The Alley

We spent the holidays at my wife’s parents. They live in a small town in Eastern Washington. There may be 20,000 people in the surrounding area. Across the river in another state is its sister city of about 30,000.


We were there on a Sunday, so we went with them to the church they attend to worship. I did not drive there, as I am two things. One, I am a hopeless romantic. That does not apply here. Two, I get lost easily. Only because I don’t know where I am. So, I was a passenger. And that is fine with me. It gives me opportunity to observe. And driving to the church building, here is what I observed.

Getting closer and closer to our destination I realized that we were passing church building after church building. And they all looked similar. All, it seemed, were painted white. They were all older in style. Some were wood, some stucco, and others concrete. So, within a four square block area, from 8th to 12th and Chestnut to Elm, I counted eight churches. And all were having services at the same time. I call it “Church Alley”

These churches were different denominations. We passed by a Presbyterian church, a Catholic church, a Reformed church, and a Church of God. Then it was a Christian church, a Wesleyan, and a Missionary Baptist church. Our destination was a Southern Baptist church.

A hand painted church sign with the words “renovation in progress” on it along with the name of the church and a smaller sign saying that they were meeting in the basement greeted us. There had been water damage to the building and the sanctuary was still being remodeled. There were sheets of plywood covering doors and parts of the outside walls. If you didn’t know it, it would appear as if it were empty.

On the backside of the church we pull into a small gravel parking lot and go down the outside concrete stairs the basement where the service will be. As I said, you could easily drive by and not even know it was having Sunday services.

Down in the basement, like the catacombs of old, there we were, twenty-four people. To have a worship service. The style of service was not my preference. But that did not matter. What does matter is that we all have the same unconditional love from God, and through the sacrifice the same forgiveness. We are siblings through grace.

And so there we were with those other churches huddled together in “Church Alley”. Though there may be differences, the grace is still the same. I had wished that they, the church buildings, were more spread out around the town to influence a wider area. But then I was painted a picture of different people from different denominations driving or walking to “Church Alley” to gather to worship. Somehow things were put into perspective.

Within that four square block area and inside eight different churches, all were giving honor to the same God. And collectively the hearts, prayers, and songs were making their way up. It was like each building was a room of a larger house. I guess there are “many rooms”.