The Church That Nearly Died
Children's Story
"I think," said the Archdeacon, "the time may have come to close this Church. The cost of repairs would be something in the region of 100,000 pounds, and you only have 24 people on the electoral roll."
The PCC was aghast. They had expected to be without a vicar for some time, but they hadn't expected quite such a bombshell as that. After all, they'd paid their parish share regularly despite having such a tiny congregation, and had been looking forward to a new vicar eventually coming and pulling them out of the doldrums.
Millicent cried herself to sleep that night. She'd been a member of the Church for 85 years, from the time she was born. She knew if the Church closed, she would lose all contact with the outside world, for she was growing frailer by the minute. And she knew it was quite impossible for 24 elderly people to raise 100,000 pounds. She couldn't even begin to picture such a large sum of money.
But at the next PCC meeting, Colin stood up. "I think we should go for it," he said. "Let's raise the money and keep the Church open. We shouldn't just give up without a fight."
Millicent felt the tears welling up. "We can't, however much we'd like to," she said. "Look at us! None of us will see 75 again, and most of us are in pretty poor health. We have nothing to offer."
The others nodded agreement. Even at 78, Colin was still full of wild plans which never succeeded. The PCC felt too weary to face such an uphill struggle.
There was a gloomy silence, then Mary spoke up. The others looked at her in surprise, for since her stroke some two years previously, Mary hardly ever spoke. "I think we should pray about it," she said.
The PCC looked sheepish, and nobody dared disagree. So they started to meet together to pray about the church once a week. Nothing much seemed to happen, and the closure seemed inevitable. Then one day Colin rushed in brandishing some typewritten sheets of paper. "I've got it," he cried. " All we have to do is raise 50,000 pounds. We can get a grant for the other half."
The PCC gazed at him in disbelief. "How on earth can we raise 50,000 pounds?" asked Millicent.
"We've got two years," said Colin. "We'll have fund-raising activities, and everyone can do something. We each have to raise 1,000 pounds this year and next year, that's all."
All! Millicent nearly died at the thought. Then she found herself remembering her Granny's ancient recipe for home-made lemonade, and reckoned if she could get some help making it week after week, if she sold it at 50p a bottle she would need 2000 bottles, which worked out at about 40 bottles a week. And that was only five or six bottles a day. Put like that, it didn't sound quite so bad. To her astonishment, she heard herself agreeing with Colin.
The rest of the PCC followed suit, and was soon discussing ways and means of raising money. Mary said all she could do was pray, but she was sure her son who worked in television would be able to raise her share. It suddenly seemed extremely important to the others that Mary should pray daily for their project.
One by one they all thought of schemes. There were coffee mornings and safaris suppers, bring and buy sales and car boot sales and jumble sales. There were big Church services to which the whole village was invited, and a Church gift day. A "Friends of the Village Church" was started, and lots of village people showed interest. Several of them wanted to do their bit to help, and offered to run money-raising schemes of their own, for they said that if the wrinklies could raise 1000 pounds, so could they!
Gradually, the money came in. Mary went on praying, and her voice grew stronger and stronger. And once a week the PCC continued to gather at her house and offer their prayers for the scheme.
At the end of two years, they had all the money they needed. But they had much more than that. They had a church which had miraculously grown in size from 24 to 50, and they had a church which, solidly based on prayer, seemed to be lifted up by faith. When the time came to appoint a new vicar, they had several enquiries because the church was seen as so active and growing.
Millicent lived for another four years, until she was 91. Then she was buried in the churchyard of her church, where she'd been all her life. She died full of joy, for in the last few years she'd discovered the kingdom of God on earth.
The PCC was aghast. They had expected to be without a vicar for some time, but they hadn't expected quite such a bombshell as that. After all, they'd paid their parish share regularly despite having such a tiny congregation, and had been looking forward to a new vicar eventually coming and pulling them out of the doldrums.
Millicent cried herself to sleep that night. She'd been a member of the Church for 85 years, from the time she was born. She knew if the Church closed, she would lose all contact with the outside world, for she was growing frailer by the minute. And she knew it was quite impossible for 24 elderly people to raise 100,000 pounds. She couldn't even begin to picture such a large sum of money.
But at the next PCC meeting, Colin stood up. "I think we should go for it," he said. "Let's raise the money and keep the Church open. We shouldn't just give up without a fight."
Millicent felt the tears welling up. "We can't, however much we'd like to," she said. "Look at us! None of us will see 75 again, and most of us are in pretty poor health. We have nothing to offer."
The others nodded agreement. Even at 78, Colin was still full of wild plans which never succeeded. The PCC felt too weary to face such an uphill struggle.
There was a gloomy silence, then Mary spoke up. The others looked at her in surprise, for since her stroke some two years previously, Mary hardly ever spoke. "I think we should pray about it," she said.
The PCC looked sheepish, and nobody dared disagree. So they started to meet together to pray about the church once a week. Nothing much seemed to happen, and the closure seemed inevitable. Then one day Colin rushed in brandishing some typewritten sheets of paper. "I've got it," he cried. " All we have to do is raise 50,000 pounds. We can get a grant for the other half."
The PCC gazed at him in disbelief. "How on earth can we raise 50,000 pounds?" asked Millicent.
"We've got two years," said Colin. "We'll have fund-raising activities, and everyone can do something. We each have to raise 1,000 pounds this year and next year, that's all."
All! Millicent nearly died at the thought. Then she found herself remembering her Granny's ancient recipe for home-made lemonade, and reckoned if she could get some help making it week after week, if she sold it at 50p a bottle she would need 2000 bottles, which worked out at about 40 bottles a week. And that was only five or six bottles a day. Put like that, it didn't sound quite so bad. To her astonishment, she heard herself agreeing with Colin.
The rest of the PCC followed suit, and was soon discussing ways and means of raising money. Mary said all she could do was pray, but she was sure her son who worked in television would be able to raise her share. It suddenly seemed extremely important to the others that Mary should pray daily for their project.
One by one they all thought of schemes. There were coffee mornings and safaris suppers, bring and buy sales and car boot sales and jumble sales. There were big Church services to which the whole village was invited, and a Church gift day. A "Friends of the Village Church" was started, and lots of village people showed interest. Several of them wanted to do their bit to help, and offered to run money-raising schemes of their own, for they said that if the wrinklies could raise 1000 pounds, so could they!
Gradually, the money came in. Mary went on praying, and her voice grew stronger and stronger. And once a week the PCC continued to gather at her house and offer their prayers for the scheme.
At the end of two years, they had all the money they needed. But they had much more than that. They had a church which had miraculously grown in size from 24 to 50, and they had a church which, solidly based on prayer, seemed to be lifted up by faith. When the time came to appoint a new vicar, they had several enquiries because the church was seen as so active and growing.
Millicent lived for another four years, until she was 91. Then she was buried in the churchyard of her church, where she'd been all her life. She died full of joy, for in the last few years she'd discovered the kingdom of God on earth.
