. Some of the folks who had walked out the doors came back to worship with us one last time. And God was at work in that place and in those people.
Leaving the church building
Our final worship service ended with an intentional leave-taking service. Starting at the back of the building, furthest from the doors, we walked room by room through our space, remembering and giving thanks for all that God had done. For the events and activities that had shaped their lives in that space.
We began in the nearly abandoned children’s Sunday school room, filled with puppets and felt board Bible characters that hadn’t been used in years. We paused to give thanks for the children whose lives were shaped there, for the teachers whose service had taught generations. We went to the fellowship hall that hosted dinners and fundraisers and dances, for fellowship time and time spent together.
We paused at the parlor and the office. We remembered pastoral conversations and Bible studies and small groups. And we made our way into the sanctuary. We reflected at the baptismal font, the pulpit, and the altar. We remembered years of beautiful worship, the Word that had been preached, and the sacraments that had been shared in that place.
And after giving thanks in each location of the church, we found ourselves at the doors, saying goodbye to a place that had shaped us and taught us about God’s love and grace. I reminded folks before we exited the building the words that had been shared before we began our leave-taking service: “This is the last time you will be in this space.”
Once we exited the doors of the church that Sunday morning, we would never go inside again. But God was still at work in those people and in that place.
New life beyond closed doors
Their story is our story — because it’s a part of God’s story. Their story is the story of death and resurrection. Once that church had decided to close, the Hmong ministry that we had been offered partnership with was given permission to move into the space.
After taking our leave of the building, we gathered ourselves outside on the church lawn. Our final act of worship as a congregation was to plant a tree, leaving a legacy for those who would come after us.
On that Sunday morning, as one congregation closed its doors, God made way for another congregation to grow and flourish because of the good and faithful stewardship of God’s people, who knew that death was not the end of their story.
In letting go of what had been, in closing the doors of an already dead church, they proclaimed that God’s story was their story, too. And they gave me the incredible privilege of walking with them through death and resurrection.
Friends, if we really believe what we preach – that resurrection is real – then death is not the end of our stories, but a new beginning with God. For those who had called that church home, whether for a few months or over fifty years, new beginnings came as they found new church homes and began to flourish in their congregations. Some of those folks found joy for ministry again, not held back by constant anxiety and worry over their church’s survival, but freed to use their gifts and talents to serve in ways that transformed their hearts and the world around them. And as for the church building itself, the money that was left in the bank paid for much needed maintenance and care in order to prepare that space for the new ministry to take root and grow.
Another struggling church
After that appointment, I spent three years serving another congregation in Wisconsin, and then found myself back in Northeast Ohio, which for me is home. I was appointed to serve two small churches in the Cleveland area. And soon after I arrived, I began to get that feeling in my gut. You know that one? like you’ve been in that space before? That’s what I felt when I looked at one of those two churches. And I knew in the depths of my soul what I had to do.
I promise I didn’t go to seminary to close churches. But I’d been sent to another church that was already dead – unable to make disciples and to transform the world. They were just exhausted trying to keep the ministry running, to manage the property, and to keep the lights on.
As I was learning to be a pastor, lots of folks gave me advice on what to do and what not to do in a new appointment. We’re taught not to change anything for the first year. We’re told to keep our heads down, learn the culture, and wait to make any big changes. But I couldn’t wait.
I knew that we had to begin talking about what I could already see – that one of those churches needed to conclude their ministry.
And after a long and difficult process — more than nine months this time — I found myself standing in front of yet another congregation, on another Sunday morning, leading their final worship service.
Telling the truth about church closure
In the United Methodist Church, we have a pattern of waiting until it’s too late to have difficult conversations. And if we are having the conversations, as Meredith said yesterday, we talk and talk and talk – and still nothing happens. More likely, we find ourselves waiting for someone else to have the conversation. We wait for the next pastor. For the next lay leader. For the next Administrative Council Chair or Treasurer.
It happens in our local churches when we fail to have transparent and much-needed honest conversation about the reality of resources, people, and ministries. But it happens at all levels of the church. We avoid things that might be difficult, and sometimes it feels to me like we bury our heads in the sand, pretending as though not talking about difficult things will make them just disappear.
But, friends, God is in the hard and messy stuff. Faith requires risk. Resurrection cannot be a part of our story unless we are willing to deal with death. Unless we are willing to be in the midst of the brokenness and the messiness of the world and the church that we live in.
It’s time for us to have those conversations. It’s time for us to think about the stories that we tell and the communities that we create. But in order to do that, we have to really and truly believe what we preach.
We have to be willing to be honest about difficult conversations. We have to be willing to be courageous and bold, even when we know that it won’t be well received. We have to make good and faithful stewardship choices – because ministry isn’t about us, it’s about what God is doing in the world.
Too often, we hold so tightly to the things that we have, that we forget we are not the authors of our own stories, but participants in God’s story. And just when we think the story is over – that’s when God shows up!
A different story about church closure
If we really believe what we preach – that resurrection is real – then why don’t we tell a different story?
When I go to United Methodist gatherings, I don’t hear stories of death and resurrection like what happened in the two churches I walked with.
We don’t tell the stories of the courageous and faithful people who made self-sacrificial stewardship decisions in order to be faithful participants in God’s story of resurrection.
When I go to Annual Conference, we have mini funerals for our closed churches. We don’t tell those resurrection stories. Instead, we show a picture on the screen, we ask former members and clergy who have served those churches to stand. We offer a moment of silence and a brief prayer.
But we could tell a different story. The faithful conclusion of ministry is not a failed church, but a church that has done its work, served its purpose, and died to give way to new life.
The faithful conclusion of ministry is an opportunity for God’s story to become our story – for death and resurrection to take root in our lives and our churches, transforming us forever.
The thing about resurrection though, is that it never comes in the way we expect, exactly when we expect it. Resurrection doesn’t happen on our timeline or in the way that we wish it would. And it certainly doesn’t mean that we end up the same as we were before we died.
New life is just that – new – and different. Like the resurrected Jesus in the garden, whose closest followers didn’t even recognize him in the midst of their shock and grief, resurrection transforms us and makes us part of God’s continuing story in the world.
Now more than ever, I think, we need to trust that God is at work in our midst, as we allow ourselves to be vulnerable and honest, transparent and broken, willing to have difficult conversations and to tell a new kind of story.
So friends, what would it be like if we told a different story? What would be different if we lived as though we believed what we preached? If resurrection were really and truly real?
Because if we really believe what we preach, I can’t wait to see what God has in store.
What story will you tell?
Like the Good Friday Collaborative on Facebook to begin changing the story of church closure.
(And to get a copy of the building blessing liturgy, check out the Resource Bundle in the Online Course!)
