10/23/2026
𝗖𝗮𝗻 𝗜 𝘀𝗹𝗼𝘄 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗼𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗮 𝘀𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗱?
I’m going somewhere with this. Hang with me. I know much of what I usually share pushes against what a lot of us grew up understanding about church. Me included. When something has been normal our whole lives, questioning it can feel like questioning God. But those aren’t necessarily the same thing. I wonder how much of what we call church is something Jesus intended—and how much are adopted traditions and assumed liturgies?
Think about the arrangement. We have a special place where we go to meet God. A special person we assume has a better connection to Him. Worship we consume more than we contribute to. A weekly gathering where a few chosen people do most of the churching and everybody else observes. We show up, receive something, and go home. “See you next Sunday.” A building, professionals, and an audience. Is that enough to describe the church Jesus had in mind?
Friends, the veil was torn! God’s people became His dwelling place. We became a royal priesthood, and Jesus is the head of the Church. That should have some pretty significant implications for how we do church.
Matthew 27:51
1 Corinthians 3:16
1 Peter 2:9
Colossians 1:18
Paul describes a church where people bring something to contribute, where every part of the body matters, and where leaders equip people to do the work of ministry. Participation is built into his understanding of what it means to belong. Each of us has something to offer, and the rest of the body needs it.
1 Corinthians 14:26
1 Corinthians 12
Ephesians 4:11–12
Somehow, we’ve gotten pretty comfortable leaving the practice of our faith to the paid professionals while everybody else attends. The people on the platform bring the music, the prayers, the preparation. The rest of us decide whether it did anything for us. Did I like the songs? Did the message connect? How good was the coffee? Was I "fed?" Those questions come pretty naturally when we’ve learned to approach church as the audience (né, customer). But how often do we ask what we brought, who we encouraged, or who needed something we could offer? We can get so used to watching other people practice their faith that we forget we’re supposed to be practicing it ourselves.
And listen, big faith events can be enriching, exciting, even electric. I’ve walked away from them encouraged and grateful. But if every Sunday has to be a concert, a conference, and a carnival, what happens when people need something bigger next week just to hold their attention? Eventually, we’re bored with the circus acts and malnourished by the circus peanuts. A life of faith needs sustenance that carries us through ordinary Tuesdays, hard conversations, and the costly work of loving people when there’s no music playing.
Look at the believers in Acts. They were learning together, eating together, praying together, sharing what they had, and taking responsibility for each other’s needs. Their faith had a place in each other’s everyday lives. They knew enough about each other to recognize a need and were invested enough to do something about it.
Acts 2:42–47
Buildings can serve that. Pastors should help make that happen. But when the whole thing depends on being in the right room, listening to the right person, it’s worth asking what people are learning to depend on. Is this helping them follow Jesus and take responsibility for each other? Or is it teaching them that their faith needs someone else to keep it running? Jesus didn’t tear the veil just so we could hang another one. We have access to God, we have something to contribute, and we have a responsibility to each other that showing up for an hour on Sunday can’t possibly fulfill.
That’s part of what I mean when I say “tables, not rows.” Furniture is easy to move. Learning to take responsibility for each other takes more. It means knowing people well enough to notice when something’s wrong, offering what we have, making room for someone else to contribute, and being willing to carry something without waiting to be asked. That kind of community takes investment from all of us.
I love the Church. I’ve given a good chunk of my life to it. That’s why I care enough to question what we’ve come to accept as normal. Whatever traditions we’ve inherited, whatever arrangements we’ve gotten comfortable with, we need to be willing to hold them up against what Scripture describes—and make room for things to change.
