“Then Jesus told them plainly, ‘Lazarus is dead.’”

Earlier in Lent, one of the daily devotions in the StillSpeaking Devotion series focused on the story of Lazarus. Rev. Anthony Robinson recalled that when the book, I Refuse to Lead a Dying Church was published, he told a minister friend how great he thought it was. Her response was, “I think the book I need is, ‘I Refuse to Lead a Church that Doesn’t Know it’s Dying.’”

Tony went on to suggest that we like the first title, because it’s bold and defiant. It suggests that with resolve and determination, hard work and perhaps a few adjustments, our church will rise up and be great. He also said most people would not like the second title. “I Refuse to Lead a Church that Doesn’t Know it’s Dying.” It’s too pessimistic and negative.
Tony got to a good conclusion: that we need God. Desperately. That for today’s context, tweaking isn’t enough. Even “growth” isn’t enough. We need the power of God to break in amongst us and raise us to new life. We need resurrection, which isn’t a human thing, but a God thing. God raises the dead to life. Well put, Tony.

But the letting go that churches need to do in order to have new life isn’t the same thing as death. Human death is a misleading analogy to the closure of a local church, emotionally laden and not helpful. For Jesus and for Lazarus, death was necessary, because they were human. But for Christ, for God manifest, death is irrelevant. There is only resurrection, and the promise to be with us no matter what the future holds. “I will be with you to the end of the age.” “I am who I am.”

And that is also Christ’s promise to the church. God’s church has been changing, constantly adapting for at least 2,000 years. Clear evidence that “I will be with you to the end of the age.” As the church adapts, it has needed to let go of old practices and forms, but that is hardly analogous to the death of a human individual.

None of us who still are alive have actually experienced death, though many of us have observed its mystery, sometimes with awe, sometimes with fear of what it will mean for us personally. Most adults have also experienced the pain that losing a loved one brings, and the loneliness that follows. And part of the pain is the inability to know exactly what the experience of death will be like for us personally. We’d like to ask Mom or Dad to tell us what to expect, but that’s not the way death works.

That’s not true when a local church closes. There are people that have been through this process before, either directly as a member o f the congregation, or indirectly as a pastor or consultant working with a church considering closure. Through them and their stories, it is possible to know what happens to people after a church closes. It is even possible to continue seeing loved ones, church friends, after the church closes. That’s not like death at all, in my book.

A church closure, no matter how sad, also does not mean that the ministry needs to die. The remaining disciples in the church are merely asked to find a different way of serving, perhaps a different local church. And the other resources of the closing church are capable of starting new ministries as well. This is not death; it is a redeployment of life and ministry in which death is irrelevant. In other words, it is resurrection. The church of Jesus Christ continues.

As we move through Holy Week and on into the Season of Pentecost, would you please join me in prayer that we come to understand with both our heads and our hearts that, though the form of church or the place of worship may change, that God’s church will live forever. God promised.

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