If all the programs, music, and buildings disappeared tomorrow, what would be left of your faith? It’s an unsettling question, but a necessary one. We get used to connecting our walk with God to certain forms—Sunday services, worship teams, small groups, conferences. These are good things. They can help us grow. But they are not the foundation.
The early church didn’t have most of what we now call “church life.” There were no sound systems, no buildings with pews, no printed bulletins. In Acts 2, believers met in homes. They broke bread together, prayed, and listened to the apostles’ teaching. Their faith didn’t depend on a formal structure. It depended on knowing Jesus, living by His words, and loving each other.
Jesus never told His followers to build a building. He told them to make disciples (Matthew 28:19-20). He didn’t command them to put on an inspiring music set. He told them to love one another as He had loved them (John 13:34-35). These commands are simple, but they are costly. You can’t outsource them to a program. You have to live them.
If everything familiar about church vanished, what would keep your faith alive? Would you still open the Bible and let God’s voice shape you? Would you still pray—not just in a service, but in your kitchen, your car, or your workplace? Would you still gather with other believers, even if it was just three people in a lounge room?
Sometimes we forget that our faith is personal before it is public. Paul wrote to Timothy, “Guard the good deposit that was entrusted to you” (2 Timothy 1:14). That’s about holding fast to what you believe, no matter the surroundings. If we tie our faith too tightly to the “wrapping” of church life, we risk losing it when the wrapping changes.
The question is not meant to make us anti-church. The church is God’s idea, and gathering together matters (Hebrews 10:24-25). But gatherings are not the source of life—Jesus is. In John 15:4-5, He says we can do nothing apart from Him. That means our faith has to be rooted in Him personally, not just in the structures around Him.
Think about times in history when believers had no buildings or public meetings. In countries where faith is persecuted, Christians have gathered quietly in homes, forests, or hidden rooms. Their faith did not collapse when the building was taken away. Often, it grew stronger. Why? Because it was based on knowing Christ, not on the comfort of tradition.
The danger for many of us is that programs and music can become substitutes for intimacy with God. It’s easier to attend an event than to sit alone in silence and pray. It’s easier to listen to a sermon than to wrestle with Scripture yourself. But when the “easy” parts are stripped away, what remains is the real measure of our faith.
Imagine a faith that could survive without a worship band, without a pastor’s sermon every week, without a church calendar. That faith would have to be built on a daily walk with God. It would mean reading the Bible because you hunger for it, not because it’s part of the service. It would mean encouraging others without being told to. It would mean sharing your faith over coffee or at the park, because that’s what Jesus called you to do.
The truth is, one day, the familiar forms of church might be disrupted for you—through a move, illness, persecution, or cultural change. The question is not whether that will happen, but whether your faith can stand when it does. Jesus told a parable in Matthew 7 about two builders. One built on sand; the other on rock. When the storm came, only the house on the rock stood. The rock is not programs, music, or buildings. The rock is hearing His words and putting them into practice.
So what does this mean for us now? It means we should enjoy and use the blessings of our church life, but we shouldn’t lean on them as if they were our faith. It means we should start practicing now the habits that will keep us close to God even if everything else changes—daily Scripture reading, prayer, simple fellowship, acts of service.
If the lights went out, the microphones stopped working, and the building doors were locked, could you still live your faith? Could you still worship? Could you still follow Jesus with the same joy and obedience? That’s the test.
Faith that can survive without the extras is faith that is alive at the core. It’s the kind of faith Paul had when he wrote from prison. It’s the kind of faith the early Christians had when they met in secret. It’s the kind of faith we are called to grow today.
Because if everything else falls away, the one thing that matters will remain: Christ in you, the hope of glory (Colossians 1:27).
