Chapter 36: Village Churches vs. the Urban MegaChurch

When I moved to Sydney in 1989, I found hundreds of city churches immersed in a huge metropolis, crammed into small, concreted plots of land on busy highways, with pocket handkerchief gardens, and plagued by constant traffic noise. This horrified me. Sydney's urban churches were unlike the other Australian churches I had attended. Where I grew up, churches were oases of peace, set well back from noisy main roads, and shielded by carefully tended gardens. The parishioners knew each other well, and lived in spacious ground floor houses, or on farms. Parishioners who lived in a country town or regional centre generally walked to their local church: only farmers drove to town for Sunday worship.

The Churches of megametropolis Sydney were further apart from each other, and urban community ties and common courtesy also seemed to be falling apart. On buses and trains, people eyed each other suspiciously, and didn't talk with strangers. Many failed churches had been deconsecrated, sold and converted into restaurants or homes. When I saw how crowded the city was, I assumed that its urban churches, surrounded as they were by traffic and high rises, would have left the village model of church far behind. They obviously needed technology to communicate with the crowded city population. But many of the churches I explored were still operating on the “safe and friendly village” model, which doesn't work in crowded, depersonalised cities. As a result, they were poorly attended by elderly parishioners, who were suspicious of outsiders and focused on maintaining fortress churches. Their querulous resistance to change, and their insistent demands that past traditions must be restored, told me that future shock had stopped these communities in their tracks. Elderly house owners mourned the loss of friendly urban streets and corner shops, and complained about the disturbing influx of inconsiderate refugees, immigrant workers, and unemployed jobseekers, who lived in high rise apartments.

Since I arrived, Sydney churches have separated into two distinct groups - traditional church communities, and progressive reformed churches who embrace technology. Pastoral care of parishioners is often outsourced to secular providers or religious retreat houses who cater for niche markets. Popular contemporary megachurches have ditched tradition, embraced the future, and grown into globalised corporate churches. They provide adult education, recreational clubs and social venues, and confidently promise health and wealth to tithing disciples. But many traditional churches have also survived by gathering bequests, assisting migrants, building global networks, and founding lucrative globalised businesses that promote and sell traditional music, books, customs, dress and liturgies. Churches who refuse to adapt, have closed, or have been absorbed into amalgamated collectives. Frequent clergy re-appointments, and increasing lay management of parishes, have replaced long term clergy residences. Either way,  survivor churches have found that attracting young families, and providing culturally appropriate activities, attractive products and community services as well as worship, is essential to managing a thriving city church.