Do You Want Our Church Building?

Yes. Yes, I do.

Every so often the accusation gets thrown out there: “They just want our building.”

It’s usually said with a bit of suspicion, sometimes with frustration, and occasionally as a way to shut down a conversation before it even gets started.

So let me answer the question plainly.

Do I want your church building?

Yes. I do.

But probably not in the way you’re thinking.

Most declining churches develop a protective posture over time. It’s understandable. The congregation has sacrificed to build and maintain the place. Families were baptized there. Weddings were celebrated. Funerals were held. Generations have prayed in those rooms.

Of course you want to protect it.

But over time that protective instinct often expands beyond the building itself. What’s really being protected is the entire ecosystem around it—the style of ministry, the control of decision-making, and the comfort of doing things the way they’ve always been done.

The building becomes more than a tool for ministry. It becomes something to guard. And that’s where the tension begins.

When I say I want your building, I’m not talking about its property value.

I’m talking about its kingdom value.

I want that address to remain a gospel outpost.

I want there to be a thriving congregation in that neighborhood—one that is both demonstrating and declaring the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Faithfulness cannot simply be measured by whether services are still being conducted in the same building. Nor is it measured by how well we protect a piece of property.

Faithfulness must also be measured by fruitfulness in ministry.

When someone says, “They just want our building,” it often functions as a smoke screen. It might become a rallying cry for the dwindling and aging congregation. The implication is that people like me—or organizations like our Association—don’t really care about the congregation, they just want the building.

That couldn’t be further from the truth.

I care deeply about both.

I care about the congregation that has slowly become comfortable with the church at status quo. I care about leaders who have unintentionally elevated the practice of ministry above the passionate pursuit of Christ. I care about faithful saints who are now carrying the overwhelming burden of maintaining a facility that is far larger than their congregation can realistically care for or fund.

And yes—I care about the leaders who will one day give an account for their stewardship of that ministry.

More than anything, I want those churches to rediscover something.

I want them to rediscover the joy of hearing babies cry in the sanctuary again.

I want them to hear little feet running down the hallways.

I want them wrestling with the good problems of a growing church—questions like:

“If we keep growing, how are we going to make room for all these people?”

I want the activity in that building to signal something to the surrounding neighborhood:

Something is happening here.

I want their church to be vibrant again.

I want their hearts to be renewed along with the ministry happening inside those walls.

But if a church refuses to seek the Lord for renewal…
If they cannot imagine change…
If they are unwilling to release control to those who might actually bring new life to that location…

Then yes—I still want your building.

Not as a real estate asset.

But as a place where a growing church can take root.

In Nashville, a church plant often waits 10 to 15 years before it can acquire a permanent facility. 

Why? Because properties suitable for churches are both scarce and incredibly expensive.

Meanwhile, vibrant young congregations of 50, 60, or even 100 people are searching everywhere for a place to meet. They gather in school auditoriums, music venues, community centers—anywhere that will open the door.

And many of them are growing.

At the very same time, declining congregations of 25 or 30 people are meeting in buildings that once held hundreds—spaces they will never realistically grow back into.

Their hope for renewal often remains just that: hope.

Not because renewal is impossible.

But because they want the church to grow without having to change, die to self, or release control to those who could help bring new life.

And that’s the cycle that frustrates so many of us.

It shouldn’t be this way.

Dear declining church,

Do I want your building?

Absolutely.

But not in the way you’re thinking.

I want you to experience the joy of becoming a growing congregation again. I want you to know what it feels like to watch God breathe fresh life into your church. I want your building to be filled with people discovering Christ, families finding hope, and neighbors seeing the gospel lived out right in their community.

And if the Lord chooses to do that through you—praise God.

But if He chooses to do it through a new congregation planted in that same place, that’s still a kingdom win.

Because the real goal was never protecting the building.The real goal has always been seeing it filled by people finding and walking with Jesus.

---