Isaiah writes "See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?" (Isaiah 43:19). Even as we mourn the death of our churches at an alarming frequency, we should be looking ahead where God is making this new thing in our communities. The pattern of death and resurrection runs deep in our faith tradition. When Abraham left Ur, he had to let his old life die to embrace God's new promise. When the Israelites fled Egypt, they had to watch the death of their slavery before experiencing freedom. The Apostle Paul reminds us that "unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds" (John 12:24). Perhaps what we're witnessing isn't just an ending, but a necessary transformation. The early church thrived not in grand buildings but in homes and marketplaces, among people seeking authentic community and divine encounter. Consider the words of the prophet Ezekiel, who saw dry bones come to life (Ezekiel 37). Standing in the valley of death, he witnessed God's breath transform despair into hope, decay into renewal. Today, we might feel like we're standing in our own valley, surrounded by the remains of what once was. But the same Spirit that raised Christ from the dead still moves among us (Romans 8:11).
This time of institutional decline might be preparing us for something profound. Jesus himself warned against putting new wine into old wineskins (Mark 2:22). Maybe our current struggles are creating space for new wineskins—new ways of being church that we never thought about yesterday- think Headlands or indeed Church Without Walls- devoid of the physical building shackles. The early Christians were called "people of the Way" (Acts 9:2), suggesting movement, journey, and transformation rather than static institutions. As we navigate this wilderness time, we can draw strength from remembering that God has always done some of His best work in the wilderness. It was there that He formed His people, provided manna, and spoke in ways that couldn't be heard amid the noise of settled life. Our current uncertainty might be exactly where God wants us—dependent on daily bread, attentive to His voice, ready for new directions.
We are indeed a resurrection people, and this identity isn't just about what happened two thousand years ago; oh no! It's about who we are today. Every Sunday, we celebrate not just a historical event but a present reality: that God brings life from death, hope from despair, and new beginnings from apparent endings. So, let us then face tomorrow Not with fear, but with Holy anticipation. The same God who spoke life to Ezekiel’s bones, speaks hope to us today. May we have eyes to see the new thing God is doing, hearts brave enough to let go of what was, and faith strong enough to embrace what will be. Amen