The Church Attic

Cobwebs rule the corners,
draping romantically over trunks and old chairs.
Boxes and board fall randomly down the walls.

There is music there too, yellowed with age,
their hymns still echoing in your head.
An ancient easel leans against the chimney.

A hand made cross, worn read letters emblazoned,
declaring Victory, a battle-cry now faded,
and banished to the attic with the other ghosts.

But today, the dust is disturbed. The shades
are pulled off the windows, letting in light,
and letting curious travelers peer in

where they will see, not perfection,
but something more miraculous,
transformation.

About the Poem

Most of you probably don’t know that Vermont is the least churched state in the Union. So unchurched in fact, that some denominations have made it an official mission field! Every little town has it’s one or two  little churches that goes back to the 18th or 18th century, but most of them are nearly empty on Sunday mornings.

In nearby Rupert, for instance, there are three churches within a mile or so of each other, and when you add all three together on a typical Sunday morning, you’re lucky to have 50 people in services.

How does that happen? How did the church go from being the center of life, to quaint little museums of spirituality? And how do we find our way back, and bring back the vital life and spiritual fellowship that these small rural churches represent?

I don’t have the answer, but I suspect part of it will be found digging through the “attic” of the churches, learning the stories and lives of the people who remain, and the people who left. And then sharing, simply sharing, how faith makes a difference in our individual lives. No big campaigns, a simple, human sharing of our weakness, and our strength that is God.

Tom

PS – the picture was taken in the church attic at Rupert Methodist Church, where I worship and serve.