for the love of church

When I was in the sixth grade, I remember telling my mom one night after youth choir practice that I loved going to church.

It was true. I can't tell you today what made me feel that way at the time, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't overly spiritual. In fact, it was probably the juke box in the youth room on which I played "Please Come to Boston" no less than 47,000 times, for free. (I still love that song.)

Regardless of the immature whys, I have loved the local church for as long as I can remember.

Over the years, I have wrestled with doctrinal questions, leadership issues, missional strategies, stewardship campaigns, preaching styles, and fellow community members, but I have never lost love for who the church is called to be.

I even find myself defensive on her behalf (as if that's even necessary).

And although I'm far from a model church member, I realize this love that I bear may seem foreign to many, or at best, not normal. I've heard a million times ...

I'm a spiritual person, but I don't believe in organized religion.

Or, I'm a Christian, I just don't like going to church.

Or, Church doesn't do anything for me that my friends can't do.

... and for me to have never experienced those feelings is a straight-up miracle.

Those lies are battles I hope I am never called to fight.

Recently, as our own congregation has sought a new senior pastor, I've reflected often on the church (and the Church): why it's important, why I do love it, why I should love it more, and what it looks like in real life to honor it well.

While I process those reflections, I'm embarking on a mini-series of sorts, here on the blog, about this beautiful mess called "church," that somehow has preserved me in ways that are both known and unknown in my heart, and that somehow is worth the shed blood of Jesus (Acts 20:28).

Glory.

I'd say that's worth my time to consider for a spell. Don't you?