I

It’s no secret that many churches were initially paralyzed by the coronavirus pandemic. They could no longer gather together on Sunday mornings for worship, preaching, and prayer. They could no longer pass an offering plate. Their buildings sat empty.

But for those with a broader perspective—for those who see church as something more than a place people visit on a certain day of the week for a specific set of activities—the upheaval of 2020 and ’21 created opportunities to be the church.

“The pandemic has presented incredible opportunities to live on mission,” says Tom Lyon, a micro-church pastor in Minneapolis. “Gatherings were shut down, and people couldn’t be with each other physically, but there were opportunities everywhere to serve others.”

Lyon and his wife, Trina, started The Fruit Church Minneapolis in the middle of the pandemic—not an ideal time to plant a church in the prevailing Western model, but perhaps the perfect time to consider micro. They spent time getting to know the members of their community, learning about their specific needs, and then meeting those needs.

Since becoming a follower of Jesus as a 15-year-old on the South Side of Chicago, Lyon had grown frustrated with the church’s inability to relate to Millennials and members of Generation Z, especially those in the Black community. “I noticed that the church’s influence was dying,” he says. “More and more young people were disconnected from the church. We weren’t speaking their language. Most kids didn’t know anything about the church. They didn’t see it as something they needed.”

The answer, he realized, was what he calls a lived-out apologetic—showing people Jesus by living and loving like Jesus. The two-headed crisis of the pandemic and the murder of George Floyd laid bare the needs of the underserved

communities of north Minneapolis. The inner city’s economic struggles were exacerbated by social unrest. “Martin Luther King, Jr., said, ‘A riot is the language of the unheard,’” Lyon says. “The community was hurting, and we wanted the church to become a voice of peace. And we wanted to be a narrator of truth and transparency.” While The Fruit Church Minneapolis has been establishing a presence on social media, the ministry of the micro-church has largely been face to face, as Tom and Trina go into their community to meet and get to know people, as they become the hands and feet of God’s mission in the world, the physical embodiment of the Missio Dei. Throughout the past year, they have begun serving the members of a tent encampment in their part of the city. Tom says, “When Trina and I first walked into that tent community, people came out of their tents and asked, ‘Who are you? Why are you here? Nobody ever comes to see what’s really happening here.’” As they have built relationships inside the encampment and started to meet some of the physical needs of those inside, Tom and Trina have been welcomed. “They started showing us their community,” Tom says. “They started showing us how they are honoring each other. One guy built a shower that people can use, five gallons at a time. Another guy built a generator out of two old lawnmowers. Another guy built a shed to store their food. . . . There’s a sign at the outer edge of the tent community that says, ‘This is what community looks like.’ These people are living it.” The last time Tom was in the encampment, he met a man who hadn’t been around during his previous visits. The man became territorial, asking, “Who is this guy? What does he want?” A community leader nearby said, “That’s Tom.” The agitated man asked, “Who’s Tom?” The leader replied, “I’m not really sure, but I think he’s a Christian. I think he’s a pastor. He’s helping us out with whatever we need.” Hearing this explanation, the man calmed down and sat in his chair. He finally looked at Tom and issued a challenge to the church everywhere: “We need more people like you.”

by Michael Murray