There’s something that’s been quietly happening in the Church lately, and I don’t think it’s healthy.
More and more churches are choosing not to gather on the Sunday after Christmas. Not because of weather. Not because of emergencies. But intentionally — framing it as a “rest Sunday” for staff.
This is just my view. My opinion. But I don’t think this is okay.
I pastor a small church in rural Michigan. We’ve had plenty of moments where canceling would have been easier — and honestly, more comfortable.
We’ve had:
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A power outage that didn’t come back on until hours before service… and when it did, it fried our soundboard. No sound system. No backup.
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Multiple snowstorms where the roads were questionable and attendance was guaranteed to be light.
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This past Sunday — the first Sunday after Christmas — an ice storm overnight followed by rain in the morning. Slick roads. Messy conditions.
And every time the question came up: Do we cancel?
Every time, we chose to gather.
This past Sunday, we didn’t have a big crowd. But I don’t believe God measures faithfulness by attendance charts. I believe the people who came were the people who needed to be there. I know that because I heard from them afterward. Messages. Conversations. Gratitude. Tears.
Here’s what concerns me:
When churches become so large, so staffed, and so structured that they shut down the entire body just to give everyone a break, something has shifted.
Ministry starts looking more like a business than a calling.
Let me be clear — rest matters. Sabbath matters. Healthy rhythms matter. I’m not advocating burnout or grinding people into the ground.
But the Church is not a coffee shop that flips the sign to “Closed for Staff Wellness.”
What if someone pulls into the parking lot that Sunday?
What if they finally worked up the courage to come?
What if they’re desperate, grieving, searching, or barely hanging on?
And they’re met with a locked door and a sign that says, “We’re closed so we can rest.”
That thought should bother us.
It reminds me of the Ethiopian eunuch in Acts 8.
Here’s a man who traveled months to worship God. He wasn’t Jewish. He didn’t look the part. He came from Ethiopia — a long way from Jerusalem. And on top of that, he was a eunuch, which according to Jewish law meant he wasn’t permitted to enter the temple.
After all that effort… he was turned away.
Now imagine this:
What if Philip hadn’t been obedient?
What if the Spirit hadn’t sent someone to meet him on the road?
God didn’t say, “Sorry, it’s a rest day.”
Here’s the reality of small church ministry — and I say this with love, not bitterness.
Small church pastors are exhausted.
We wear every hat.
When the people who help lead worship come to me and say they won't be there on Sunday, I grab my guitar — even though I don’t feel gifted enough to lead worship — because the church still needs to sing.
Then I switch hats and preach.
On Mondays, I counsel people who are grieving, divorcing, struggling with addiction.
On Wednesdays, I’m prepping kids ministry.
I’m tired. Most small church pastors are.
But I would never shut down the entire church just so I could rest.
Because ministry isn’t about my comfort.
It’s about the Kingdom of God.
I’ll say this boldly — and I know it won’t be popular — I would love to see some megachurch pastors come pastor a small church for a year. I don’t say that arrogantly. I say it honestly.
This work isn’t easy at any level.
But the Church exists for people — especially the ones who are searching, hurting, and showing up against all odds.
If we ever decide it’s better to close the doors than open them with simplicity — fewer songs, acoustic worship, a quieter gathering — then we need to ask ourselves a hard question:
Why are we doing ministry in the first place?
Rest your staff.
Rotate teams.
Simplify services.
But don’t close the doors.
Someone might be traveling a long road, hoping to meet God — and the Church should never be the thing that turns them away.
