Why church change is hard, but doesn’t have to be

I spend a lot of my time helping churches to change; inspiring, equipping, and enabling them to become more inclusive for children and young people with additional needs and their families.

Many times, those changes can be small but important, like having some ear defenders available for when things get noisy or providing fidgets for neurodivergent children and young people that need something to do with their hands.

Sometimes those changes can be bigger, such as appointing an ‘Inclusion or Accessibility Champion’; someone to give focus and structure to the work of creating belonging for all.

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Occasionally, those changes can have an impact on the way we do things, the language we use, our use of technology, or the layout of our space.

A lot of the time, these changes bring benefits for all; a screen that uses a font and layout that works for a Dyslexic young person typically helps everyone to read it better; but sometimes, compromises need to be made.

In order to include children and young people with additional needs better, we may need to rethink how things have been done for a very long time.

That’s when change and church, although starting with the same two letters, can be harder to bring together.

So why can change be hard? Matt Summerfield at ‘Reboot Your Leadership’ recently posted this brilliant story that illustrates it really well:

“Imagine you’re part of a church that’s been around for hundreds of years, with beautiful oak pews. A new minister arrives with a vision to replace them with carpet and comfortable chairs. You agree with the vision. Most people do.

But 80-year-old Gladys is furious. You’re thinking, What’s the big deal? It’s only wood.

But for Gladys, it’s never been about the wood. For more than 50 years, she sat on that pew beside her husband every Sunday. When he died, she sat there as his coffin passed by. Every week she returns to that same place, and somehow it still helps her feel close to him.

So when you remove the pew, you’re not just removing furniture. You’re asking her to let go of something deeply precious. She’s grieving. 

And grief has many voices. Sometimes it’s sadness. Sometimes it’s silence. Sometimes it’s denial. And sometimes it comes out as anger.

That’s why change is almost always painful. Every change asks people to leave something behind. The deeper the attachment, the deeper the loss. And the deeper the loss, the greater the grief.

When we understand that, we stop seeing people as difficult and start seeing them as human. Our role as leaders isn’t simply to manage change. It’s to love people through it.

To listen well. To lead with empathy and compassion. And to walk patiently with people as they come to terms with what they’re leaving behind.”

See more from Matt here.

When we ask churches to change the language they use to make it more contemporary and understandable, or to use a different, more contemporary, version of the Bible, or to make sermons more multi-sensory, or to use a relatively unused part of the church as a sensory room, if there is resistance to these changes it may not be that people don’t want to be more inclusive, accepting, and caring towards children and young people with additional needs and their families.

It might be that what we are asking them to give up matters deeply to them.

The liturgy has always been said that way, since they first came to church with their parents; the Bible translation used is reassuringly familiar, they know the well-known passages by heart; sermons have always been spoken-word only without other ‘distractions’, as auditory learners they find it hard to concentrate on what is being said with “everything else going on”; the space where the sensory room is going to be was occasionally used by them as a quiet space to reflect, contemplate, and ‘be’.

When we understand this, we can take people on the journey with us. We can help them to understand how the change will be beneficial, as they help us to understand how it may be difficult for them.

It doesn’t have to be binary; by doing inclusion ‘with’ people instead of ‘unto’ them, and that includes how we introduce change, we can help everyone to be heard, valued, loved. As Matt says, we “love people through it…”

Perhaps we can still sometimes use the liturgy, or the old Bible translation, while providing those who find it inaccessible with options including printed copies in a more contemporary and accessible language, or a version using symbols as well as text to help with understanding.

We could have slides to accompany the sermon sent to people in advance, so they can follow them on their tablets or phones when perhaps, occasionally, the sermon is just spoken word alone.

And that sensory space can still be a place of quiet contemplation and reflection at times too. The two uses can be scheduled appropriately; they don’t have to be mutually exclusive.

So, let’s not be fearful of change, whether we are leading it, benefitting from it, or finding it difficult at first. Let’s walk together, understanding that while “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1, ESV), Jesus taught us, commanded us even, to love each other

“My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.” (John 12:15, NIV)

Change can be hard to work through, but if we do it well, and in love, it can be a blessing to everyone. Are you ready?

Mark Arnold, Director of Additional Needs Ministry at Urban Saints. Arnold blogs at The Additional Needs Blogfather. This article was re-published with permission.