While a church’s presence in a community is a witness to the people who meet, learn, and pray there, maintaining a church building has never been easy. Declining congregations in Australia have meant more buildings have been sold off.
According to Australia’s National Church Life Survey, 1,200 buildings were sold between 1991 and 2016. While the survey did not say how many of those churches belonged to Anglicans, they likely numbered in the hundreds.
Carole Cusack, professor of religious studies at the University of Sydney, told ABC Radio in April that the move away from institutions did not only affect churches. People are reluctant to engage with any organization that requires a regular commitment.
She said Orthodox and Roman Catholic congregations are more likely to revere a sanctified building as a holy place than many Protestant traditions, which believe God is where you are, and “a special place is not required.”
Moreover, as she explained to TLC, some particularly low-church bodies lead the charge to remove traditional elements that might be seen as a barrier to engagement.
“It is common in the Sydney diocese, likely the lowest of low-church dioceses in the world, to erase the names of saints the churches are dedicated to; they see the dedication as too Catholic,” she said.
But church is often not confined to that building on the corner. Many Anglican groups are meeting in schools and local halls, some while they work toward a place of their own.
An Indigenous ministry center at Wedderburn in southwestern Sydney often uses a bushland setting, meeting around a campfire. In December 2022, it was the site of an outdoor ordination for the minister in charge, the Rev. Michael Duckett.
One congregation in Victoria meets in a football club, truly sacred ground in Australia. Around Melbourne, City on a Hill is a group of Anglican and affiliated churches that meet in various places, including old cinemas and school halls.
On Victoria’s surf coast, Christians gather outdoors at St. Wilfrid, Mt. Duneed, every week of the year — even in winter, when the wind comes straight off the Southern Ocean. An average of 110 people gather on Sundays with their chairs and well-behaved dogs.
The Rev. Louis Glazebrook is in charge. He’s an Anglican priest, but he doesn’t wear robes on Sundays. He wears “boardies” (board shorts) and his feet are bare.
“We are still trying to keep a strong Anglican flavor, but people are not holding their little green prayer book and reading out the bold font,” he told TLC. “The atmosphere is casual, but the service is still very intentionally reverent.”
The property is at the intersection of two highways, surrounded by gum trees and a natural amphitheatre, and parishioners have made the most of it. Initially, it was a workaround during severe COVID lockdowns. Meeting outside solved the problem of social distancing, masks, and checking in.
But as Glazebrook said, the relaxed style suited the people who live there for the lifestyle, and had some unforeseen benefits.
“Being outdoors helps those with social anxiety, and the kids’ behaviour seems to be much better outdoors,” he said.
People who were reluctant to enter a church building wander past, seeing the sun umbrellas or the fire pit, and ask what is going on.
Glazebrook is grateful for the beautiful grounds, which “proclaim the glory of God.”
“It’s just so much more relaxing” and “I feel like it’s easier to engage and concentrate” are among the common responses he hears. “Worst-case scenario is ‘I just get to sit in this beautiful environment.’”
On the outskirts of Brisbane in the growing suburb of Springfield, a church has found its place in the community — not on the street corner, but in a school.
The Rev. Charlie Lacey has ministered to a growing congregation from the young and culturally diverse community. Perhaps a third of the parish has come through the school, and the free-flowing, evangelical Sunday worship suits the many children who are part of the congregation.
“Most people would hear about us either by word of mouth or online because it’s not immediately obvious as you drive past,” Lacey told TLC.
He pays tribute to the school, which “wants to see us thrive.” For a small rent, the church has access to a multipurpose hall every week, plus a sports dome and oval for large gatherings like Christmas and Easter, as well as a sound system and marketing and printing facilities. It would cost the church a fortune to reproduce all that in its own space, Lacey said.
Setting up and packing up after worship is a chore, but Lacey said it can be advantageous because more people can be involved. “Everybody can do something to make church happen on a Sunday,” he said.
“I don’t think the building itself inhibits what we do,” he said. “Come the weekend, we can be on a camp — the church will be where the people are.”
In Brisbane, the associate priest of St. John’s Cathedral runs Holy Hermits Online, an exclusively online community.
The Rev. Jamee-Lee Callard is chaplain for 160 people who have joined since the pandemic kept everyone at home. From 20 to 30 people worship every week in the fully online community, she told TLC.
She offers pastoral care by Zoom, but members are encouraged to be involved with their local parish for Holy Eucharist, weddings, and baptisms.
Why online? Callard said there are many who are unlikely to enter a church building, or whose participation is limited by illness or disability. Some are socially vulnerable, neurodiverse, or live too far from a church. Perhaps their local church has closed, or they want to keep moving in their Christian journey.
And some, she said, are tech enthusiasts who enjoy online life and want their church to be part of it.
Like many of the churches beyond church buildings, Holy Hermits describes itself as a “missional” community for “those who cannot or will not participate in a traditional expression of church.”
