There's a reel of 8mm film shot in 1961 that follows a parade of members of the Church of the Nazarene in Iowa City as they move from their downtown church to a newly constructed facility on property expected to become an upscale, growing community. With few exceptions, the faces in that procession were middle-class whites confident that this fashionable church building would be a legacy for children and grandchildren for generations to come.
By 2002, however, an aging remnant was confronted with dwindling attendance, and they were frightened by the prospect of losing their religious and cultural identity in an increasingly diverse neighborhood, now designated by city officials as "blighted."
The remaining members sensed that their original mission had stagnated and lost focus. Having invested a good portion of their lives in this church, these determined members expressed a willingness to take the risk and adopt a new vision to be the church in this changing context. It was at this point that I became pastor.
Our First Small Steps
With church leaders open to innovation, we tried a great variety of outreach programs—drama, theme Sundays, art exhibits, children's events, a "living Last Supper"—most of which had little or no effect on the neighborhood. Some people would visit; few came back.
During that time, sermons and discussions focused on the compassionate Christ, a Savior moved by the ever-present crowds that he saw as bewildered, distressed, and helpless (Matt. 9:36, Amplified Bible). We knew it was time to open our doors to our neighbors, people who did not share our cultural background.
But how? One of the first steps was to sell the church-owned parsonage and provide a pastor's cash housing allowance. This allowed us to put to use resources that had been locked up in real estate.
We invested in compassion, hiring first a parish nurse to respond to the needs of an aging congregation, many with terminal illnesses, but also the needs of the neighborhood.
Through our parish nurse, we encountered a staggering number of struggling individuals and families. We were astonished to discover the hidden poverty, riveting fear, family upheaval, confusion and chaos that existed right in our own community.
We established a HelpLine Fund to provide emergency aid for such things as food, gasoline, clothing, and housing. We assumed that we couldn't scratch the surface with our limited resources.
But we quickly learned, much to our surprise, that money was not always the primary concern. Most people we encountered just needed someone who would take time to hear their stories, pray with them, and advocate on their behalf as they approached government and community support systems.
In short, they wanted someone to care, to know their name and their story. We learned we can never truly "see" a person until we invest the time to hear his or her story.
Simply opening our doors led us on a path of profound change.
Dayrin, a young mother from Guatemala, was looking for place to worship God in her own language. We welcomed Dayrin and her Spanish-speaking friends to our traditional worship, naively believing they would surely want to be just like us. We sang the hymns, used awkward electronic devices so Dayrin could translate the English spoken in the service into Spanish. And we hoped our new friends would learn to love our quiet, structured ways.
It was an awkward dance at best. Under these circumstances, we soon saw, our Hispanic friends would never become more than guests—which left them constrained, worried about their children's behavior during the service, and with little freedom to worship and participate due to their concern about doing something wrong or offending in some way. Our good intentions were now overshadowed by their fear.
Opening Our Doors to the Nations
Eventually we realized that the real issue was whether we were willing to embrace the unique cultural expressions of those who were different from our traditional congregation. When we finally relinquished full control of our space in 2007 and learned the art of sharing, a Hispanic church was born!
We soon saw our new friends would never become more than guests unless we relinquished full control of our space.
Hymns and choruses gave way to amplified guitars, drums, worship dance, and happy voices in praise to God. Sermons were delivered in Spanish without the burden and distraction of translation, and prayer was now offered directly from the heart.
And when we opened our doors to others, we inevitably came face to face with the invisible world of immigrant communities.
We always knew that the gospel was open to all nations, tribes, and peoples, but the idea of sharing our building and partnering in that gospel required more of us than we realized.
The Spanish-speaking weren't the only ones we met. Other groups began to emerge.
Chapain and his family had emigrated from the Democratic Republic of the Congo to escape the horrors of civil war, a conflict that has taken the lives of more than 5 million people and been called the deadliest conflict since World War II.
Chapain was well educated—fluent in six languages and called by God to serve his people as a minister. The day Chapain stepped through our doors, we were fascinated to learn that his family was one of hundreds of African families that had chosen to settle in our area. He was looking for the means to offer pastoral care to the great variety of African immigrants who also desired to worship and fellowship in the language and culture of their birth.
Since our doors were now open, it was natural to invite Chapain into our facility, offer him space, and a place in our schedule of events. So in 2008 an African church was added to our community involving families from the Congo, Sudan, Kenya, Benin, Togo, and others as well.
Today our church shares its facility and resources with the Hispanic and African churches, and with a new African-American congregation and a Third Culture youth congregation.
It had never occurred to us that children living in one culture at home and another culture at school would, by necessity, create a "third culture" of their own. In some cases, we found up to three languages spoken in a single household with a similar number of blended customs.
Young people were looking for a place they would feel at home. Ultimately, an additional worship experience was formed, led by Div, an 18-year-old student that speaks to this unique group of 12-20 year olds.
Growing Pains
As all of these changes began to unfold, there was, of course a natural hesitation to share our church building and resources. We were well steeped in our own theology of stewardship which is built on issues of ownership, preservation, and control. But we faced into and resolved the pinch points of who controls the sound equipment, who cleans the kitchen, and who fixes or replaces things that get broken.
Sharing a facility also meant providing access at all hours of the day and night to accommodate the schedules and expectations of a multicultural community. Our African congregation sometimes holds services and events that last all night. The Hispanic congregation enjoys prayer meetings early in the morning as well as multiple service times. Due to transportation issues and complex family schedules, Third Culture youth also need the building available at unscheduled times.
Granting new groups the liberty of using church facilities and handing out dozens of new keys was a complex issue, not to mention endless discussions on lock up and clean up But over time, it began to work.
Then God allowed us to see what was happening through all this.
What was at Stake
One morning in the church office I received a frantic call from a father hundreds of miles away, "Please help me find my son!" He explained that his son was in our area, living on the streets, and he was desperate to talk with him. His distress was so real that I promised to help if I could.
Not sure where to begin, I assured the father that I would try to find his boy. Armed with a physical description, I left the office to drive around the neighborhood and head to the nearby shopping mall to see if I could spot a young man of that description.
Incredibly, less than a block from the church I saw a young man who matched the description. I introduced myself and told him his father wanted to talk to him. I ushered him back to the church and urged him to call his father using the church telephone.
As he spoke with his father, I began to wonder, Of all the churches in our community, why had his father called us? And how uncanny that I found the young man so close by.
As soon as he ended his telephone call, I asked him how his father knew to call our church, and where did he get our telephone number? I was awe-struck by his response.
"When I left home to be on my own," he said, "my father told me that if I ever found myself in trouble, find a church, and someone there will help you."
He added that in desperation he had been wandering aimlessly at 3 o'clock that morning and happened to look up to see light pouring through our church windows and found that the door was open.
"I went inside," he explained innocently, "I found your phone and tried to call home." His father had simply tried to return the call when I answered the phone that morning.
After all our long conversations among our new and diverse congregations about the importance of taking shared responsibility, especially shutting off lights and locking doors, this story swept like a wave of relief over our hosting congregation!
We all realized that this young man's story was for us—a modern-day parable assuring us that this new vision of open doors was from God.
With a new level of awe and wonder, we revisited lock-up procedures once again (yes, we intend to shut off lights and lock the doors at night), but with a newly acquired perspective of what God is doing through this church.
The More Complex Issues
We got a glimpse of the complexity of what we were involved in when Teresa, our parish nurse, received a frantic call from a young single African mother who had gone to get a driver's license and had been arrested for having fraudulent immigration papers.
She was mystified to learn that despite having paid a great deal of money to make sure her papers were in order, she had been misled. Her papers were not legitimate. She had no money for bail, her children were at daycare, and she had no one to pick them up, take them home, and explain where mommy was.
She knew of our church and placed her desperate call to us, and Teresa was able to make arrangements for the children. But what to do about the mother and her immigration issues?
After a flurry of phone calls and several long conversations about the process and procedures concerning immigration status, we found ourselves overwhelmed by the sheer complexity of immigration law.
Many attorneys we contacted admitted that they would not practice immigration law due to its intricacies.
This young mother would remain incarcerated and separated from her small children for a week before her release could be arranged.
This was our introduction to the unique problems associated with immigration. So in addition to helping with traditional compassion issues such as food, clothing, housing, and transportation, we now needed to add a new question: "How is your immigration status?"
We had walked with people, addressing most every factor contributing to a life of poverty, but we had never considered, for so many, the huge underlying problem of undocumented immigration status.
Lack of legal status is not as simple as a question of crossing the border. It becomes a host of complex circumstances from expired student visas to children escaping violence to victims of natural disasters.
When the historic flood of 2008 hit our Iowa City community, many people, including immigrants, lost everything. Homes and work places were underwater. Jobs were gone, homes were gone, and in some cases documents was gone.
Food, clothing, and transportation were affected, and many had nowhere to turn. The flood again demonstrated that the church was the only place many people considered safe to seek help.
Our original HelpLine Fund had evolved into a compassionate ministry center (ICCOMPASSION) and leaders had identified its mission as helping people move out of poverty with God's love.
Now we were confronted with the realization that lack of legal immigration status was a factor in perpetuating poverty by creating a barrier to resources, employment, and even critical help in crisis situations.
The search for some kind of response led to the establishment of a Board of Immigration Appeal (BIA) center that can provide legal services, especially for those most vulnerable in our immigrant communities.
We learned that ministries of compassion among immigrant communities lead directly to legal assistance.
A Work in Progress
Becoming a multicultural/multi-congregational church has changed our message – but not in a way we could have imagined. Our original message has become clearer and more powerful because we struggled through a better understanding of the gospel. There is now no hesitation as our people confidently declare that our doors are open!
Invitations come easier because we are practicing a faith that this Good News is purposed for people of all nations. It is also a great joy to say, "There is a place for you in our multicultural Christian community."
Michael Lynch is pastor of the Church of the Nazarene in Iowa City, Iowa.
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