Why I Love It When The Electricity Goes Out During a Church Service

This Sunday, at a church I was visiting with my family, one of my favorite things happened during a church service. During the announcements, the lights, the sound system, monitors, and all the electricity suddenly went out in the gym turned temporary sanctuary. For a few seconds, it was pitch black before a few emergency lights came on, leaving all other technological aides off.

I know for the church staff, a power loss is a real pain, as hours of preparation and planning have gone into the service. There is the expectation that words to music will display on the screen—not just for the congregation, but also for the worship team. The worship team has practiced with electronic keyboards, bass guitars with amps, and vocal microphones, all of which are mute. The preacher has sermon notes planned, along with Scripture readings, and other visual aids. You can, therefore, sense the frustration when plans are thwarted, and the staff must make the best of a difficult situation.

From my perspective though, I could not know what elements of the service were changed or abandoned altogether as a result of the loss of electricity. After finishing the announcements and prayer, the worship leader led in one song, while the drummer, normally encased in his acrylic cage, along with the keyboardist and electric guitarist, left to sit with the congregation, leaving one singer to stay on stage with the leader and his guitar. To the worship leader’s credit, he played one of the songs from memory, then, seeing it was more solo than a chorus of voices—since the words on the screen were reduced to darkness—he ended with “Amazing Grace,” into which we all comfortably joined.

The pastor then stood to preach. A few minutes into the message, the emergency lights went out too, and all that could be seen were the soft lights of those who were using their phones for their Bible readings (or for other purposes!). Others then flashed up their phones, turning on their flashlights to lighten the windowless room, the pastor continued on with his message seamlessly, as the worship team went to open up emergency doors to let light (and coldness!) in.

The message was from Colossians 1, about walking in a manner worthy of the Lord. No one in the congregation could have missed the God-given illustration of verse 13, “For He rescued us from the domain of darkness, and transferred us to the kingdom of His beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.” It will be an illustration that will live beyond that which the pastor had planned, and it was really beautiful.

“Why don’t I just dismiss you all now?” the pastor asked early on in his sermon. “Because there might be someone here who needs to hear this!”

He ended his sermon, and we sang one more song before we were finally dismissed back into the full light of day.

I love being a part of church services when the lights go out, the sound system fails, or computers crash. The pastor this Sunday said that it is an opportunity for God to show up. And indeed that is true. But that is not the only reason I like these types of services.

I love these frustrating events because they strip us of our pretentions. They strip and reveal the church’s nakedness. It reveals how dependent we are on technology, on our plans, on our expectations. It reveals our weaknesses, to be sure, but it also reveals strength in the midst of our weakness. It shows us as rough, as opposed to polished creatures, dirty instead of sanitized. It enables us to see beyond the crutches of our church services—the lights, the instruments, the screens, and other bells and whistles— and reminds us of what is at the heart of our message. Indeed, if church requires these technological crutches to be ‘successful,’ maybe our success is misguided. If our service, worship, or messages won’t work in a big metropolis as well as in an electricity deprived village, maybe it isn’t a service worth having at all.

This is why I love it when the electricity goes off at church. It exposes a church and its heart for good or for ill. If we are careful to listen, the unexpected blip in our plans draws us back to what is at the very heart of our gathering.