As Holy Week approaches, my mind often drifts back to an Easter I spent in Romania. I’ve tried, more than once, to recreate what I experienced there—but I’ve never quite been able to. To understand why, I have to go back a bit. In 2006, my church planned a mission trip to Romania. A group of ten women would spend their days in a hospital caring for abandoned babies. I felt drawn to go—but I hesitated. My own children were young, and the thought of leaving them for that long felt overwhelming. Over time, that hesitation turned into conviction. I sensed God asking me to trust Him—not just with the children I would care for overseas, but with the ones I would leave at home. So I made a quiet promise: If someone drops out and they call me, I’ll go. Two weeks before the trip, the call came. I said yes—but I was completely unprepared. My passport wasn’t even up to date. And yet, one by one, every obstacle moved. It was as if God was clearing the path ahead of me. Our first full day in Romania was Resurrection Sunday. We walked to church through streets lined with stray dogs and crumbling sidewalks. Trash piled up on corners. The buildings felt worn, almost colorless. It wasn’t beautiful in the way we often define beauty. But what struck me wasn’t what I saw—it was what I felt. Overwhelming joy. As we walked, every person we passed greeted us the same way: “Hristos a înviat!”— Christ is risen! And the response came just as quickly, just as joyfully: “Adevărat a înviat!”— He is risen indeed! This joy wasn’t reserved for inside the church walls. It filled the streets. It echoed on buses, in restaurants, on sidewalks. Everywhere we went, people proclaimed it to one another—strangers, friends, everyone. And when we arrived at the church, the joy only deepened. There were warm embraces, double cheek kisses, and then again that same declaration— Christ is risen! —spoken with a kind of wholehearted delight that caught me off guard. This wasn’t a culture known for outward emotion. And yet, here it was—unfiltered joy. It wasn’t manufactured. It wasn’t performative. It was just… real. I had spent my entire life attending Easter services. But I couldn’t remember ever experiencing anything quite like this. It made me wonder: Did the resurrection mean something different here? As I looked around, the marks of hardship were everywhere. Years of oppression had left their imprint on the city and its people. And I couldn’t help but think—maybe that’s why the resurrection felt so alive. Maybe hope always feels more precious when you’ve known hopelessness. I think about how people celebrate the end of a war. My father told stories of the joy that erupted when World War II ended—dancing, parades, people flooding the streets. The kind of celebration that couldn’t be contained. And I wonder… If that kind of victory stirs such joy, what should the victory over death awaken in us? Scripture gives us a glimpse. When the Ark of the Lord returned, David danced with all his might—so freely, so fully that it scandalized those watching. He didn’t hold back. He couldn’t. How much more should we celebrate our Lord’s return from the grave? Jesus conquered the enemy. He let us know the end of the story and who the victor is. Death has lost its grip. We are forgiven, restored, and held in a hope that does not run out. There is no greater cause for celebration! And yet—if I’m honest—so often our Easter joy feels… restrained. Polite. Contained within a service, rather than spilling into the streets. This Holy Week, as we remember Jesus’ final days—His words, His acts of love, His sacrifice—I’ve been asking a different question: What would life feel like if the resurrection hadn’t happened? To sit, even briefly, in that space is to feel the weight of what we’ve been given. Because we don’t live in that story. We live in the one where Sunday came. And maybe that’s the invitation—not to manufacture emotion, but to recover wonder. To let gratitude grow until it becomes something we can’t keep to ourselves. Resurrection Joy and Fresh Expressions I can’t help but think about what I witnessed in Romania and what it might mean for the future of the church—especially for Fresh Expressions. What I experienced there wasn’t a program or a strategy. It was a people so shaped by the reality of the resurrection that their joy naturally overflowed into everyday life. It happened on sidewalks. On buses. Around tables. It was good news carried in ordinary voices in ordinary streets. That’s the heartbeat of Fresh Expressions: cultivating communities where the reality of Jesus—alive, present, victorious—is felt so deeply that it can’t help but be shared. Where resurrection joy shows up in coffee shops, dinner tables, recovery groups, walking trails, and neighborhood spaces. Places where people don’t just hear “Christ is risen” once a year… but encounter the living Christ in the rhythms of everyday life. Maybe the question for us isn’t simply how to celebrate Easter better. Maybe it’s this: What would it look like to build communities where resurrection joy is so real, so tangible, that it naturally spills out into the world around us? Christ is risen. He is risen indeed.
As Holy Week approaches, my mind often drifts back to an Easter I spent in Romania. I’ve tried, more than once, to recreate what I experienced there—but I’ve never quite been able to. To understand why, I have to go back a bit. In 2006, my church planned a mission trip to Romania. A group of ten women would spend their days in a hospital caring for abandoned babies. I felt drawn to go—but I hesitated. My own children were young, and the thought of leaving them for that long felt overwhelming. Over time, that hesitation turned into conviction. I sensed God asking me to trust Him—not just with the children I would care for overseas, but with the ones I would leave at home. So I made a quiet promise: If someone drops out and they call me, I’ll go. Two weeks before the trip, the call came. I said yes—but I was completely unprepared. My passport wasn’t even up to date. And yet, one by one, every obstacle moved. It was as if God was clearing the path ahead of me. Our first full day in Romania was Resurrection Sunday. We walked to church through streets lined with stray dogs and crumbling sidewalks. Trash piled up on corners. The buildings felt worn, almost colorless. It wasn’t beautiful in the way we often define beauty. But what struck me wasn’t what I saw—it was what I felt. Overwhelming joy. As we walked, every person we passed greeted us the same way: “Hristos a înviat!”— Christ is risen! And the response came just as quickly, just as joyfully: “Adevărat a înviat!”— He is risen indeed! This joy wasn’t reserved for inside the church walls. It filled the streets. It echoed on buses, in restaurants, on sidewalks. Everywhere we went, people proclaimed it to one another—strangers, friends, everyone. And when we arrived at the church, the joy only deepened. There were warm embraces, double cheek kisses, and then again that same declaration— Christ is risen! —spoken with a kind of wholehearted delight that caught me off guard. This wasn’t a culture known for outward emotion. And yet, here it was—unfiltered joy. It wasn’t manufactured. It wasn’t performative. It was just… real. I had spent my entire life attending Easter services. But I couldn’t remember ever experiencing anything quite like this. It made me wonder: Did the resurrection mean something different here? As I looked around, the marks of hardship were everywhere. Years of oppression had left their imprint on the city and its people. And I couldn’t help but think—maybe that’s why the resurrection felt so alive. Maybe hope always feels more precious when you’ve known hopelessness. I think about how people celebrate the end of a war. My father told stories of the joy that erupted when World War II ended—dancing, parades, people flooding the streets. The kind of celebration that couldn’t be contained. And I wonder… If that kind of victory stirs such joy, what should the victory over death awaken in us? Scripture gives us a glimpse. When the Ark of the Lord returned, David danced with all his might—so freely, so fully that it scandalized those watching. He didn’t hold back. He couldn’t. How much more should we celebrate our Lord’s return from the grave? Jesus conquered the enemy. He let us know the end of the story and who the victor is. Death has lost its grip. We are forgiven, restored, and held in a hope that does not run out. There is no greater cause for celebration! And yet—if I’m honest—so often our Easter joy feels… restrained. Polite. Contained within a service, rather than spilling into the streets. This Holy Week, as we remember Jesus’ final days—His words, His acts of love, His sacrifice—I’ve been asking a different question: What would life feel like if the resurrection hadn’t happened? To sit, even briefly, in that space is to feel the weight of what we’ve been given. Because we don’t live in that story. We live in the one where Sunday came. And maybe that’s the invitation—not to manufacture emotion, but to recover wonder. To let gratitude grow until it becomes something we can’t keep to ourselves. Resurrection Joy and Fresh Expressions I can’t help but think about what I witnessed in Romania and what it might mean for the future of the church—especially for Fresh Expressions. What I experienced there wasn’t a program or a strategy. It was a people so shaped by the reality of the resurrection that their joy naturally overflowed into everyday life. It happened on sidewalks. On buses. Around tables. It was good news carried in ordinary voices in ordinary streets. That’s the heartbeat of Fresh Expressions: cultivating communities where the reality of Jesus—alive, present, victorious—is felt so deeply that it can’t help but be shared. Where resurrection joy shows up in coffee shops, dinner tables, recovery groups, walking trails, and neighborhood spaces. Places where people don’t just hear “Christ is risen” once a year… but encounter the living Christ in the rhythms of everyday life. Maybe the question for us isn’t simply how to celebrate Easter better. Maybe it’s this: What would it look like to build communities where resurrection joy is so real, so tangible, that it naturally spills out into the world around us? Christ is risen. He is risen indeed.
Questions to spark curiosity in your congregation about the community around you! For most followers of Jesus and congregations, we know it’s important to serve the community around us. But we also know it can be easy to grow inwardly focused. While practicing the “one anothers” with those within the church is important, we must work hard to not neglect outreach. Here are some questions that can spark curiosity, launch conversation, and help ensure that we focus on those who are not yet here among us. Knowing Our Neighbors Personally Who are the 20–50 people living closest to our congregation? Do we know their names? Their stories? Their hurts? Their hopes? If not, what keeps us from knowing them? Who feels invisible in our ZIP code? Who are the “connectors” who already exist in our neighborhood? Understanding People’s Hopes, Hurts, and Longings What does good news look like to these people? What are the unspoken anxieties shaping people here? Where is suffering concentrated? What do our neighbors celebrate—and why? What might our neighbors fear when it comes to engaging with a church? What might we do to eliminate or alleviate these barriers? Recognizing Patterns and Knowing History Are there any noticeable themes or patterns in the stories we hear? What stories does our neighborhood tell about itself—through art, events, festivals, history, etc.? What major events (positive or painful) have shaped – and continue to shape – our community today? What assumptions do we have about our neighbors and the neighborhood that may not be accurate? (And how would we know?) Observing the Everyday Rhythms and Spaces Where do people naturally gather—and why? What are the rhythms of life in our community (mornings, nights, weekends)? Where do children and teens spend their time? How could we naturally and appropriately look to inhabit that space in compassion with them? Where do people go to decompress or rest? How does the built environment shape life here? Exploring Assets and Identifying Gifts What charisms – spiritual gifts or assets – does our congregation possess that we could share? How could we be creative with them, if its they are small gestures? What gifts and talents already exist among our neighbors? Where is hope already springing up? What organizations or leaders are already doing good work we could partner with? Identifying Barriers and Naming Opportunities What barriers and obstacles prevent people from flourishing? What is noticeably missing in our community? What keeps us from knowing our neighbors’ names and stories – time, busyness, fear, apathy, lack of creativity, lack of courage, etc.? What small acts of consistent kindness could build relational bridges? Reflecting on our Congregation’s Existing Presence If our church disappeared tomorrow, would our neighbors notice? Would they care? Would they mourn? If not, how does that make us feel? How do people experience trust – or lack thereof – here? What new forms of church might emerge if we listened more deeply and trusted more wholly?
On Thursday evenings in Ford City, Pennsylvania , the smell of a home-cooked meal drifts through a building at 412 9th Street as neighbors begin taking their seats around long tables. Some arrive looking for connection. Others come because they need a warm meal. A few carry quiet questions about faith. All of them are welcomed to The Dinner Table . Launched in October 2024, The Dinner Table is a donation-based community dinner and worship gathering that brings together people who might never walk into a traditional church service—neighbors facing financial hardship, people who feel disconnected from church, skeptics, and longtime believers alike. What happens each Thursday is simple but meaningful: people share a meal, listen to music, pray for one another, and talk honestly about how Jesus might be moving in their lives. The vision echoes the rhythm of the early church described in Acts 2:42 , where believers gathered around meals, devoted themselves to fellowship and prayer, and learned the way of Jesus together. That same pattern is quietly taking root in this small town along the Allegheny River. “Some of the people sitting at our tables might never step foot in a traditional church… Some come for a home-cooked meal, others feel lost in their faith. This is our community. This is our church.” Ford City itself is a borough of about 2,800 residents , once a thriving industrial town and now navigating many of the economic and social transitions common across Rust Belt communities. In a place where financial pressures and loneliness are real, gathering around food has become a powerful way to rebuild connection. And around these tables, church is beginning to look a little different. When Church Begins With a Table The Dinner Table did not begin with a complicated strategy. It started with a simple observation: many people in the community were not connecting with traditional church services—but they were open to relationships, conversation, and shared meals. So instead of asking neighbors to come to church first, the leaders began with something more natural: a table and a meal. Each Thursday evening volunteers prepare food, set tables, and welcome guests as they arrive around 5:00 PM. Music fills the room, announcements are shared, and a short reflection invites people to consider ho w Jesus might be present in their lives. But the most meaningful moments often happen in the conversations around the tables. Rather than expecting people to believe before they belong, the gathering creates space where belonging can come first. Food, Friendship, and Faith Over time, three simple words have come to describe the rhythm of The Dinner Table: Food. Friendship. Faith. One early post celebrating the weekly gathering captured the spirit of the evening: “Another great night at The Dinner Table! Thanks to Will, Maya, and Landyn for cooking up a great meal. If you’re looking for a church built around food, friendship, and faith—this is the place for you.” Meals are simple but meaningful. On one December evening, 80 neighbors from outside the church joined the gathering alongside 14 volunteers . Together they shared a Christmas meal of ham, scalloped potatoes, green beans, and fresh fruit. After dinner, the room quieted as someone read the story of Jesus’ birth from Luke chapters 1 and 2 . In the middle of conversation and laughter, the ancient story of Christmas was heard again around the tables. Moments like these reveal something powerful: church doesn’t always need a stage or sanctuary. Sometimes it begins with plates, chairs, and open conversation. Small Steps, Real Impact As the gatherings continued, the impact began to grow. By November 2025, the community had served 308 meals across three Thursday gatherings, and the group celebrated one person giving their life to Christ. What started as a simple meal had become something deeper: a place where neighbors experience friendship, prayer, and spiritual curiosity together. Pulling Up Another Chair What is happening each Thursday in Ford City may look simple—but it is deeply transformational. A shared meal has become a doorway to belonging for people who might never enter a traditional church building. In many ways, this is simply a rediscovery of the early church. As Acts 2:42 reminds us, followers of Jesus devoted themselves to fellowship, prayer, and the breaking of bread together. And perhaps that is the most encouraging part of this story: this kind of church is possible anywhere . It doesn’t require a large budget or a polished program. It begins with listening to a community, loving people well, and creating space where relationships can grow. Sometimes the most powerful place for church to begin is exactly where it did in the first century— around a table where everyone is welcome.
A healthy church isn’t just a tight-knit group of friends. It’s a place where all kinds of relationships can flourish. In this conversation, David Blackwell shares how insights from Dunbar’s Number invite rural church leaders to rethink size and connection, and how prioritizing weak, bridging relationships can help rural churches break down cliques, welcome outsiders, and embody the Gospel in place. Listeners will hear both a challenge and a roadmap for building more robust relational ecosystems that reflect the breadth of God’s community. David Blackwell has served as the senior pastor of Florence-Carlton Community Church in the Bitterroot Valley of Montana for 19 years, and is passionate about helping develop church leaders and pastors for outwardly-focused, community-oriented ministry in small town and rural settings. Chris and Kathleen Blackey , are hosts of the Rural Renewal Podcast. Since 2010, together they have served as co-pastors at the First Baptist Church of South Londonderry, Vermont. The Blackeys live in South Londonderry, Vermont with their children – Sarah, Daniel, and Priscilla, as well as their cat, dog, and chickens. Related Resources: The Church and Dunbar’s Number - https://seedbed.com/the-church-and-dunbars-number/ Rural Churches Need More Weak Relationships - https://wheatonbillygraham.com/rural-churches-need-more-weak-relationships-by-carl-greene/ Join our Facebook group: Rural Renewal Podcast Community Email us: podcasts@freshexpressions.com Subscribe & Review Help us get the word out by subscribing and leaving a review for Rural Renewal Podcast on your favorite platform. Apple Podcasts Spotify Google Podcasts
“We exist to reveal Jesus and seek the welfare of our community.” — Common Ground
Starting a dinner church is an exciting new venture. But before we begin, it’s important to have several questions answered ahead of time – logistics, team culture, expectations, prayer, sustainability, etc. Before beginning dinner church spend time asking yourself and your team questions. And consider utilizing these questions with your dinner guests as well. Questions to Ask of Yourself Am I spiritually centered as we begin this initiative? What is the Lord asking of me right now? Who can join me to be committed in prayer for me, the team, and those who will be attending dinner church? Do I have the adequate support from – and with – a team of people who want to serve and lead? How frequently should we host dinner church? Weekly? Bi-monthly? Monthly? How can I best lead and serve our team? How can I best lead and serve our guests? Questions to Ask of Your Team Why do people want to join the dinner church team? What areas/roles do you long for them to play (i.e. shopping, cooking/preparing food, setting tables, greeters, sharing a Jesus story, conversation partners at tables, clean up team, etc.)? What commitment is needed to be a part of the team (i.e. time, prayer, faith, logistics, etc.)? When – and how often? How can we make dinner church sustainable for the long haul? How do we ensure that the details and logistics of dinner don’t override the importance of prioritizing relationships? How will we help get the word out and invite others to join us? What are expectations and responsibilities before? During? After? What do we long for God to do through this dinner church? What does “success” look like a year from now? What 2-3 adjectives do we want to use to describe the feel/ethos of dinner church? How often should the team meet to pray, plan, and discuss further details? Questions to Ask of Those You Meet at Your Table How did you first year about dinner church? It’s not often you hear the word “dinner” and “church” next to each other. What do you think about the idea of dinner church? Do you have any experience with church? With faith? with God? If so, what has that been like? What are some of the most meaningful times you’ve had another a table before? What did you think about the Jesus story? What detail or element of the story stuck out to you? What implications do you think this story might have on your life today? If you could ask Jesus 2-3 questions after this story occurred, what would you ask him – and why? If Jesus were sitting at this table sharing this meal with us this evening, what would you want to ask him? Are there ways I can pray for you? (Would you like me to pray for you right now, or would you like to me to pray for you throughout the week?) Did you like the meal this evening? Can you join us for dinner church next time?
On Monday nights at 6:00 PM in Kingsport, the tables fill quickly. There are fingerprints on the books. Remnants of food on the pages. Signs of life everywhere. As Pastor Melissa Malcolm reflected near their one-year anniversary: “It is hard to see in the picture, but there are fingerprints and remnants of food all over this book. We are one week away from our 1 year anniversary at The Table of Kingsport! We average 110 a week where we strive to provide Community, Food, Jesus, so people can Belong, Believe and Be Hope in this community.” The Table is not polished. It is alive. Beautiful Diversity from the Beginning The very first night told the story of what this community would become. Melissa described it with two simple words: “Beautiful diversity.” There was diversity in age, race, social status, and life experiences. A child beamed with joy after receiving a bouquet of flowers she admired from the table. A young man with special needs returned for a second week and leaned forward with a smile when the Jesus story was shared. Hugs and love were exchanged between a homeless man and someone who was financially secure. A couple living out of their car not only enjoyed a warm meal together but thoughtfully suggested the church keep Narcan on hand to better care for friends battling addiction. Sorrow and heartache were shared openly and received with grace and empathy rather than judgment. Nearly a third of the guests that first evening were under the age of 20, and three young people immediately asked how they could return and serve. During the meal, Melissa observed something profound: “During the meal, there is no us and them. We all sit at the tables mixed together.” What began that night was more than a dinner. It was the creation of an unconditional loving culture in a neighborhood that knows too much pain and suffering. Church Shaped Around a Table Launched in July 2024 in the former Community United Methodist Church building, The Table of Kingsport is a Fresh Expression centered on hospitality. Each Monday includes a free meal served around round tables intentionally arranged for conversation rather than anonymity. Midway through the evening, a simple and accessible story about Jesus is shared. Prayer is woven naturally into the gathering, never forced but always present. There is no rush to close the night. People linger. Conversations continue long after plates are cleared. What began with 20 people saying “yes” to creating this kind of space has grown into a weekly average of 110 neighbors gathering together. Melissa reflects, "Jesus built this place. He is working in us and those who are becoming part of this community in amazing ways.” More Than a Meal The Table functions as more than a Monday gathering. It carries forward the legacy of ministry in that building while stepping into a new future — one rooted not in rows, but in circles. Here, church looks like shared laughter and honest grief. It looks like young people stepping into leadership and neighbors caring for one another’s practical needs. It looks like a community where faith conversations happen naturally because trust has been built over time. In a world increasingly divided, The Table of Kingsport reminds us that when we center community, food, and Jesus, people don’t just attend. They belong. They believe.
Anniversaries are always rich times to look back, look around, and look forward. It helps us to gain perspective, to celebrate where God has been at work, and to look strategically and wisely at the future for how to best position ourselves for future kingdom fruit. On each anniversary take time on your own, and with your team, to interact around the following questions. LOOKING BACK : Where have we seen God show up in the past year? How can I/we pause and thank God for His work through this mission? What do we need to celebrate? Who do we need to celebrate? Where has the Spirit surprised us this year? What do we need to grieve? What do we need to let go of? What have we needed to unlearn and relearn? What do we still need to unlearn and relearn? What hard-fought lessons have we learned through this process? LOOKING AT THE PRESENT: Read Ecclesiastes 3:1-10. What season do we sense our FX is in right now? And what implication(s) might that have if that’s the season/time we’re in right now? How is the team’s morale right now (are they encouraged? Discouraged? Exhausted? Energized? Confused? Hopeful? Expectant? Something else?) LOOKING FORWARD: What do we need to keep? What do we need to tweak? What do we need to chuck? What do we need to start? What do we sense God calling us to become and do in the future? Who else can join us as we serve and lead? What does our team need right now (i.e. encouragement, support, affirmation, prayer, training/equipping, reminding, etc.)? How might we deepen our trust in Christ and the Spirit’s power in the days ahead? What would that require of us to do that? Who isn’t yet apart of this fresh expression that we would love to introduce them to Jesus and His kingdom? What “big asks” are we making of God in this next season? What new ground do we want to take in the name of Jesus and for the glory of God?
On the corner of 10th Street and 9th Avenue in St. Cloud, Florida, the hum of washing machines mixes with conversation, laughter, and the smell of a shared meal. It doesn’t look like church. But it is. Here’s a quick look at what it is, how it works, and why it matters. What It Is Laundry Love in St. Cloud is a Fresh Expression of church that gathers at Kipp’s Laundromat on the 1st, 3rd, and 5th Tuesdays of each month from 10:00 AM–1:00 PM. Volunteers help neighbors wash two loads of clothing, with bedding available at 12:15 PM if machines are open. A meal is also provided. There is no stage. No formal program. No pressure. Just people meeting a practical need — and discovering that the laundromat can become sacred space. How It Works The model is simple and deeply relational. Volunteers arrive with quarters, detergent, and open hearts. Guests load machines. People sit together while clothes spin. A meal is shared. Conversations unfold naturally. Prayer is offered when welcomed. Names are remembered. Stories are honored. The rhythm is consistent. The posture is present. The invitation is gentle. Instead of asking neighbors to come to church, this community shows up in a place people already gather — meeting both tangible and spiritual needs in the same room. Why It Matters Laundry is one of the quiet stressors of poverty. When families must choose between groceries, rent, and transportation, clean clothes can feel like a luxury. Yet laundry impacts school attendance, job interviews, confidence, and dignity. Laundry Love restores more than clothing. It restores belonging. The fruit looks like: A parent exhaling because school clothes are clean A senior lingering because someone finally asked how they’re doing A volunteer discovering that mission doesn’t require a microphone In a world where many feel unseen, this Fresh Expression reminds us that church can begin with something as simple as a spin cycle. Where in your community do people quietly carry burdens? What if the Church met them there?