Maybe That's What Church Is For

It’s funny how memories work, isn’t it? Sometimes a simple smell or a sound can transport you back decades. For me, when I think about church, my mind doesn’t immediately go to grand buildings or big stages. It goes to a small, humble church building, and more specifically, to my dad.

My dad was a pastor, but not in the way many people might imagine today. He wasn't just a 'Sunday morning' pastor. He was also a flight instructor. He drove a school bus. He worked various jobs in the community. Today, we'd call that 'bi-vocational,' but I don't think he ever saw those things as separate from his ministry. He simply loved people, wherever he found them.

He met people because he drove their children to school. He connected with folks through aviation. He encountered them just living life in our community. And a lot of those people eventually found their way to his church.

They didn't come because someone handed them a slick invitation card. They came because they had already met him. They knew him. They trusted him. They could tell he genuinely cared. Long before they ever sat in a pew and heard him preach about the love of God, many of them had already experienced a taste of that love through him. And my mom? She was right there beside him, a true partner in everything. She cared deeply too.

Together, Mom and Dad knew their people. They knew when someone was hurting, when someone was sick, when someone needed encouragement. They knew when a family was struggling, or when a familiar face hadn't been in their usual spot on Sunday. They were available. I don't remember people being treated like numbers. I remember people being treated like people. And honestly, that's probably why my understanding of what 'church' is supposed to be has always been a little different.

Today, I know many churches can become quite large. And there are wonderful large churches doing incredible things. This isn't a criticism of them at all. But sometimes, I wonder if in our effort to build something bigger, we might accidentally lose something incredibly precious. Because people need to be noticed. There’s something deeply powerful about someone saying, “You weren't here Sunday. Is everything okay?” Not because they’re taking attendance, but because they genuinely missed seeing you.

There's a quiet strength in knowing that if your world suddenly collapses, there's someone you can call. Someone who will answer the phone. Someone who will sit with you, pray with you, and truly care if you make it through the night. That's the church I saw growing up. Small enough for people to be known. Close enough for people to be loved. Personal enough for people to be cared for. For me, that's what church is.

Something else about my dad has become even more meaningful to me as I’ve gotten older. He wasn't separated from the community. He was immersed in it. He lived in it, worked in it, served in it. He drove that school bus. He taught people to fly. He worked right alongside everyday folks. And because he was living among them, ministry happened naturally, organically. Someone didn't first meet him behind a pulpit. They might have met him behind the wheel of a school bus, or at the airport, or just somewhere out in the community. And somewhere in that developing relationship, they discovered, “This man genuinely cares about me.” Then, when he spoke about Jesus, there was already a foundation of trust and relationship beneath his words.

I’ve come to believe that’s an incredibly important picture of ministry. Sometimes we think ministry begins when someone walks into a church building. But maybe ministry begins long before that. At work. At school. Across a backyard fence. Over a cup of coffee. In a business. At an airport. On a school bus. Maybe every place we encounter another human being can become a place where we get to demonstrate the love of God.

Jesus Himself gave us a powerful insight into what really matters. He said to His disciples in John 13:34-35, “Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” And then He said something remarkable: “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” Not by the size of their church. Not by their impressive building. Not by their music. Not by their programs. But by their love. That’s what I saw in my dad. That’s what I saw in my mom. They loved people. And people knew it.

Maybe you’re listening today and you're thinking, “Joseph, I don't like church.” And perhaps you have really good reasons for feeling that way. But I wonder if sometimes what we dislike isn't God at all. Maybe what we've disliked is feeling anonymous. Maybe we've disliked feeling judged. Maybe we've disliked feeling like nobody truly cared whether we were there or not. Maybe we've disliked feeling as though we had to dress a certain way, talk a certain way, know certain things, or pretend everything was perfectly okay. If that's been your experience, I really want you to hear something today: that isn't the only picture of church.

I’ve seen another one. I’ve seen church where people become family. I've seen pastors who genuinely know the people they serve. I've seen someone answer the phone because a member needed them. I've seen ministry happen outside a church building. I've seen people come to church because someone first loved them in everyday life. And that's the kind of church I still believe in. That's the kind of church I hope you find, or even better, become a part of creating.

Let me ask you something to really ponder. If you could design a church where you actually felt comfortable going, what would it be like? Would you want people to know your name? Would you want someone to notice when you were hurting? Would you want to be able to ask questions without being judged? Would you want the pastor to feel approachable? Would you want people who cared about what was happening in your life Monday through Saturday, and not only on Sunday morning? Think about that for a moment. Because perhaps some of the very things you're looking for aren't unreasonable at all. Maybe those are some of the things church was always meant to be.