Sometimes Growth Feels A Little Like Death

St Andrew’s has an organ.  A stunning organ.  A storied organ.  A few months back a visitor came to church principally to check out the organ that they’d read about in some online directory of historic organs.  Sadly, the organ never worked all that well.  There’s a long story, but the gist is that the organ was always aspirational—it could be really great some day.

As this congregation grew smaller and older through the decades, there wasn’t the money or the energy to give the organ the care it wanted.  This sanctuary hasn’t heard organ chords in many years.  There was a choir for a while, and a piano.  Then there were the accordian years—when worship accompaniment was provided by Linda Meyers and her squeeze box (yes!).  Then, during and after the pandemic, worship didn’t include music because there wasn’t anyone here who could play a piano or guitar, and Linda’s shoulder wouldn’t tolerate the accordian any longer.

In 2023, Elizabeth and Chlo came to church. A couple in their twenties, they were new in town and looking for community.  They fell in love with this quirky little church and its congregation of grandparents, and they kept coming.  After about 9 months, Elizabeth said, “I don’t have a lot of experience or anything, but I’d be willing to play piano for service once in a while.”  Her simple offering has turned into powerful musical leadership that includes singing with a new singing group of new parishioners.  Elizabeth’s piano playing is joyful, moving, and enthusiastic—and she is a minister of music, tending to the spirituality of our congregation with her gifts. 

With church music gloriously in hand (thank you, Spirit!), we began wondering about the organ loft.  Since the St Andrew’s Village moved onto the campus, there’s less meeting space in the church.  The organ loft was a sad reminder of what might have been.  Filled with three organ consoles, filing cabinets with reams of sheet music, and about 15 lbs of dust, it was not living its best life.  When Dan, an organ enthusiast and lovely human being told us that his 1.5 years of volunteer work attempting to repair or rebuild the organ was not sufficient to bring the instrument back to life, it seemed the Spirit was telling us something.

The choir teacher at our local public high school was thrilled to take some of the sheet music.  No one was attached to the auxiliary electronic organ that was living up in the loft.  And, since Dan told us that the organ console was too old even to get replacement parts, we made the decision to let it go.

And it felt a little like death.  This organ console and its related parts was BIG and heavy.  The only way to get it out of the loft was, unfortunately, to take it apart.  A past dream of this congregation died with the organ.  But a new dream has been brewing, and the loss of the organ is preparing the ground for something to come into being.

Now the organ loft is a clean slate—and we think it will be a beautiful trauma-informed chapel space for support groups, prayer services, and meetings.  It’s getting filled with soft, welcoming furniture and cozy rugs, gentle lamps and room for candles, a little artwork.  We’re planning to host a support group for survivors of homelessness.  We’re hoping the space will also be used by the neighbors we are coming to know—folks on the margins, folks living on the street, folks who have been through a lot.  A Chapel of the Wandering Christ, or a holy resting place for weary travelers.  Our prayer as a congregation is that we can be the answer to our neighbors’ prayers.  In a previous generation, that looked like building a fabulous instrument that would bless the community with music.  Our neighbors’ dreams are different today, and with God’s help, we are transforming this place in response.