5 Underestimated Blessings of a Country Church

When I first came to the country, I had a false impression that our country church was at an inherent disadvantage because it was not located "in town". I can't quite pinpoint where this bias came, but it was there before I even arrived. That's not to say I didn't want to pastor the church, or didn't care about it, simply that I underestimated it. Well over time I have noticed several things about a country church that I have come to call blessings. Some of these are not "exclusive" but may be more common or to a greater extent among the country parishes. So I thought I would share 5 blessings I have seen by pastoring a country church.

1. Truck Stop: This is the one that inspired the whole blog because it truly was unexpected and underestimated. My country church lies along a highway, and when there is nowhere else that is easy or natural to stop, the church lot provides a good place. On multiple occasions I have driven past, during all times of day and night and seen trucks parked in our lot for a time being. Some won't see this as a blessing, particularly if we only think of blessings for ourselves. But this is a blessing for a trucker who needs to stop. It makes you wonder how many lives have actually been saved by country churches allowing a trucker to stop, break, nap or whatever so that they are refreshed when they get on the road. The ditch is right beside the highway, so finding a safe place to stop far enough off the road is a blessing our church provides. Along with trucks, I've encountered people who stopped in front of our church to check car troubles or tires. People have pulled over there to talk on the phone. In isolated areas, with no businesses and mostly privately owned places in the vicinity, the church truly is a sanctuary for weary road travelers. 
2. Cemetery: Working in the city and then moving out here I can say that having a cemetery right behind/next to the church is a real blessing. It allows more people to attend the burial, eliminates funeral processions on the road and reinforces the bond between the church militant and church triumphant. Pastorally I also see a great blessing in most of the people I bury being in one place, family members of my members being in one place. Cemeteries are a community in themselves, and when it is a part of the parish it is the church community. And you can actually learn some things about a congregation's history or family histories by the graveyard. The open country typically makes it easier for a church to have a cemetery, and to expand it when necessary. The more "dense" the town, the less likely there is a cemetery and the greater the impossibility in expanding them. 
3. Anonymous Events: country churches can by their seclusion offer some anonymity that other church buildings cannot. There are no immediate neighbors who can see easily who is coming and going. When a series of pastors in our area discussed the possibility of an AA group, the country churches were the first ones I thought of because of the anonymity it offered, especially the more secluded country churches (some are on less busy roads than mine). While the church can be seen for some distance (more on that to come) details like vehicles and people may be more difficult than if the church is surrounded by people. In small town living, anonymity can be key at times because of how much it does not exist "in town". 
4. Family Trees: I mentioned that the church cemetery has not only members I've buried, but family members. That is because country churches often have a long history of family ties. This reason is in part geographic. While people may come to the area (especially retirees), and some family members move away, or farms are consolidated, ultimately there is still far less transition in many country communities. That's not to say no transition or decline, but rather to say that many within it usually have a long history with the community. This history many families have is often shared with the country church. The in-weaving of the two is a blessing towards investing members in the church, and towards providing evangelistic opportunities (since lets be honest, whether you agree it should be this way or not, so much evangelism today happens "in" the church not "out", and with involvement in that specific parish in mind). Since the church's deep history is tied to the deep family history, the church intersects with members of that family and community regularly.
5. Pillar of the "Neighborhood": I admittedly don't look at the country and think right away "neighborhood", but that's because I look too small. Even if the next farm is a ways down the road, they are neighbors (in fact, you could argue most rural communities have a better sense of neighborliness than denser communities of people living in close proximity to one another). The church is an important aspect of the country neighborhood. When I think of churches that are "pillars" of the neighborhood, it is easier to think of churches in the ghetto that look to maintain the people's dignity and look out for their needs when they feel like the rest of the greater community has by and large ignored such. But out in the country the same sentiment is felt. The church is important to maintaining unity of the community and looking to the local needs. And like a church on the corner in Harlem that towers high and stands out, so much more does the country church. From miles away members have taken me out to point to the church and marvel at the steeple pointing towards the heavens. People have told me how they wanted family members to live in specific places so they could see their church. Visitors have come from two towns over because they saw the church from one ridge to another. In a community of homes and farms the church has a unique, central, and important place to that neighborhood. Not only that, but its beauty in the country as it stands there is as majestic as the towering Cathedral. The important place the community holds the country church in should not be overlooked, and the distance that such a neighborhood extends is quite impressive.

So there are some blessings I've found by having a church reside in the country. Like I said some of these you may notice from churches in cities or towns, but it shines very well out in the country. These blessings are sometimes to the benefit of the church, sometimes to the benefit of the people who surround it, but all are worth saying thanks to God above. Some who have lived here may think of other blessings, or think I haven't said enough or properly represented the blessings these that are listed. Forgive me, for I am speaking as but an observer and confessing that which has come to me, however limited that perception is to the great thing for which I am writing today.

To wrap this up, I thought I would leave the opening paragraphs of Bo Giertz's great work Christ's Church in which he uses the country parish as the illustration to lead into discussions around the Church universal, words I often think of when I think beautifully of the church building on the ridge in our own community.

She raises her steeple high over the jagged contour of the forest. With her foundation of walls a yard thick, she is massively planted on the ground. But her spire is at the same time elevated high above our everyday world. When the sun has set, a pale reflection of daylight still shines for a long time on the white steeple. When walking in the deep dusk under the trees in the church yard, one can see it shimmering through the dark leaves of the maples, high up there, as a reflection of the heavenly city, the walls of which always are shining with light. When a new day dawns, the golden cross on the spire is the first thing in the area that catches the sunlight. The old church, though firmly planted on the ground, is also closest to heaven.
She stands there as a silent question, surrounded by majestic trees. The spire persistently points toward the sky, and it is as if the white tower lifts an exhorting hand over the area. Maybe those who are sensitive to the silent language of creation would know the silent question of the church as well. Her question is addressed to the farmer who passes by with his noisy wagon, it descends to the visitor who is tending to the family grave in the church yard, with the sound of the church bells it follows the motorist who is speeding by the church.
Why is the church standing there, pointing toward heaven?
Was it just an illusion that once moved these enormous forces that created the greatest edifice in the area? Was it just a mirage they followed, all those generations that for centuries crowded the slope up to the church?
Now the church has a question for you: Is it rather you who pursues nothing but emptiness, instead of having your life's stronghold at God's altar that is raised within these white walls?
We cannot escape this question. After all, she is not alone, the church here on the ridge. Not far away, behind the dark edge of the forest, there is another church steeple, from which one can see yet a couple church spires, and then more and more forming a silent chain that reaches over plains and forests, over nations and continents, and all of them are pointing toward heaven just as persistently as the church here on the ridge.