The little shop on the lane (and the rural church I see) 

Adam Daubney finds similarities between a local rural shop and a small church community -quirky and organic; home-made, personal, and unbranded

There was once a little shop nestled on a quiet lane in a little village. To get to it you could either follow the narrow road from the church that marks the course of the ancient stream, or you could walk down the grassy footpath where, for hundreds of years – thousands perhaps – people have passed.

In this little shop you could find most of the essentials, though not all: butter, cheese, fresh bread from the nearby bakery, milk from the local dairy, an assortment of sweets, and daily newspapers. It was a lively spot where people gathered each day—some stopping quickly on their way home from work or school, and others staying a little longer to chat with the shop owner or to catch up with neighbours.

The range of items you could buy in the shop was maybe a bit limited, and they maybe cost a bit more than elsewhere, but people didn’t mind paying that; they came for community, not just milk. This was the place for long chats, meandering conversations, and for making friends.

And then one day, a superstore opened in the nearby town. It was enormous, brightly lit, and filled with the latest technology. Everything you could possibly need was under one roof. The superstore was fit for purpose, serving the ever-growing city and surrounding villages. It was good.

But one by one the villagers got in their cars and drove to the supermarket to do their big shop.

And so the years went by: they drove, they shopped, they came home, ate their food, and then drove out again for more. Some even began to order their food online.

Meanwhile the shop-owner stood and watched. Her sadness was not so much that people had stopped buying her things. Her regret was for the loss of community and connection. Gone were the daily interactions and the ‘how are you doing’. Gone were the comings and goings and the sense of local community. Gone was the ‘church’ for those who – for various reasons – never went to the parish church. Eventually the shop owner flipped the sign to ‘closed’ for one last time.

Many years passed and other superstores opened as the city grew.

More years passed.

And then one day, in the middle of a scary global pandemic, a kind old couple in the village started a pop-up shop in their back garden. At first the products were simply left on their garden wall, with a little honestly box set up so people could contribute. Their vision was simply to help provide for people who were a bit stuck.

The pandemic eventually waned, and the shop moved into a shed at the bottom of their garden where it now sells the basics and a few treats: bread, sweets, crisps, cling film, and also a few pots made by a local potter. Some of the items are slightly out of date, and you certainly couldn’t get everything you need here in one go, but that’s probably not the point.

And every Friday after school the kids get off the bus and congregate at the shed to buy their sweets. And as they buy their sweets they chat and laugh and talk about their week, and the weekend to come. Adults pop in too sometimes. And some quietly enjoy it a bit more than shopping in the town.

The little shop on the lane is happy being small and quirky. It knows its beginnings and its purpose and its call, and it quietly gets on with building rural community. There is no website and no branding; no big events and marketing strategy – not even a phone number to call. But there is always a door to knock at.


The church I see

The little shop on the lane is not a made-up tale but is the story of the village I live in. It is a story of a shop which closed in the 1990s and which was reimagined a few years ago by a couple who responded out of love to the cry of a community.

It is also a picture of the church I see: local, quirky and organic; home-made, personal, and unbranded. A church that arises naturally among people who carry a vision to see the Kingdom come at a very local level, particularly in rural areas.

And for these people, that might mean treading a different path – one in which church looks like a pilgrim witness, where daily interactions and acts of kindness are aspects of a church that is present at a local level; where worship gatherings around the kitchen table are signs of the coming Kingdom; one where the values of Candle, Table, Door come into focus:

• Candle (the presence of God; Father Son and Holy Spirit in all of life, in every community and in every heart).
• Table (community lived in and lived out around a table, a place of generosity, hospitality and study).
• Door (compelled by love to go outside in mission and to welcome in through the door the pilgrim, the friend and the stranger).

This way of being the church is more than a village-based cell group or home group – it ‘is’ the local church.

Is it then wrong to be part of a bigger church away from where you live? Not at all, especially if your vision and call is for something other than the local. Gathering at a larger scale is important for encouragement and equipping. It is good. We need all the expressions of church.

But if you feel a call to see your village transformed you inevitably have to reimagine your rhythm of prayer and worship and seek God for His Kingdom come and His will be done.

So, I continue to wonder, what would it look like to have a little ‘shop’ in every village? 


Image | Ketut Subiyanto | Pexels 


 

Adam Daubney is part of Threshold, a friendly rural church doing life in the villages near Lincoln. Its vision is to develop small Christian communities in the places we live. 

Twice a month all of the small communities in Threshold get together for an informal time of singing, prayer, learning, and friendship. It is linked too to similar communities in Dorset and Norway. 

This reflection originally appeared on the Threshold blog, and is republished with permission