IT was a moving afternoon at the Perthville Uniting Church last Sunday.
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The little congregation brought to mind Three Bells, a song Nana Mouskouri sang in the 1970s. It’s about a church in a little village in a valley ringing in the birth, marriage and death of Jimmy Brown.
It’s a song about the inevitable cycles of life and death, with the only lasting thing being the church bells themselves. But this time, in Perthville, it was the church itself that was bowing out, and the little congregation had assembled to say goodbye.
It’s a moment being repeated across the country as tiny churches give way to ageing congregations, impossible maintenance costs and good roads that can take worshippers to bigger churches in bigger towns.
But this goodbye had an environmental story woven into it, which is why I went along. For the past couple of years, the church has been made uninhabitable by invasions of dead and dying elm leaf beetles. The insects have infested the charming avenue of elms on the road nearby, and their bodies have ended up in the church.
In her last sermon on that site, the Reverend Claire Wright invoked the Biblical story of the Jews driven out of Jerusalem by the invading Babylonians. But she reminded the gathering that even if they were now homeless, God would go with them, “loose in the world”, not confined to any building “however beloved.”
“God was with you when the elm beetles drove you out of the church,” she said. Evoking the Sunday cyclists, she added: “Just as God was witness to the passing men in lycra.”
She led the gathering back into their little church for one last time. The dead and dying beetles were piled in great black drifts against the walls, on every window ledge. It was an undeniably apocalyptic scene.
Then everyone went back out into the sunshine and the door was locked. The keys were handed over to the Moderator of the NSW and ACT Synod, Reverend Simon Hansford. Some of the churchgoers wept.
To every thing, there is a season; change is more constant than church bells.
The elm leaf beetle is flourishing in longer, warmer summer seasons as temperatures rise. There was nothing more that could be done.
Now it was simply time to bear witness to the change, and move on.
