The Church is dying––

or so we’re told frequently and loudly.

On most Sundays…

in most mainstream denominations…

more pews are empty than full;

and the cheerful sounds of swarms of children going off to Sunday School… 

are a distant and fading memory.

In an era when church membership and attendance have declined steadily––

and perhaps alarmingly––

a concern with growth and numbers has become prominent…

bordering on the obsessive.

Thus, almost every mainstream denomination has appointed mission personnel and church-growth experts…

and sought to implement elaborate plans…

all in an effort to increase congregational numbers.

Some scholars, however, sound a note of caution.

For example, the theologian Carlos Wilton––

an Emeritus Professor from Princeton Theological Seminary in America––

points out that worries over poor attendance and dwindling numbers are not new.

There’s a letter, for example… 

written by the Venerable Bede… 

in eighth-century England…

bemoaning declining numbers and the seeming death spiral of the Church.

Wilton also points out that church attendance–– 

even in the seemingly hyper-religious United States––

has, historically, rarely exceeded twenty percent…

except for the period from just after World War Two until relatively recently.

Rather, church attendance has always waxed and waned.

And, maybe, Wilton suggests, “the pendulum” has “reached the limit of its swing”…

and might, perhaps, begin to swing the other way again.

 

The church, it would seem, is trapped in the whole numbers game.

Of course, for some church leaders, it’s driven by a certain theological conviction.

And, for many, it’s also driven by fear––

the fear of closure;

the fear of institutional irrelevancy and death––

or the loss of personal identity and purpose.

And yet… 

at heart, there seems to be a belief or an expectation… 

that the church ought to be strong and growing numerically.

And, certainly, if we read through the book of Acts…

the overall impression that we get is of unbridled growth.

Throughout most of the early chapters…

the proclamation of the good news of Jesus Christ meets with success after success.

Following Peter’s Pentecost sermon, the author claims that three thousand people believed… 

and joined the nascent Christian community.

At the start of chapter four, he claims a further five thousand believed and joined.

It’s astonishing stuff!

And it’s clearly a fabrication––

a blatant bit of early Christian propaganda.

In real terms, if the earliest Christian community numbered some eight thousand people––

that would have been more than a quarter of the entire population of Jerusalem.

It’s a gross exaggeration!

But, narratively-speaking, the author’s point is simply that God is at work… 

growing the church…

and when the church is open and co-operative…

then that growth can be astonishing.

But then we come to this morning’s reading from Acts.

In a somewhat matter-of-fact sort of way…

the author would have us believe that Paul and his party set out from Iconium… 

in southern Galatia––

that is, right in the middle of modern-day Turkey––

and travelled west through the provinces of Galatia and Phrygia…

heading for the province of Asia Minor––

a journey of some five hundred kilometres on foot…

a journey that probably would have taken a couple of months…

a journey through dangerous, sometimes poorly populated areas…

only for the Spirit to say to them, “no, you can’t preach there”.

So, off they traipsed again…

leaving behind Galatia, Phrygia, and Asia Minor…

and heading north towards the province of Bithynia––

a journey in excess of three hundred kilometres…

a journey of perhaps another month’s duration.

And the same thing happened there.

So they stopped in Troas, on the coast.

And, while they were there, Paul had a dream…

which he interpreted as being a man from Macedonia–– that is…

the north-eastern region of Greece––

beckoning them to come over.

And…

believing it to be a message from God…

Paul and his companions immediately hopped onto a boat and sailed over.

And… 

having arrived in the town of Philippi…

and, after almost a week of seemingly twiddling their thumbs…

they headed out towards a local creek…

presuming that, if there were any Israelites present…

that’s where they would be.

And all they find is a small group of women––

indeed, the Greek implies that there are no men––

and only one of those women is responsive to Paul’s message.

Paul and his companions travelled more than eight hundred kilometres––

a journey of some three months––

and had virtually nothing to show for it.

As the author constructs it, they just strode on purposefully––

or wandered around aimlessly––

waiting for the Spirit’s direction.

But how did the Spirit “forbid” them from preaching?

If we look at the original Greek, it’s more nuanced than it might seem.

Perhaps it’s better translated as the Spirit “hindered” or “impeded” them. 

Perhaps, the author is suggesting that they did, in fact, preach––

that they preached and they kept on preaching––

but nothing happened.

But, because they believed that God was in control…

and that it depended upon God to open hearts and minds––

then the apparent lack of success or even the apparent failure…

was actually God saying, “No!

Not here, not now, not like this!”

And then… 

finally… 

when they had a vision of where they believed that God was telling them that they “ought” to go…

and they arrived in Philippi…

all that they could find was a small group of women.

And the only woman who responded–– 

given her name and occupation–– 

would have been a former slave…

one who was engaged in a dirty and demeaning occupation…

ranking her rather low on the social scale.

It was anything but an auspicious enterprise!

The author’s little travelogue… 

here… 

effectively deconstructs his whole onward-and-upward…

“God-wants-the-church-to-grow”… 

ideology.

And, perhaps, it ought to bring us crashing down too.

There are no guarantees that any church-growth initiatives will bear fruit.

 

But it also begs a much deeper question.

Have we, in fact, “churchified” our economic rationalist ideologies––

capitalist notions of productivity and commodification—

and projected them onto God?

Martin Luther King jr once described it as “jumboism”—

the worship of size;

the seeking for security “in that which is large and extensive”.

On the contrary, he warns us:

“Numerical growth should not be overemphasized”…

for it is “an utterly fallacious standard for measuring positive power”.

Indeed, “almost always the creative, dedicated minority has made the world better”.

Our success, as church, is not measured by the size of our congregations…

or by the size of our collection.

Our success, as church, is measured by the lives that are touched and influenced;

by the extent to which we live out and make manifest…

the inclusive, all-embracing love of God.

Our success, as church––

if we even use that language––

is to be seen in our faithfulness;

and in our courage to strive for that which is good, and right, and just…

even if…

and perhaps especially if…

it is unpopular…

or seemingly won’t bear fruit…

or even holds the potential to turn some people away.

As people who follow the crucified-risen Christ…

should we expect the church to be anything else?