There’s a moment every week that still catches me off guard because it’s so new. Unhoused men and women, some still recovering from addiction, gather alongside longtime believers on a worn stage in a two-hundred-year-old cathedral in downtown Middletown, Ohio—lifting their voices to sing about a hope they’ve found in Jesus. And every time, I’m reminded: we didn’t plan for this. We couldn’t have engineered it. But God brought us here.
This is the story of how our century-old church sold our suburban property, moved downtown, and began walking alongside the homeless, the addicted, and the broken. Everything has changed. We are not the same church anymore. And we thank God for that.
Our Early Days: A Faithful Thread
Nearly 100 years ago, a group of believers began meeting in the basement of a godly couple’s home. They became known as the Gideon Road Church of Christ. Growth over the decades led us to Bonita Drive. In the early 2000s, anticipating continued growth, the church purchased 17 acres just outside the city—a shift that seemed right at the time. A beautiful new building followed, and in 2005, we became Crosspointe Church of Christ.
In 2012, I was called to preach and minister there, coming out of campus ministry at the Clifton Church of Christ in Cincinnati. Things were mostly smooth. Steady. Comfortable. Until they weren’t.
“Things were mostly smooth. Steady. Comfortable. Until they weren’t.”
The Disruption No One Expected
The COVID-19 pandemic confronted us, like so many others, with a stark reality. Our attendance declined. Our resources shrank. Even more concerning, our ministry impact stopped well short of where the needs were greatest.
Our treasurer showed us the numbers: we were devoting the majority of our budget to maintaining the building—leaving too little for tangible ministry. We weren’t being unfaithful, but we had become lopsided. We weren’t poor stewards—just misguided ones. And the Lord, in His mercy, began to correct us.
God Was Already Moving
Even before the building question arose, God had already started softening our hearts. We launched a Life Support Group called H.E.A.L. and began building relationships with individuals struggling with addiction, homelessness, and mental illness. We partnered with ministries. Friendships began to form across socioeconomic lines. At first slowly, then almost suddenly, we found ourselves in relationship with the very people Jesus seemed most drawn to in the Gospels.
But there was one glaring issue: they couldn’t get to us. Our beautiful rural building was miles away. Transportation was a barrier. We felt the growing disconnect between our location and the people we were ministering to. Apathy quietly created a checkbox faith in some of us.
So, we began to pray—really pray—asking God to show us the next step.
“Apathy quietly created a checkbox faith in some of us.”
A Hard, Holy Decision
After a season of prayer, fasting, and honest reflection, our elders presented a proposal to the congregation: Should we sell our building? The vote wasn’t unanimous. It was emotional. Some were upset. A few left. Others stayed, reluctantly. But the voice of the church was clear. God was leading us elsewhere.
So, we listed the property—not expecting much. But within five hours, it was under contract. We sold it for less than market value, believing obedience mattered more than equity.
We initially pursued purchasing the city’s Senior Center located in a more desirable part of town. After months of city council meetings and back-and-forth negotiations, the deal fell through. We were six weeks away from being without a building. Ironically, we were about to become a homeless congregation.
As I sat in my office, weary and frustrated, I prayed in raw honesty. I told God exactly how I felt. And then my phone rang. A polite voice said, “I hear you’re looking for a church building.”
It reminded me of the story in Acts—when the church was praying for Peter’s release from prison, and they were surprised when he actually showed up at the door.
I had been praying. And unknown to me, God had already answered.
We were led to a former Lutheran cathedral-style church in the very heart of downtown Middletown.
We had asked God to show us where to go. And He did.
“I had been praying. And unknown to me, God had already answered.”
What We’ve Seen Since the Move
Everything has changed.
Our new neighborhood is home to recovering addicts, people living with serious mental illness, unhoused single moms and dads, immigrants, and others too often forgotten by the broader Church.
We began partnering with an ecumenical downtown ministry called The Gathering. Just a couple of years ago, it was on the verge of shutting down—but God had other plans. Today, The Gathering is becoming a central hub for serving Middletown’s unhoused, addicted, mentally ill, and marginalized.
In the past year, through this partnership—and the unity of other local congregations—we’ve witnessed over seventy baptisms. It’s hard to express the beauty of watching someone you once met in a shelter or on a sidewalk now leading worship, reading Scripture aloud, serving alongside us. Many are still walking through the realities of homelessness, addiction recovery, and mental health. But they belong. And they’re being transformed.
We’ve gone from asking, “How do we get more people into our building?” to asking, “What is Jesus already doing in our neighborhood, and how can we be part of it?”
We Are Not the Same
Our church DNA has shifted dramatically. This wasn’t just a relocation—it was a transformation of discipleship.
We used to measure success through programs, numbers, and offering totals. Today, we celebrate healing from addiction, restored families, new patterns of life, milestones in sobriety. We weep with friends after relapse and walk them back to hope. We listen more than we lecture. And we’re learning what real grace looks like when the mess doesn’t clean up on schedule.
This change cost us something. Change always does. We lost people who valued predictability. We let go of a sense of security. But what we’ve gained—what God has given in return—can’t be measured in square footage or spreadsheets.
“What we’ve gained—what God has given in return—can’t be measured in square footage or spreadsheets.”
None of This Was from Us
People ask how we did it.
The truth? We didn’t.
We just kept saying yes to God—imperfectly, prayerfully, and sometimes reluctantly. We’re no experts. We’re still learning. But we’ve found that Jesus really does walk among the broken. And when we move toward those the world avoids, we often meet Jesus there—more present, more alive, more powerful than we ever imagined.
So, if you’re wondering if it’s worth it—stepping out, letting go, taking a risk on something uncomfortable—let me tell you yes.
Not because it’s easy.
But because Jesus is already there.
And He changes everything.
