December 22, 2009 | Moments before Sunday worship begins, the Rev. Amy Butler and members of the Calvary Baptist Church choir gather in a small annex next to the sanctuary.

Butler leads the group in a short prayer, then issues a warning.

“I’m really reaching this morning, preaching that Jezebel is wise,” she says with a grin. “So keep your facial expressions under control.”

Everyone laughs. In truth, it takes more than that to upset the congregation of Calvary Baptist.

Once, a man strolled into the Sunday morning service in superhero regalia, complete with cape and tights. Another time, a woman poked people with her umbrella during Communion. And during the invocation to prayer one Sunday morning, the police marched in and arrested a man in the front row.

There was a time when those incidents would have been shocking to the members of the stately red-brick church at Eighth and H streets Northwest in Washington, D.C. In its heyday, thousands packed Calvary’s pews and luminaries worshipped there, including congressmen, ambassadors and even President Warren G. Harding.

But if the historic, staid edifice has remained the same, the congregation has not. Today, it’s an urban church working hard to serve and to engage the neighborhood around it.

The congregation’s willingness to embrace the unexpected goes a long way toward explaining how a church once on the brink is now a thriving community asset.

“If you want to be a Christian, you better get ready for life to be hard. This is not ‘Put on your pretty hat and go to church.’ Jesus Christ did some really hard things. Love your enemy? What could that mean in D.C. in 2009?” Butler said of her congregation. “What would Jesus expect us to do when feeling threatened or uncomfortable? Love God, love your neighbor. That’s what we’re doing here. That’s the essence of gospel.”

Two years of triage

Calvary Baptist members are proud of their church’s long history and its tradition of commitment to social change.

Founded by abolitionists during the Civil War, the church often was on the forefront of social change.

The Northern Baptist Convention, now American Baptist Churches USA, organized at the church in 1907. When women flooded into the workplace during World War II, Calvary was among the first organizations to offer daycare. It provided a canteen for military service members -- and assistance for conscientious objectors. In 1955, it became the first white church in D.C. to admit a black member.

But by the early ’90s, Calvary Baptist’s golden era was firmly behind it. The local families who’d once crowded its sanctuary had long since moved to the suburbs.

As neighborhood crime rose, Sunday attendance dropped. Those who stayed in the church had their hands full.

“They had ushers, they had greeters and they had people assigned to pick up the condoms and Scotch bottles off the front steps in the morning,” Butler said.

But the congregation, which is affiliated with the Alliance of Baptists, the American Baptist Churches and the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship, never really considered leaving D.C.: “They felt, ‘We are called by God to be in this place, and we have to figure out a way to do it,’ ” Butler said.

In 2003, the church needed to hire a new pastor. Though the church’s name still carried a measure of prestige, its situation -- a dwindling, aging congregation smack in the middle of a multi-ethnic neighborhood scarred by urban blight -- made it difficult to attract one.

The only one bold enough to accept the challenge was Butler, a 32-year-old mother of three and former associate pastor in New Orleans, who was eager to lead a diverse, urban faith community.

In her first months, she’d get a crash course in managing a multi-million-dollar renovation project, defusing staff conflicts and trying to revive a church with a Sunday attendance of no more than 50.

“The only way I can describe those first two years at Calvary is to tell you I was doing triage the whole time,” Butler said. “It was like I’d come upon an accident scene, and my job was to figure out who was bleeding the worst and stop the bleeding.”

Partners in mission

It’s a hard scene to imagine, sitting in Butler’s cozy office six years later. With its soft lights, framed photographs and cushy couches, the space radiates warmth and peace. So does Butler. But those first few years were chaotic.

Before she’d been hired, the church had taken a key step in ensuring its survival. Capitalizing on rising D.C. property values spurred by a new sports and entertainment arena, Calvary Baptist raised $11 million for a renovation project by selling some land to a developer for an office building.

But the church’s ability to manage a real estate deal of that magnitude was tested regularly. Developers, sensing Calvary’s inexperience, occasionally tried to take advantage of the church, said Butler, who quickly learned the art of confrontation.

“Pastors are pleasers. It’s in our DNA. We like people to like us,” Butler said. “That can get in our way.”

But soon Butler realized that the church’s assets -- in the form of real estate -- offered more than just a money-making opportunity. They also could play a role in reshaping and promoting the church’s mission and reaching out to the neighborhood.

Calvary’s office, worship, classroom and recreational space covered 50,000 square feet, much of which the church leased out to local nonprofits. At one point, as many as 15 organizations operated there. Some paid rent. Others didn’t.

When those groups had to vacate the church during a massive renovation project, Butler seized the opportunity to start fresh. She started hunting for nonprofit groups that complemented the church’s mission, groups that pledged to invest in the emotional, spiritual and financial health of the community.