"I love Jesus, but Christians are so hypocritical that I don't want to be associated with them."
"My deepest wounds and most painful hurts have come from the church. I don't go anymore. I don't trust anyone, just myself and Jesus."
Maybe you're like me and have had these thoughts, whispered these words to people, or have had these words whispered to you or harshly spoken to you.
I know I have thought them, felt them, and said them. Church splits, ended friendships, bitter rumors, rejection, comparison. I've had it all. It is painful and leaves you wondering where the hope is and why bother showing up.
Church hurt is a pain like no other, and it's so easy to compare churches and pastors and communities with "how they should do things" and "I'm just going to take myself to this church because it's way better than THAT church."
But years later, I'm still showing up most Sunday mornings and loving the best I know how, and working through offenses and hurts, and trying hard not to criticize things I don't understand or agree with. Why? Because I cling to this truth -
That no matter how bloodstained and tattered her dress is, no matter how battle scarred her body is, no matter how spit upon and cursed at she is, and no matter how torn her veil, Jesus still loves His beautiful Bride and knows that His death on the cross was not in vain for her.
If we are waiting to be invited into the church waters, it may never come from a human person. But it has come from the person it matters from - Jesus.
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." - Matthew 11:28 (NIV).
Hebrews 10:23-25 contain yet another invitation to believe, gather in community, and encourage others- "Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near."
Once upon a time, I picked up a shiny, silver-foiled covered book. Its title drew me in and its pages opened my eyes to a world I hadn't known. A Church Called Graffiti: Finding Grace on the Lower East Side by Taylor Field. In it, I was spellbound by the stories of drug addicts, hopelessness, crises, conflict, and most of all, the people who showed up and stayed in the midst of it.
It's been a long time since I read that book, and its shiny cover still catches my eye on my book shelf. Honestly, I don't remember much of it other than the fact that it planted something in me. I remember when I was reading it, that this overwhelming urge of "You will be involved in an urban church and you will be required to show up daily even when, and especially when you don't feel like it" filled my heart and soul. It scared me a little because I love trees and farmland and privacy. I couldn't picture living in NYC or another big city.
10 or some odd years later, here I am living in a row house in Reading, Pennsylvania - a city that has a bad past, a sketchy reputation, and a lot of rumors about it, but the glory of God is here and I wouldn't want to be anywhere else because this is where God has planted me and daily I see what He is doing in us, through us, and around us.
I'm involved in an awesome church here where our pastors love God and love people and most people are well-intentioned and kind, and you never quite know who is going to show up on a Sunday morning, and that's great. But you know what? It's not really about that. I mean, yes, I enjoy my church and I learn a lot from going and I enjoy community. And I don't always feel like I 100% fit in or am always feeling comfortable and that's okay also. That really has nothing to do with the church, and a lot of what God's doing and working on in me.
Here's the thing, I could go to almost any church in this city or this state and be able to learn something, IF I have my eyes, ears, and heart open. I have gone to churches with steeples, churches in grocery stores and old warehouses, churches that were predominately white, churches that were predominately Black, churches that were predominately Hispanic, Spanish-speaking churches, country churches, city churches, churches with people that mostly vote like me, and churches with people that mostly vote different than me. If my heart is closed, it won't matter where I go, bitterness and resentment will sprout and drive a wedge in my relationship with Jesus and others.
But a lot of people won't walk in church doors, and that's where our work begins.
When Luis and I bought our home, I determined in my heart that I would make getting to know my neighbors a priority. A little over a year later, I know 95% of the neighbors on our block, plus several behind us.
It takes effort on my part.
Sitting on my front porch stoop or walking around the neighborhood? That's where Jesus' heart for people really shines through in my life.
If my front door is open, chances are that at some point in the day, I will look up and see a kid's face plastered to it or hear a loud knocking on my door at random hours. I have smudges on my windows from tiny hands and a toy box out in the yard. I read books and make silly voices, and supply popsicles and popcorn and fruit snacks. I play football and sword fights in the yard. I teach life lessons on conflict resolution and mediate fights, and we have conversations on how we should treat people, and how to set boundaries, and why pornography is harmful. We talk about hair styles and weaves, and school, and how Ms. Elizabeth's house is a safe place if they don't feel safe at home. We talk on the porch or in the kitchen while I'm bustling around making supper and setting the table. And that's just my little friends.
I wave at people and smile at people and ask about how their cars are working (we have a lot of car lovers on our block! ;) ). I bake desserts and offer them up on paper plates and with plastic forks. I write sympathy cards and bake fresh banana bread when I learn an estranged loved one has died of an overdose. I practice my Spanish. I take moments on my walk to talk to people on porches and make silly faces at kids. I listen to stories from our 85-year-old neighbors next to us, who speak of trains, and war, and cats, and art school. I know which houses to go to if I ever need a car detailing, laughter, a lesson on Puerto Rican cooking, prayer, car parts, or cannabis.
I prepare my home and love my husband. I cook and water my plants and have a huge supply of board games and books and toys. I also know how to set boundaries, saying "Not today" when I need to rest and retreat.
This is what church is, and I'm learning to have church on my block every day - talking frankly about Jesus, being a kind neighbor, and being present. I don't always feel like showing up and talking and building relationships. People are hard and their situations are tiring and sometimes I feel like it's all one-sided in life. At church, in the neighborhood, anywhere. But here's a secret, it's not really about me, or us. When we bring the love of Jesus to those around us, we are slowly being refined as we die to selfishness and hurt and anger. We are learning how to forgive and be in relationship with all kinds of people. This is where grace steps in, even when we feel weak.
Grace, grace, and more grace.
So no matter what your relationship with church it looks like to you or what your relationship to church people is, show up wherever you are. Build community. Be kind. Forgive. Bless your enemies. Actively listen to people. Demonstrate excellence at work. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, your mind, and your soul, and love your neighbor as yourself.
Show up, do the inner work of self, do the outer work to bless and encourage others, and stay.
Let's have church.
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