Crossings Community Church in Acton

I was recommended to a small coffee shop/Church in Acton (One town West and in the same municipality as my beloved Georgetown) by two independent sources.  I was told they were doing something amazing, something inspiring.  So, I was expecting a good time, running late on an unseasonably cold April Morning.  I parked a block away and sprinted across highway 7 to the building's modern coffee house facade and was greeted by a smoker shaped like a good offensive guard parked against the side of the door keeping warm. He grunted a hello, I did the same and in went I.



I'm going to start with the building.  When the churches founders bought the property, it was a complete mess.  It was far and away the seediest bar for miles in any direction, and the back rooms were "the place" for drugs, sex and generally the sort of things that separate nice downtowns from crumby ones.  The building was an eyesore for the community and generally nursed a wide spectrum of bad habits into full maturity.  What amounted to the investment of a handful of families became Crossings Community Church in 2007.

In 2011, the building I entered was at once slick and comfortable, a brightly lit coffee shop of the first order that was bustling with activity, and before I had a chance to look around properly I was pointed to the self serve coffee thermos and armed with my choice from a tray of mismatched mugs.  The coffee shop backed out into what looked and felt like a retrofitted barn chapel, painted lovingly and situated with a hundred-plus neatly lined chairs, and flanked at the back and the left by another smaller coffee bar and a huge balcony above.  It was an interesting juxtaposition, I was struck with the feeling of being in an impromptu gathering, the place is mid-renovation and has a cultivated feel of a patchwork project, but with modern trappings like a Widescreen planted on the wall that reads out the hymns to those who's views might be obstructed.   The place was alive and filled with the comings and goings of parishioners, I heard lots and lots of high energy hey-how-are-yas and I saw a hugs aplenty, a dozen hugs if it was one.

By the time I got done shooting the breeze (and a second cup of joe) there was no seats in the regular aisles, so I took a place at a small cafe-style table to the side of the room under the balcony.  I was greeted by everybody in a ten foot radius in voices that were loud enough to be heard by the congregation and absorbed happily into the vibe of the service.  That service was performed by a band (which the gentleman seated next to me informed me had a rotating cast) and the junior half of the pastoral team.  The young preacher, dressed in Jeans and a sweater was a few years my junior (ack!) and delivered a great palm sunday sermon from the Book of Luke 19:28-40 that talked about humility, sacrifice and love.  His delivery was as informal as his dress, and he neither his voice or verbiage differed from his preaching to his conversation.  We had communion and as is Cross Community tradition, I was invited to a potluck lunch afterwards.


The lunch was something else.  Old pots of kraft dinner and hotdogs beside elaborate casseroles and store bought veggie platters.  If a cursory glance around the congregation didn't tell you, the potluck would: The Crossings Community Church congregation is an eclectic mix.  For every clean cut Christian family right out of a sears catalogue, there were torn leather jackets and sports jerseys from the 90's.  The place consciously caters to the community's addicted, to the mentally ill, and to the down and out, and mixes them shamelessly with the rest.  Actually, one gets the impression that the comfortable are there as much for the less so as is the other way around.  They don't just offer counselling and charity, they offer a community.  A place to belong, to be loved and to contribute.  The mix between the relatively well-heeled and the poor, and the equal footing upon which they stand, brought the sermon on the mount crashing home like a meteor.  This isn't an act of gentrification, at least not in the way I've come to understand the word.  This Church is here because they're doing the same things to people's lives as they've done to their building, to their neighbourhood.

I was told that when the church was founded, their parent church, The Alliance of Canada, was lukewarm at best to the idea, (who could blame them, the idea seems half-baked to probably everybody but the people doing it).  Needless to say, they've happily changed their tune.  This the most incredible example of inspiration, vision and the Holy Spirit manifested that I've ever even heard of, and it's a testament of faith and the awesome power of Christ in the modern world that you have to see to believe.

Both of the Church's pastors, along with half a dozen regulars made time to talk to me about All our Sundays and their church with that pitch-perfect mix of pride and humility that's so hard to come by.  They even looked a little embarrassed when I gushed about how neat I thought the place was.  I want so much to live in a world where this kind of church isn't so remarkable.  I've never seen anything like it and you really have to see this place for yourself.