What I see every Sunday before worship: a church becoming something new

The views expressed in this opinion column are those of the author. They do not necessarily reflect the views of EPIC.

By Rev. Jordan Parker

There is a moment every Sunday, just before worship begins, when I stop whatever I’m doing and look around the sanctuary.

I didn’t always do this. Early in ministry I was usually focused on making sure everything was ready—the bulletin printed correctly, the microphone working, the children’s message props in place, the livestream running. But somewhere along the way I started paying more attention to the people than the preparations.

I notice who is already deep in conversation. I notice the family with young children trying to get everyone settled before the first hymn. I notice the longtime member who slips into the same pew every week. I notice the visitors, who are trying to figure out whether anyone will speak to them before the service starts. I notice who isn’t there.

For the last few years, those observations have become a kind of spiritual practice.

The stories we tell about worship and decline

When I first arrived at my church, I heard many of the same stories that seem to echo throughout Mainline Protestantism. People remembered when the sanctuary was fuller. They remembered larger Sunday school classes, more volunteers, bigger choirs, and waiting lists for church suppers. Like many congregations, ours carried both gratitude for its history and grief over what had changed.

Those stories are important, but I’ve realized they can also become the only story we tell.

If we only compare ourselves to the church of 30 years ago, we miss what God is doing now.

What I see each Sunday is not simply decline or recovery. I see transformation.

The faces have changed. The reasons people come have changed. Their expectations of church have changed. Some people come every week. Others attend twice a month and remain deeply connected through volunteering or small groups. Young families are looking for something different than previous generations sought. People want authenticity more than polished programs. They want belonging before they want membership.

And honestly, I do too.

Reading Signs of Rebound Amid Uneven Recovery gave language to something I have been feeling but hadn’t fully articulated. The report suggests that many congregations are not returning to what they once were but are recalibrating into something new. As I read those words, I realized that “recalibration” is exactly what I have been witnessing.

Our congregation has become less concerned with recreating the past and more willing to experiment.

Some of those experiments have been small. Others have fundamentally changed how we think about ministry. We’ve learned that community partnerships are just as much ministry as programs inside our own walls. We’ve discovered that worship can be meaningful whether someone has attended for 50 years or five minutes. We’ve become more comfortable asking, “What do people need?” instead of, “How have we always done this?”

That shift has also shaped my own ministry.

Belonging as the measure of health

Much of my Doctor of Ministry work focuses on disability theology and creating congregations where every body truly belongs. Before beginning this work, I probably would have thought about accessibility as another ministry initiative—something we should do because it is the right thing to do. Now I see it differently. Accessibility is not another program; it is a way of understanding the church itself.

As our congregation changes, I find myself asking fewer questions about how to attract more people and more questions about what kind of community we are becoming. If a child with sensory needs enters our building, will they know they belong? If parents are exhausted from caregiving, will they experience grace instead of judgment? If someone has spent years believing the church has no place for them, will they encounter something different here?

Those questions matter more to me than whether attendance increased by ten percent this year.

Ironically, I think asking those deeper questions is part of what makes congregations healthier.

The report notes signs of renewed attendance, volunteer engagement, and financial stability across many churches. I celebrate those trends. I’ve seen hints of them in my own congregation as well. But those numbers are meaningful only because they represent people—people finding community, purpose, healing, and hope.

At the end of worship, I often stand at the back of the sanctuary and greet people as they leave. There are Sundays when someone says, “I really needed this today.” A child proudly shows me the craft they made during children’s church. A visitor tells me they’ll be back next week. Someone shares a burden they’ve been carrying or a joy they’ve been waiting to celebrate.

Those moments never appear in congregational reports.

They cannot be captured in attendance graphs or financial statements.

Yet I suspect they are the truest signs of health.

Reading this report reminded me that the changing congregational landscape is not primarily about institutions adapting to survive. It is about communities of faith continually learning how to embody the Gospel in a changing world. From where I stand each Sunday morning, looking across the sanctuary before worship begins, I believe I am watching that story unfold in real time.

Rev. Jordan Parker serves as the Minister of Early Life at Asylum Hill Congregational Church UCC (Hartford, CT), where she leads ministries with children, youth, and families while helping shape the congregation’s life of worship and faith formation. She earned her Master of Divinity from Yale Divinity School, where she served as Student Body President and received awards for preaching and public speaking, and is currently pursuing a Doctor of Ministry at Hartford International University for Religion and Peace, focusing on disability theology and creating more accessible, interdependent ministries with children and youth. Before joining Asylum Hill, Jordan served congregations in Ohio and Connecticut and worked as a community organizer in New Jersey for several years. She now lives in West Hartford with her husband, the Rev. Dr. Ned Allyn Parker, and their three children, Malachi, Titus, and Eowyn.