Exploring Church Spaces: Breaking the Silence

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Exploring Church Spaces: Breaking the Silence

How Asking for Help Can Save Church Spaces

by Saranya Sathananthan, Researcher in Residence

In the past few years, I’ve heard a growing number of stories about churches closing their doors, especially during or after the most severe years of the COVID pandemic. What’s striking to me is not necessarily that they closed, but how they closed.

It happened quietly. By the time anyone outside noticed, it was already over.

Behind many of these stories are leaders carrying immense burdens alone: financial strain, building issues, complicated leases, deferred maintenance, declining giving, all managed privately and endured for as long as possible.

By the time the situation surfaced, there were few options left.

“One of the biggest determinants of whether a church survives or closes is whether it has a culture of asking for help.”

What I have seen time and time again in my research is that the churches that are willing to share transparently about what they are going through and ask for help are the churches that have made it through crises and hardships with the most creativity, openness, and resilience.  

I’ve come to believe that one of the biggest determinants of whether a church survives or closes is whether it has a culture of asking for help.

This pattern raises deeper questions about what gets in the way of asking for help and the kind of mutual support churches need if they are going to survive and serve their communities well.

A Silent Closure Close to Home 

About a year ago, my pastor reached out to me about a church in our neighborhood. She had heard that it might be facing foreclosure. 

I hadn’t heard anything about it. In fact, the last time I encountered someone from that church, they were still opening their doors for community drop-in hours, a space for people to process trauma and navigate the challenges in their lives with a listening ear and connection to other forms of support. It came as a shock to hear that they might be at risk of closing.

My pastor shared that she had been trying to reach the church’s pastor to see how she, our congregation, or our broader network could help, but the pastor had gone radio silent. She called me to ask if I knew another way to get in touch or had any insight into what might be happening. 

What was even more surprising was that she had recently spoken with a member of that church’s community outreach team and that person had no idea about a pending foreclosure either. 

A couple of weeks later, we did some research online and discovered that the church’s property had already been foreclosed and sold at auction to a developer, an entity that didn’t typically operate in our neighborhood and, according to their website, specialized in luxury properties.

When we checked the church’s website, we found a brief statement under the history section that stated the church was transitioning to a temporary worship space in another neighborhood and was excited about experiencing growth in the coming years. No mention of foreclosure.   

“When a church closes or relocates, it often loses more than just a building. It loses a tangible stake in that place, a rootedness that comes with stewarding property and relationships over time.”

It’s been a year now since the church closed its operations at that location, and I was surprised to see the church’s former property address show up on the agenda for our neighborhood community meeting, where the developer was slated to propose a development of about a dozen units on the parcel where the former church building currently sits. 

I don’t think church closures are always a bad thing. For some churches, it is simply a matter of time, and the transition can open the door to new life in ways that are generative and beautiful.

But in this case, I felt a mixture of sadness and frustration.

A church closing in a rapidly gentrifying neighborhood is something to be mourned, especially when that church has a long history of faithfully serving the surrounding community. When a church closes or relocates, it often loses more than just a building. It loses a tangible stake in that place, a rootedness that comes with stewarding property and relationships over time. And in a gentrifying neighborhood, it is very difficult to retain that stake through property ownership once it is gone. 

So many questions have continued to swirl in my mind about this situation.

• Why didn’t the pastor respond to my pastor—a peer reaching out with a desire to help, and potentially with access to support or partnership?

• How was it that a member of their own congregation didn’t know what was happening?

• Were there conversations happening behind the scenes that we didn’t know about, or were they carrying the burden mostly alone?

• Did they feel they had no options? Were they too overwhelmed to reach out? Had they tried to seek help and not found it? Or had help simply come too late?

A Counterproductive Pattern Beyond the Church

What struck me was how familiar this felt. Around the same time, I was participating in neighborhood focus groups on displacement and began hearing similar stories from residents. 

One neighbor shared her experience of losing her home to foreclosure. She hadn’t asked anyone for help. She was afraid people wouldn’t care or wouldn’t come through for her. As she told the story, something that had happened 30 or 40 years earlier, she still carried a sense of pride in having purchased the home on her own.

But that same pride had also meant carrying the full burden alone: managing the property, paying the mortgage, and navigating hardship without support. She didn’t feel she could ask anyone for help, even when things became difficult because it was her responsibility to take care of it. 

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Others in the group shared that they often don’t realize someone has sold their home or moved away until a new neighbor moves in. Silent exits no one sees coming because nothing was ever said. And these were neighbors they knew and talked to. 

I wanted to dig deeper into why this pattern seemed to show up again and again in stories of foreclosure and displacement. 

I found myself wondering: 

• What keeps people from sharing the reality of what they are facing? 

• What makes support feel so hard to ask for or receive? 

• And if these struggles had been shared earlier, could new ideas, resources, or relationships have surfaced? 

• Could there have been a way for them to stay?

The Culture We Don’t Talk About

As the focus group conversation unfolded, one theme emerged clearly: shame.

People shared how much shame surrounds difficult circumstances, especially when those struggles involve money, housing, property, or the fear of losing what they have worked hard to gain. That shame often keeps people from telling others what they are going through, which also keeps them from receiving help in times of need. 

Around the room, people nodded in agreement. They knew this feeling. 

Shame is pervasive in communities experiencing poverty. It tells people they should have it all together, even when they are navigating circumstances far beyond their control or shaped by inequities tied to race, gender, class, language, ability, immigration status, and more.

There was a painful irony in realizing that the church that had closed had been creating space for neighbors to process their struggles by offering care, presence, and support, meanwhile seemingly carrying its own challenges in isolation.

Had they found people they could trust? Did they have a community to walk with them through what they were facing? Or were they, too, carrying it alone?

The truth is that this unspoken culture of silence can apply to our churches as well. 

This can show up in subtle ways with significant impact: 

• Shame and fear of being seen as failing or judged as being poor stewards of God’s resources

• The pressure for leaders to “have it all together” and “fake it ‘til you make it”

• A “mind your own business” mentality: I’ll handle mine, you handle yours

• Avoidance of vulnerability, confession, and transparency

• The belief that struggles shouldn’t be shared outside the church or sometimes even within it (this also breeds a culture where individuals suffer in silence rather than seek help, counseling, or support) 

• Spiritualized pressure: the idea that if we just pray harder and have faith, God will provide without needing to involve others, and that by involving others, we are proving that we don’t have enough faith

• A lack of accountability structures, especially in churches where decision-making is concentrated in a small number of leaders

• The expectation that church leaders should know how to manage finances and make real estate decisions, even when traditional vocational training has not equipped them with that knowledge

In these high-pressure environments, even asking basic questions about the church’s finances can feel like a threat. Financial concerns go unspoken for fear of being accused of being someone who is critical and wanting to rock the boat or someone who lacks faith. Leaders hesitate to admit uncertainty because they need to be seen as knowing what they are doing to ensure the trust of the people. The congregation senses something is wrong, but no one names it directly.

There’s often an unspoken rule: It’s shameful to share the church’s struggles with others. We need to handle this on our own. God will make a way.

But what if part of the way God makes a way is through his people? Through the willingness to name, out loud and to each other, what is actually going on?

The instinct to protect the church by hiding its struggles can slowly become the very thing that harms it.

Christian communities are not immune to falling into patterns that seem like common sense, but ultimately become counterproductive. As Liza Cagua-McCallister writes in Shalom City’s Beyond Backfires Substack:

Without a robust, practiced shalom lens, Christians will naturally be swept up in the dominant logic of our culture: efficiency, safety, fear, control, image management.

Those logics feel wise, but they can directly undermine God’s kingdom values.

Scripture calls us to bring our needs into the light (Ephesians 5:14). To share in one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2). To allow space for God’s power to be made visible, not in our strength, but in our weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9).

Thus transparency is not a failure of faith, but an expression of it. When we name our needs, we create the possibility for others to respond: to offer wisdom, resources, and compassion. And even if help doesn’t come, we can still say we did everything we could. 

The Reality: You Are Not Alone

I remember talking to a pastor in 2023 whose church owned its property outright. He said their saving grace during the COVID pandemic was not having a mortgage to pay. But he also lamented that this was not the case for several of his peers, pastors of churches in the neighborhood that rented space or had mortgages to pay. 

When COVID disrupted in-person gathering and decreased the consistent giving needed to sustain rent or mortgage payments, some of those churches had to leave their locations. Some reopened farther from the city. Others closed outright. Sadly, some churches were unaware of federal, state, or local relief resources that could have helped them during that time.

The truth is that this was not a unique phenomenon. Many churches struggled during the COVID pandemic, and many are still struggling, not because they are failing, but because they are navigating realities leaders were never trained for: 

• The long tail of COVID disruptions

• Decreased or inconsistent giving, especially as individuals and families face high housing costs, living expenses, and an unpredictable job market 

• Rising costs of utilities, insurance, and repairs

• Inheriting challenging buildings with unknown deferred maintenance issues 

• Increasing complexity around loans, leases, and other regulations that require special attention and expertise 

The list goes on. The financial and operational pressures can be overwhelming. If you are a church leader, you know this firsthand! 

And yet many leaders are expected to carry this without formal training, without sufficient support, and often without formal or even informal spaces to process what’s happening with others without fear of judgment.

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If you are a church leader, I hope there can be some lifting of the burden in recognizing that you are not the only one experiencing these difficulties. It goes without saying that no one wants to be in the difficult situation they may find themselves in, and by sharing, you are more likely than not to find that others resonate with your experience. 

It is easy to judge from the outside when things fall apart. But what would any of us do in the same circumstances? There are many ways to analyze a situation after the fact, but the truth is: carrying these pressures is enormously hard. 

I remember our church supporting another church during the pandemic. At the time, we were meeting over Zoom and then transitioned to meeting in a public park. Because we were not carrying the same level of building-related expenses, we had a little more margin to help another congregation that was struggling at that time.

I’m not exactly sure how that church got connected to ours, but I do remember that they were willing to bring their needs before our congregation. And because they did, people were able to respond. 

But how many churches went without support during that time who might have really benefited from it? The effects of COVID, rising costs, and other financial pressures are still unfolding for many churches. But one thing feels clear: isolation makes the burden heavier.

The Cost of Not Asking for Help

The cost of not asking for help is not only financial crisis or closure, though those are often the more visible outcomes. 

There is the cost of missed opportunities: grants not applied for, resources not accessed, and creative solutions that never surface because no one outside the immediate circle knew there was a need.

Poor decision-making in isolation is costly. When leaders feel like they have to carry the weight alone, they are more prone to making decisions out of urgency, fear, exhaustion, or limited information. Those decisions can cost the church money, strain relationships, and weaken its ability to do ministry well over the long run.

There can also be the cost of personnel. Leaders can feel immense pressure to hold everything together and keep pressing through. Oftentimes they are holding responsibilities one person was never meant to carry. Over time, that pressure can lead to exhaustion, resentment, and burnout.

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And when things finally do become more visible, there is the cost of trust. Congregants, partners, and neighbors may feel confused, hurt, or blindsided not only because the situation was difficult, but because they were never invited into the truth of what was going on. 

Compare that with the cost of asking for help: humility. Asking for help means being willing to admit we don’t know how to figure this out on our own. It means risking the possibility of judgment, while also creating the possibility of being met with mercy, care, wisdom, and support.

And in doing so, leaders help set a different kind of culture: one where vulnerability is not punished, but welcomed; where honesty becomes a freeing invitation for others to share transparently about their struggles too. 

The truth is, while humility can be uncomfortable, silence can be far more expensive.

For churches seeking more concrete steps, our resource “Managing Church Buildings, Property Assets” offers additional strategies for avoiding some of these risks.

Reframing: Asking for Help as a Spiritual Practice

Because our faith is built on grace, not performance, our theological understanding ought to lead us to share our burdens, confess our struggles, seek wisdom, and receive care from one another. 

And yet, like in the garden, our instinct is often to hide.

When things go wrong, we can feel ashamed to admit what is happening. A natural response is to manage appearances or pull away from the very people who might be able to help. Sometimes we fear that what we have will be taken from us because others will perceive us as having failed to manage it well. Or simply our feeling is that it’s not okay to be honest about the difficulties we’re shouldering and that people will perceive it as complaining or being critical. Sometimes we are embarrassed by what we do not know, what we could not prevent, or what has gotten beyond our control.

However, the Lord is glad to be with us through the hardships, even when we have made mistakes, miscalculations, or decisions we wish we could take back. That does not mean the path forward will be easy. There may still be difficult conversations, hard choices, and real consequences to navigate. Yet even then, God remains present and willing to help, especially through his people. 

The gift of being part of the body of Christ is that when we truthfully admit what we are carrying, we are often met with far more grace than we expect or deserve. And even when that is not the case, there is something profoundly liberating about finally speaking aloud what you have been carrying alone for so long. 

This is where we are. This is what we are facing. We do not know how to carry this by ourselves.

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Confession isn’t a practice meant to deepen our shame; it is a practice that is intended to free us from the burden of carrying it alone. 

Scripture tells us, "Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, so that you may be healed" (James 5:16). The healing is not always that the situation goes away. Sometimes the healing is that we no longer have to hold everything on our own. We receive support, wisdom, encouragement, and companions for the journey.

Scripture points us again and again toward this posture of asking, receiving, and relying on one another.

Ask, seek, and knock. "Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you" (Matthew 7:7). This is not only about private prayer, but having an earnest posture of humility, openness, and receptivity. It means bringing our needs before God and also being willing to share them with others. The more we ask, the more we learn, the more connections we make, and the more likely we are to discover the people, resources, and opportunities we need. 

Seek wisdom from many counselors. "Plans fail for lack of counsel, but with many advisers they succeed" (Proverbs 15:22). Given the complexity of church property decisions, it is unwise to make major decisions without the input of trusted individuals who have the church’s best interests at heart and are aligned with the church’s vision. Churches also benefit from trusted advisors who can offer financial, legal, operational, and spiritual wisdom. These advisors may not always agree with every decision, but they can help leaders see blind spots and make more informed choices. 

Persist in asking. In the parable of the persistent widow, Jesus honors the woman who keeps returning to ask for justice (Luke 18:1–8). Sometimes asking once is not enough. Sometimes faithfulness looks like continuing to ask, continuing to knock, and refusing to give up even when the answer is not immediate or a door has not yet opened.

Share resources across communities. Paul writes to the Corinthians about mutual care, explaining that one community's abundance can supply another's need, so that later the reverse may also be true (2 Corinthians 8:13–15). Receiving help in one season does not make a church weak. It makes the church part of a larger body, where resources, gifts, and support flow back and forth as needs arise.

Recovering a Culture of Mutual Support

Churches have historically been places of social support. In many ways, this is woven directly into the fabric of the Christian story.

We see it in the early church after Pentecost:

All the believers were one in heart and mind. No one claimed that any of their possessions was their own, but they shared everything they had... there were no needy persons among them (Acts 4:32–35).

The church was a group of individuals who worshiped together, and simultaneously became a community where burdens, resources, and responsibilities were shared collectively through mutual care and sacrifice.

This reality extended beyond individual congregations too. We see several examples of churches supporting one another across cities and regions:

• Financial relief for struggling churches (2 Corinthians 8–9)

• Organizing aid before impending crises (Acts 11:27–30)

• Sharing teaching, theology, and encouragement (Colossians 4:16)

• Sharing leaders, personnel, and mentorship (Romans 16:1–2)

Sadly, this kind of mutual support sometimes feels distant or radical in our present-day context. Part of it is that we live within a broader American culture shaped by individualism: the belief that every person must pull themselves up by their own bootstraps, that survival and success rest primarily on the individual, and that needing help signals weakness or failure. We can also get so wrapped up in the details of our own situations that we forget to lift our heads and see who else is around us, who might be able to help, advise, connect, or walk with us.

By contrast, many societies around the world continue to maintain strong built-in systems of social support: assistance for families, unemployment, healthcare, housing, childcare, and in moments of crisis. These systems exist because hardship is understood to be part of life, not evidence of personal failure.

Financial strain, rising costs, housing instability, burnout, displacement, and declining giving are part of broader systemic pressures impacting residents, families, small businesses, and community organizations across cities everywhere. The struggles churches experience are not happening in isolation.

This moment, when society as a whole is navigating significant unpredictability, feels prime for a revival of koinonia—deep fellowship, partnership, and mutual participation.

Can we respond to one another with compassion rather than judgment, recognizing the broader conditions shaping our realities? Can we rebuild cultures where churches, leaders, and neighbors' first line of response is, “How can we help each other survive and contribute to one another’s mutual thriving?”

There is a long history of communities creating collective strategies for survival.

One example is the tradition of rent parties: gatherings organized in Black communities during the Harlem Renaissance when families could not afford rent. Neighbors would come together, contribute what they could, share food and music, and collectively help keep someone housed.

Today, versions of this practice are re-emerging through social media campaigns, such as communities rallying around struggling small businesses, GoFundMe campaigns for neighbors facing medical emergencies, or efforts to secure housing for families at risk of displacement.

These practices reflect a simple truth: People survive hardship together.

I pray churches recover this practice, not only within congregations but between churches as well.

Imagine whole neighborhoods benefiting because churches were able to stay rooted in their communities by openly sharing resources, expertise, relationships, funding opportunities, or even temporary space with one another. Imagine a culture where asking for help was normalized and welcomed, and where churches and their leaders knew they were not in it alone.

The truth is that asking for help creates space for unexpected possibilities to emerge. This is part of the beauty of community: God can move powerfully through our limitations in creative and surprising ways, opening new paths and possibilities where none seemed to exist before.

What Asking for Help Looks Like

So what does asking for help actually look like?

Name financial or operational challenges early. Time is not on your side. Waiting until the point of desperation can limit your options and make it harder to make wise, grounded decisions. It will likely feel uncomfortable and often means asking before you feel ready. It may mean doing things you would not have imagined, not because you are going outside your values, but because new solutions require humility, flexibility, and change.

Invite advisors with legal, financial, grant writing, real estate, or operational expertise. Many churches are making decisions about buildings, leases, loans, repairs, fundraising, and partnerships without the technical knowledge those decisions require. You do not need to know everything. But you do need people around you who can help you ask better questions and understand what is at stake.

Be transparent with the congregation about needs and realities. This does not mean creating panic or sharing information irresponsibly. It means giving people a truthful picture of where things stand and inviting them to participate in discernment, prayer, giving, problem-solving, and support.

Maintain mutual relationships with other organizations or churches. Relationships built over time can become pathways for wisdom, referrals, shared resources, space, and support. These connections are much harder to build when a church has already reached the point of closure.

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Apply for funding, grants, or public resources. There are a significant number of federal, state, city, and private funding sources that churches may be eligible to apply for, especially if the program or building serves the broader community. They might include preservation funds, community programming grants, energy-efficiency programs, etc, depending on the church’s use of space. Even if leaders do not have the capacity to research these opportunities themselves, they can ask someone in the congregation or a trusted partner to help look into what may be available.

Ask and continue to ask! It’s worth repeating this again. One discouraging response does not mean every door is closed. Sometimes asking once is not enough. Sometimes you have to keep talking with people until the right connection, resource, or opportunity emerges. You might be surprised how many times a “yes” can come in the middle of rejection.

Share honestly with a peer or peers who can journey with you. Sometimes the first step is not a formal request or public announcement. Sometimes it is simply telling another pastor, leader, or trusted friend: This is what we are facing, and I do not know what to do. 

Asking for help also requires a shift in posture: 

It means admitting you do not have all the answers. Letting others see areas of weakness. Asking for support even when you are not sure what the response will be. Being humble enough to receive help when it comes, and patient enough to learn how to work with others in the process.

When Churches Ask for Help

Besides the stories of churches closing, I have also heard powerful stories that remind me of the creative and beautiful outcomes that can emerge when churches are willing to name their needs and invite others in: 

In one case, a church needed funds to move forward with constructing the worship space they needed. It was difficult for them to obtain a loan from a bank or other lender, so they asked their congregation to help by providing loans from individuals. People contributed what they could, with the understanding that they would be repaid. Many of these members were new immigrants and had little to give, which made their contributions even more meaningful. It reminded me of the widow who offered her two coins. The sacrifice, the trust, and the faith they had in giving were significant. Through that shared investment, the church received what it needed and was able to establish their worship space in the heart of their community. 

In another story, a church leader shared honestly with a peer about the difficulty their church was facing after deciding to leave their denomination. They had a loan tied to the denomination that needed to be repaid, and they were not sure how they were going to manage it. But because the leader shared the burden, the peer pastor was able to respond with a large financial gift that helped them pay off the loan. What had felt impossible became possible through a relationship.

I have also heard of pastors who prayed for years for the right partner to come into their building. After years of waiting, the ministry partner they had talked to nearly a decade earlier eventually moved into the space. That partnership brought new life into the building, helped sustain the church’s operations, and opened the door to new resources, relationships, and expertise.

In a similar story, one small church could no longer manage its space on its own since the size of their congregation was dwindling. Rather than closing quietly, the pastor persistently sought conversations with another church about the possibility of merging. It took years of conversation and pursuit. During that time, several other churches came knocking on their doors, but they discerned that those were not the right fit and continued seeking out this neighboring church. Eventually, the lead pastor of that church became open to the idea. One by one, the doors they thought would hinder the merger began to open, and both churches discerned that it was the right move. Now they are one congregation, reviving the building and creating a renewed presence there together.

“If you or your church are carrying a burden quietly, consider this an invitation: tell someone.”

And in my own journey of missional homeownership, when my co-owner and I ran into an obstacle with our closing costs, we asked the friends and family that had journeyed with us for help. We were beyond blessed by the response and received more than we needed, which created margin for other needs after we moved in.

None of these solutions were obvious when the churches first faced their challenges. But none of them would have happened if the need had remained hidden.

Asking for help does not guarantee that every outcome will be what we hoped. It does not remove difficulty, loss, or uncertainty. But it does create the possibility that God might work through people, relationships, resources, and creative solutions we could not have imagined on our own. 

So if you or your church are carrying a burden quietly, consider this an invitation: tell someone. Pray for discernment about who to tell: a trusted peer, advisor, staff member, denominational leader, or ministry partner. And ask before the options disappear. Ask before the burden becomes too heavy to carry. Ask because this could be one of the ways God wants to show your church his power and grace.

Do you have a story of what happened when a church asked for help? What fruit came out of it? We would love to hear it.