On our recent vacation in the Netherlands, I encountered something remarkable. From the street, it looked like all the buildings were the usual canal houses typical of Amsterdam’s golden age, from their narrow width to their pulley arms and ornamental gables.
But on occasion, our guidebook would tell us to look beyond what could be seen from the street–to step into a space that you wouldn’t expect to be there. You would open a door and encounter, not a home’s small entry hall, but a bona fide church, hidden behind the house’s facade!
Some of these churches were quaint and small–even if they were three houses wide. Others were more similar to Trinity’s grand sanctuary, seating hundreds. On our trip, we had stumbled upon the phenomenon of hidden churches–congregations that, in a less pluralistic age, were tolerated by the Dutch government so long as they didn’t proselytize, carried no distinctive symbols of their faith, and held their services clandestinely, without public ceremony or even obvious buildings.
Every religion other than the state-sanctioned Reformed church was required to worship like this. Lutherans, Catholics, and other non-conforming people got used to living out their faith in private, without any public ritual or recognition. They didn’t choose this marginalization–it was imposed on them. The state wanted the right religion to be public and visible–and for everything else to seem non-existent.
Needless to say, we are not a hidden church. Our steeple scrapes the heavens and our bells ring out chorales at noon and six o’clock. Hundreds of cars pass by our building every hour. Pedestrians walk through our manicured garden. Our building isn’t just visible–it’s in your face.
Yet in other ways, our culture does marginalize faith, making it hidden. Many modern people, both believers and non-believers, are convinced that faith is a private matter–so they don’t talk about it to their neighbors, friends, and family. They live out their faith in private–not sharing the hope that is in them. I’m guilty of this, too–not wanting to seem “too strange” or “too religious” when I meet someone at a social function.
But I’m reminded often that religion’s retreat from the public eye, solely into hearts and minds, makes it seem like the big questions of life don’t matter, or even can’t be answered. Why are we here? What should I invest my time in, and what’s a distraction? What’s next?
I want to challenge us—all of us—to make our faith less hidden. To tell people that we live our lives the way we do because of Jesus’ love and grace. To show that we aren’t just a building, but a movement building new lives on the foundation of God’s promises.