Finding Community in an Unexpected Place

Well, we’re back from vacation, and that means we’re back to writing.

One of the stops Holly and I made during our trip to New Buffalo, Michigan, was a place called Beer Church Brewery. As the name suggests, it’s exactly what it sounds like—a brewery and restaurant housed inside a church that dates back to before the Civil War.

What made it even more interesting to me was how much it resembled the little church in Metamora where I serve as pastor.

Like so many churches across America, the original congregation slowly dwindled over the years until it was no longer sustainable. Rather than letting the building sit empty and eventually fall into disrepair, someone purchased it, restored it, and gave it new life.

I’ll admit, I had mixed emotions walking through the front door.

Part of me loved the idea of preserving such a beautiful historic building. Another part of me couldn’t quite wrap my head around the idea of a brewery inside what had once been a sanctuary. It felt...odd.

But something happened after we found our table.

I quit seeing a brewery in a church.

Instead, I started seeing people.

Families sharing pizza.

Friends catching up over a meal.

Couples laughing together.

Travelers swapping stories.

Servers greeting regulars by name.

There was conversation. There was laughter. There was hospitality. There was life.

There was community.

And that got me thinking.

We often imagine community as something carefully organized. A club. A church. A neighborhood gathering. A family reunion. We picture people who already know one another coming together because they have something in common.

But real community is often much messier—and much more beautiful—than that.

Sometimes it’s built around a shared meal.

Sometimes it begins with a simple conversation.

Sometimes it’s nothing more than strangers occupying the same space until they aren’t strangers anymore.

The older I get, the more I realize that community isn’t defined by the building we’re in. It’s defined by the connections we make while we’re there.

If you’re a person of faith, perhaps you’ve noticed something else.

The sacred has a way of showing up in unexpected places.

Sometimes it’s in a quiet church sanctuary.

Sometimes it’s beside the shores of Lake Michigan as the waves roll in.

Sometimes it’s on a hiking trail, a coffee shop, or a park bench.

And yes, sometimes it’s in a brewery that just happens to occupy a former church.

I don’t believe moments like these diminish the sacred. If anything, they remind me that the sacred was never confined to four walls in the first place.

When people slow down enough to really listen to one another...

When stories are shared...

When burdens become a little lighter because someone cared enough to ask how you’re doing...

When laughter fills a room...

Something important is happening.

Call it community.

Call it belonging.

Call it grace.

Call it simply being human.

Whatever name you give it, those moments feed something inside us that’s just as real as the food on our plates.

Maybe that’s one of the quiet lessons vacation gave me this year.

Keep your eyes open.

Community may be waiting in places you never expected to find it.

And if we’re willing to look beyond the labels and the buildings, we might just discover that the deepest connections—and perhaps even glimpses of the divine—have been there all along.