The Raft Church

There is a growing need inside the church community to understand the life cycle of local churches. To be transparent, we know churches are being planted. Some established churches are growing, while others are declining. We also need to admit that some churches are dying. And there are all kinds of churches at stops in between. However, there is also a small group of churches that are simply trying to hold on.

Hold on to what? We will get there. But in my terminology, I call them “raft churches.”

From the outside, a raft church may look close to the end, with doors permanently closing. Whispers begin: “Why don’t they just close?” Maybe you have heard that. Maybe you have thought it. Maybe you have said it out loud yourself. For those on the inside, there is still hope. So what do we do? I believe that a raft church is standing at a true junction point in its life. And with this writing, I hope to discuss this group of churches. 

The Raft

Let me explain what I mean. I picture a shipwreck. The main vessel is now gone, and a group of survivors (as few as four or five and as many as twenty) are found in open water, holding onto whatever will keep them afloat, possibly a raft. They are face to face, arms locked, giving every ounce of strength to not let go of the person on either arm. With the hope or intent that they are not letting go of you. Wind, rain, or waves, it does not matter what comes. The point is to survive. 

Now it doesn’t take much for this illustration to move to the church world. A church finds itself holding on to one another, not sure where they are going, or what challenge is going to be coming at them next. Where they were going isn’t as important anymore (remember that original ship metaphorically sank). But it cannot be underestimated that they know the importance of each other.

Honor

If you are in a raft church, I need you to know how important you are. Could we have a conversation about evaluations, processes, and goals? Yes. There are other people who can do that. Today, for this writing, I am glad you are still here, and that’s important. 

Every Sunday you show up, every bill you help cover, every time you unlock the doors when it would be easier to stay home, you are part of holding the raft together. You are willing to check in on each other, because each other is important.

I want to honor the fact that you are holding the church’s memory, whether you realize that or not. You stayed when leaving probably made more sense on paper, and nobody applauded.

Most people will never see it. I do.

Challenge

Here is the harder part, and I say it with love. Surviving has a cost. It is tiring, draining, and this time in the church’s life is not for everyone. One problem is that when you have locked arms for that long, a new person floating nearby does not look like help. They look like a threat to the circle. I have watched it happen, and I understood why, even when it was hard to watch. It can become a battle of “us” versus “them.” A real fear of letting someone new in means letting go of the hand next to you. After a time of surviving together, that is not a small thing to ask. Some can do it. Some cannot, at least not for a long time.

Another challenge is that a raft church that never loosens its grip stays adrift in the water. At some point the question changes from “how do we survive?” to “who are we holding on for?” or even “where are we going?” 

These specific worries do not exclude the general everyday worries of bills, publicity, scheduling, planning, etc. Because those items are still coming, too. 

The raft that didn’t make it

I want to say something to those who held on just as hard, prayed, trusted God, and watched the raft go under anyway. I’m sorry that you went through that. Some churches do not make it. I want you to know that you are seen. The church not making it is not a verdict on your faithfulness. I will assume that you gave everything you had, and it counted. The story did not end the way you prayed it would. But you (and those in that raft)  leave knowing you tried. Again, I see you; I’m glad you’re reading this too.  

The Lighthouse Story

This is why I want to tell you Lighthouse’s story. We are fortunate, and we “made it out of the raft.” I want to include this to honor the people who held on and were Lighthouse’s raft church for a while.

In March of 2020, I was voted in as interim pastor of Lighthouse. Around that time, the church had about fifteen to twenty people. Covid hit about that same time. Everyone had their own version of that season, and Lighthouse was not immune. Virtual church, meeting in large spaces, trying to have conversations about what to do next. Fortunately, we had more room than most. In August 2020, the “interim” came off and I officially became the pastor.

I honestly don’t know whether that group believed in me or just knew that if this didn’t work, the doors were closing. Again, raft mentality. But the group that was there, that raft, was willing, and that was enough to start with.

We did not say out loud that the church might not make it. At least we didn’t acknowledge it until we knew we were moving forward again. Instead, we said something simpler: “Just take the next right step.” (As a side note: I cannot remember how many times I’ve said that one line.) We knew the whole climb was ahead of us. We just could not afford to think about all of it at once.

Then, about a year later, in 2021, it felt like time to celebrate. Early August was picked. We took the celebration on the road: a picnic off campus, signs on the doors letting guests know where we were, and everyone invited to come eat together and remember what God had done in our church over the last year.

Had we “made” it? No. But we realized the importance of “making it another year.” Eventually, that led to another and then another. And as of this writing, November 2026, we’ve done it six times.

Conclusion

I’d like to tell you that years later, everyone who was on the “raft” made it to today’s version of Lighthouse, but they didn’t. Change was too hard for some. For others, the ebbs and flows of church meant it was time to move on. And hear me, that’s okay too. I’m honored to be building upon what they did and sacrificed. I do not take it for granted. 

I’m also honored to see those who remember those “raft” days and see what the church is able to do today. To see them breathe, let people in, give over responsibility, pass on their knowledge and love, welcome friends, and watch people follow Christ.  

For those in a “raft” moment, please allow me to end with a prayer for you. 

Heavenly Father, 

I pray for the brother or sister reading this who is in a raft moment with their local church right now. 

I pray that you would help them take the next right step. Please give them wisdom and strength. May they be buoyed with your love and the knowledge that others are praying for them.  

In Jesus name, Amen.