Church, Whose are You?

Brothers and sisters, it’s time we had a talk. A real one.

I won’t lie—this probably isn’t going to feel good.

Some of you may get uncomfortable.

Some of you may get angry—though I’m not sure where that anger will land.

Maybe at me.

Maybe at yourselves.

Maybe at the system you didn’t even realize you were upholding.

But whatever you feel, I hope you’ll sit with it.

Let it settle before you rush to defend or dismiss.

Let it do its work.

Most of you would probably agree with me if I said the Church is dying, wouldn’t you?

You’ve seen it – one casket at a time, pews becoming emptier and emptier and emptier.

It’s impossible to deny.

We’ve watched it happen. Over and over again. Year after year. (“You have the reputation of being alive, but you are dead” – Revelation 3:1)

But have you ever stopped—really stopped—to ask why?

It’s always been easy, even fashionable, to blame the younger generations.

To say they just don’t care anymore.

To blame their parents, or their schools.

To blame culture.

Politics.

Social media.

Harry Potter, for a while.

And yes, sure—those things have shaped society.

No one’s denying that.

But do you know what they haven’t shaped?

The Church.

The Church was never supposed to be shaped by culture.

It was supposed to shape it.

It was supposed to be different. Holy. Set apart.

So let me ask you something hard:

Has it ever occurred to you that the problem might not be out there?

That the problem… might be us? (“These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me.” – Matthew 15:8)

Let’s take a step back and look—really look—at the Church.

At what it’s doing now.

At what it’s done in recent history.

And let’s ask ourselves:

Does any of it actually look like Jesus?

When was the last time your congregation shared a meal with someone who doesn’t sit in the pews every Sunday?

When was the last time you invited someone in — not someone like you, but someone hurting, someone overlooked, someone different?

When was the last time you opened your door—or the church’s door—for someone with nowhere else to go? (“I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat. I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me in.” – Matthew 25:35)

What about the teenage girl who got pregnant?

Were you there to help her?

Did you offer her childcare so she could graduate?

Did you offer her a seat, a ride, a prayer, a hand?

Or did you offer her something else?

Your silence?

Your judgment?

(“Let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone…. Neither do I condemn you. Go now and leave your life of sin” – John 8:7&11)

Let me make myself clear: I know that many of you give faithfully to overseas missions. Some of you have even gone yourselves – and that’s good. It’s important. It matters.

But for far too long, the Church has poured into what’s far away all the while ignoring what’s right outside its doors. I’ll never tell you to stop giving to those missions. I’ll never tell you to stop going. What I am saying is that it’s not enough.

It’s so much easier to write a check than it is to go knock on a neighbor’s door or roll up your sleeves and get your hands dirty. It’s easier to fund someone else’s sacrifice than to offer your own. And it’s far more comfortable to care about suffering that’s somewhere else than it is to sit in a room with someone whose suffering makes you squirm. (“Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress..” James 1:27)

There are hungry people in your town. There are kids without safe places within five miles of many of our sanctuaries. There are single parents drowning while we plan potlucks. Why are we stepping over them to reach the mission field? The mission field is right in front of us, and we’d see it if we could be brave enough to take off our rose colored glasses.

We sing about being the light of the world. How can we carry that light if we’re too afraid to step out into the darkness with it? Better yet, why have we blocked the windows of the church so thoroughly that the light can’t even be seen by passersby?

The church was meant to look like a hospital. Can we explain why they tend to look more like fortresses? Why have we been just standing there watching the world burn while we hold buckets of water in our hands that we’re afraid to use? He told us that He would overflow our cups. (“You prepare a table before me… my cup overflows” Psalm 23:5)

Why aren’t we letting Him?

What will we tell Him when we stand before Him judged for what we didn’t do? (“If anyone, then, knows the good they ought to do and doesn’t do it, it is sin for them.” James 4:17)

We’re called to be the hands and feet of Jesus. We’ve got to stop treating service like something that only happens across oceans or hundreds of miles. Start with that guy holding a sign on the side of the road. Maybe he is an addict. Why does that matter? His sign says he’s hungry. Give him food.

I’m not ignorant or idealistic. I know none of us wants to fund someone’s addiction. You don’t have to. Just feed him. Jesus didn’t qualify the crowd before He multiplied the bread.

What about the little old lady who lives a couple blocks over? She can’t drive anymore, and her family has all moved away. She can’t order grocery delivery because she doesn’t have Wi-Fi, and she doesn’t know how to work her smartphone. If she even has one. Offer to shop for her. You’re going to the store anyway. Ask for nothing in return. Maybe even offer to drive her to church.

Let’s start stopping for the people Jesus would’ve stopped for:

The leper – untouchable, outcast, avoided (Mark 1:40-42)

The woman with the issue of blood – physically broken, ritually unclean, desperate (Mark 5:25-34)

The blind beggar – crying out in public, who everyone else tried to silence (Luke 18:35-43)

The Samaritan woman at the well – a social outcast, racially rejected, morally judged (John 4:1-42)

The demon-possessed man – isolated, chained, forgotten (Mark 5:1-20)

The woman caught in adultery – used, exposed, sentenced to death (John 8:1)

The tax collector in a tree – a traitor, despised by his own people (Luke 19:1-10)

The thief on the cross – a criminal, condemned, dying (Luke 23:39-43)

And, maybe more importantly:

Judas – who he still called “friend”

Peter – who denied Him

Thomas – who doubted Him

The Roman soldier – who crucified Him and hammered the nails

He asked His Father to forgive them.

That’s who Jesus stopped for. If we, who claim to be His hands and feet, refuse to stop for them, too. Then what are we doing?

Somewhere along the way, we became the Pharisees. So wrapped up in ceremony, in appearances, in rules and roles – we got so proud of being washed clean that we forgot what our own robes looked like before Jesus washed them. (Woe to you… you clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside you are full of greed and self-indulgence.” Matthew 23:25)

And now? Now we’re so afraid of them getting dirty that we won’t get close enough to those who are still searching for Him to actually lend them a hand.

He told us to go into the world He gave us the Great Commission. The world exists just beyond our doorsteps, too. He called us to love, and somehow, somewhere along the way, we allowed ourselves to forget what that word really means.

Love is a verb.

Quick little reminder about the English language: verbs are action words.

Love is more than a warm fuzzy feeling in the pit of our stomachs. Love is action. Love is movement. Love is presence. Love isn’t afraid to get dirty. Love steps up even when it’s inconvenient. And yes – sometimes love takes work. That’s what makes it beautiful.

So, let’s consider that the church isn’t dying because the younger ones don’t care about God. Maybe it’s not because they don’t know who Jesus is. Maybe they’re not lazy or lost. Maybe, just maybe, their parents and grandparents did everything right. The young ones were shown who Jesus is.

Then they looked at Jesus and looked at the Church and saw two very different things.

What if we changed that? What if the Church started to look like Jesus again? It isn’t too late to correct the course. We can make this right, but don’t go into it blind. If you’re going to take a step toward real discipleship, do it with the knowledge that a Christian life isn’t comfortable. Jesus himself warned us. He told us we would be hated because they hated Him first. (“Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me” – Luke 9:23 / “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” – John 16:33)

It’s worth it because our reward was never meant to come to us here on Earth. Here in this temporary residence on our way to eternal Home. (“But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ.” Philippians 3:20)

None of this is meant to scare you. It’s meant to wake you up. This isn’t Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God. I’m not here to dangle you over the flames. I’m just here to remind you that you’re carrying living water. What are we even doing if we don’t pour it out?

God didn’t give us a spirit of fear (“But of power, love, and a sound mind” – Timothy 1:7)

It’s time we take hold of that spirit. Not to rule, but to serve. Not to dominate, but to love. Not to build higher walls, but to build longer tables. (“When you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind…” – Luke 14:13)

We can sing all the hymns we want. We can empty our pockets into as many missions as we can fathom. But if we don’t love – really love – then we’re not worshipping. We’re just making irritating noise, like the creaking of a rusty gate or the clanging of a cymbal. (1 Corinthians 13:1, paraphrased)

So, Church….

Let’s stop kneeling at altars we refuse to walk away from changed. Let’s rise. Let’s move. Let’s love like Jesus. Let’s look like Jesus.

It may cost us something, though, because while Grace is free, redemption isn’t. Real redemption isn’t just kneeling for forgiveness. It’s standing back up and walking in a different direction. (“Produce fruit in keeping with repentance.” – Matthew 3:8)