My Church Dissolved—But Did It Fail?

Have you ever been through a church dissolution? Either a church you helped start from the beginning or you were simply present at the end?

I have.

Twenty years ago this month, my family was part of a core group that planted a church. Forty-seven people were bound together by shared dreams, exciting plans, multigenerational camaraderie, a love for the gospel, and high hopes for what we envisioned years down the road: a strong, healthy congregation, a building of our own, and God’s Word being preached, taught, and shared with others. God was doing a good work, and we had the incredible opportunity to be his hands and feet, establishing a new church in a new place for his glory.

For fourteen years, that church was a huge part of our lives. We met in a school, which meant arriving early, setting up chairs, and building “walls” out of gym mats and folded cafeteria tables (for the nursery and Sunday school spaces) every single week. We hauled in nursery toys, games and puzzles, Sunday school materials, and coffee and snacks. We pulled hymnals and a solid wood folding lectern and communion and offering trays out of metal storage containers on the school’s stage, and then put them all back again three hours later. Outdoors, the deacons placed signs along the road and at the entrance to the school to invite people in and direct them where to go.

Fairly early on, we doubled the number in our core congregation, and then some. A few years later, we bought land and met with architects about what we could build there. We had fellowship meals and shepherding groups and small groups and Bible studies and more—almost always in people’s homes. We were a family, and we went through the highs and lows of all the things that families experience together—both gain and loss, both sadness and joy.

Fourteen years is a long time. Here’s some perspective: when we began the church, our seven-year-old son was the oldest child in the congregation. When the church dissolved, he was in the Marines and engaged to be married.

Notice that I didn’t say the church “failed.” The church dissolved, which is a legal term meaning “disband or disperse.” Why do we use this word when we talk about churches that ceased to be? Are we just trying to sugarcoat the truth, or trying to cover up some scandalous issue? Not usually—although that can and does happen. But there are lots of other, more common reasons why a church may decide to dissolve. As with all of life, many factors are usually at play in such a weighty decision. Sometimes there are financial difficulties, sometimes there are too many pastoral transitions in too short a period of time, sometimes there is a loss of vision, sometimes the location is less than ideal, etc. And sometimes, quite often, you don’t know with certainty exactly why, but nevertheless, the decision needs to be made.

But whatever the reason, it’s still a tremendous personal loss, and its faithful members will go through a difficult grieving process. If you’ve been affected by a church dissolution, there are a couple of helpful ways to think of what has happened that offer comfort and peace rather than regret or disappointment.

What has happened: a church dissolution. What happens when a church dissolves is like what happens when you put a spoonful of salt into a glass of warm water and stir. As you move the spoon around and around, eventually all of those salt crystals are going to dissolve into a new substance.

The decision to dissolve a church is never an easy one. It’s usually a long, painful process for everyone involved. When the decision is finally made, the remaining members disperse and eventually “dissolve” into other congregations. It’s awkward and painful at first, but they are now able to worship and serve with a new body of believers. They can use whatever gifts they had brought to their old church in their new church … or perhaps (as in my own experience), having a “fresh start” in a new congregation presents an opportunity to serve in a completely different way, according to the needs of the new church.

What has not happened: a church failure. When a church disbands, the pain of parting with your church family, people you had gotten to know so well as you labored together to establish a new church, is very real. A church dissolution can be incredibly disappointing, even as you acknowledge that God has a plan, and that your church’s final outcome was never a surprise to him. When your church dissolves, it’s quite natural to think, “What was the point, God? Why did you allow this church we loved so much and worked so hard to build, to die?”

One of our elders had such a good and simple answer for that reasonable question that I’ve never forgotten it: “Everything has a lifespan,” he said. Yes, everything has a lifespan. Churches are no different.

If you’re ever tempted to think of a church dissolution (perhaps your own) as a church failure, it’s helpful to take this lifespan comparison to its logical conclusion: people have lifespans. Sometimes those lifespans are short—shorter than the 80 or so years we think of as a good and full life. Some lives end at six months, some at age 15, some at age 35 or 50, some even before they are born. In each case, we think of these lives as “cut short” and we are terribly sad at the lost potential, the loss of these precious people who meant so much to their loved ones and to God. But do we think of any of these as a “failed life?” Of course not. Theirs was not a failed life—it was a life that had an effect on others and will never be forgotten. However short, it was a life that mattered and that changed others around it forever. If we are Christian, we acknowledge through our sadness that God is in control and that he knows best, even if we don’t understand such a tremendous loss.

In the same way, a church dissolution is not a “failed church.” It’s true that the church didn’t live as long as people had expected or hoped that it would. But that single fact about the church doesn’t diminish the blessings that came from it, all in God’s own good timing.

For example, here are just a few good things I can point to about our dissolved (not failed) church: meaningful, lifelong friendships; shared memories and experiences of doing life together in a very real way; growth in the gospel together; tremendous blessings to dozens of children who grew up in or were touched in some way by the church; spiritual growth, both together and individually, from all that the church asked of us and how we met that challenge; others who were blessed by the church, including school custodians, nursing home residents, prisoners, and missionaries; and those who benefited financially when the church closed and its remaining funds were disbursed to missionaries, sister churches, and other church plants.

The sadness was great and the grief was real, but the blessings were many.

When our old church dissolved and my family had to find a new church home, we ended up in a church with a name that starts with the same letter as our old church. Here we are six years later, firmly established in our new church, and yet still, still, I find myself occasionally, accidentally, calling my current church by my former church’s name. That church plant is such a part of who I am, an integral part of my life and my husband’s life and my children’s lives and the lives of so many friends … and I am so grateful to God for establishing it, for using brothers and sisters in the faith to nurture it and share the gospel message with many, and then allowing it to dissolve amicably at the precise moment that he had ordained.

This is why I don’t think of a dissolved church as a failed church. Our dissolved church (and maybe yours) had a good life that blessed many, and to this day, I’m thankful to God for it.

Image by ArsAdAstra from Pixabay