On the Death of a Church

It was the first time that I had walked into the doors and sat near the back for the duration of the worship service. Being a pastor, I am typically at the front. I usually have tasks to do, responsibilities to which to attend. But today was different. I was not there as their pastor, I was a member of the congregation. I had no particular responsibilities. Nothing to read. Nothing to preach. Nothing to say. I could pray with my own words, not words for the congregation. I could sing without having to think about what is next. I could listen to the sermon instead of delivering it.

“Closing worship service” was written on the front of the bulletin, which was white today, although it is usually ivory colored paper. The images which are usually black and white prints of woodcuts now bears a color image of the church building.

I came in after the service had already started, and I simply pulled myself into a pew in the back, not wishing to make a scene. How would the people reäct to my presence, I wondered to myself. After all, it had only been a month since I delivered my farewell sermon…

 

I’m over at That Reformed Blog today, come on over to read the rest…

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