As thousands of churches face closure, we explore the profound loss of community centers, shelters, and vital economic contributors that extends far beyond spiritual services.



On a recent episode of WBUR’s On Point, host Meghna Chakrabarti devoted an episode to what is lost when a church closes. And make no mistake, churches close. She reported that an estimated 15,000 churches in the U.S. are likely to close in the next few years.

So, what’s lost when a place of worship closes?

More than most imagine.

She rightly noted that churches are more than places of worship. They are community centers, shelters, and food banks. They respond to disasters in their community, whether fire or tornado, flooding or hurricane, with resources, volunteers, and shelter. When violence or tragedy strikes, they are often the gathering places to weep and mourn. They are where people battling any number of addictions gather for support groups. They provide a social safety net that often goes unseen, unheralded.

Within themselves, they provide community and relationship, support for marriage and family, programs for children and youth, and opportunities for personal and spiritual growth. They combat loneliness and offer support during times of grief.

And about the supposed “lost” property taxes that churches are often critiqued for? Studies have found that religious institutions generate trillions of dollars for the U.S. economy every year. The economic impact of churches alone is somewhere between $1.2 trillion and $4.8 trillion. At the time of the study, in 2016, this was more than the annual revenues of the top 10 tech companies, including Apple, Amazon, and Google combined. Another study found that real property values decrease as the distance from a neighborhood church increases.

The church I have the privilege of serving has an annual food drive, an annual hygiene products drive for our unhoused neighbors, provides resources such as bus tokens for the working poor and energy-bill assistance for the elderly, provides backpacks and school supplies for elementary-school children living in poverty, helps build and sustain affordable housing, and supports a home for women rescued from human trafficking.

Outside of our city, we support an orphanage in Argentina, fund student outreach in Bulgaria, provide medical care in Guatemala, send teams to serve the poorest of the poor in Jamaica and the Dominican Republic, and provide safe houses for children who have been rescued from trafficking and online pornography in the Philippines.

These are just glimpses of how it serves those outside of its community. It doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of how it serves those within its community.

All to say, churches, while seemingly insignificant in the minds of many in our increasingly secular world, matter.

It reminds me of a story that was often told by the late Peter Marshall.

The “Keeper of the Springs” was a quiet man who lived high above an Austrian village in the deep forests of the Alps. He had been hired many years before by a town eager to see debris cleared from the pools of water that fed the spring that flowed through their town.

The man did his job well, faithfully patrolling the hills, removing branches and leaves. The clear water made the village a popular attraction, with graceful swans gliding across the spring, creating rich farmlands and picturesque views.

As time went by, the town council faced budgetary challenges. They saw a line-item for a “Keeper of the Springs.” Who was this? What did he do? Surely such an obscure role wasn’t needed. By unanimous vote, they released the man from his duties.

At first, nothing changed. The water flowed as clear and free as ever. The town council felt reassured in their decision. Then autumn came, and the leaves began to fall. Wind blew, and branches fell into the pools. Soon, the flow of water began to lessen. Then a yellowish-brown tint appeared in the spring. Soon, the water grew even darker. Before long, a film covered the water along the banks, and a stank odor filled the air. Millwheels ground to a halt, the tourists left with the swans, and soon disease and sickness began to permeate the village.

The town council called another meeting.

Realizing their mistake in judgment, they brought back the old “Keeper of the Springs.” Within a matter of weeks, the waters began to return to their pristine state.

Marshall’s point then, even more pressing today, is that what the spring meant to the village, the Christian faith as embodied in the Church means to the world.

So the next time you wonder about the value of a church,

... think about the “Keeper of the Spring.”

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