Dear pastor,
Please: will you tell the church what happened?
I’m not asking that you share an entire sermon about it. And I’m not asking you to get up on stage and declare any political or polarizing opinions. That isn’t what this is about; it isn’t what so much of this has been about.
I have struggled to find a home in the church for a while now. There have been a lot of reasons for that, and most of them I discover along the way as I keep seeking. That’s another story, one I’ll tell another day.
But as I’ve been going through this process, I’ve noticed something about the church and the different ways it handles the things happening around (and within) it.
I grew up attending one particular church. I haven’t been a regular member there since the beginning of this year. But when the first refugee ban was put into place back in January, I asked a friend still attending that church if anything had been brought up concerning it that morning. And he responded:
“About the what? Are you talking about that thing they mentioned on TV?”
I thought I would be angry or sad, but I ended up almost feeling numb. I didn’t expect the answer to be yes. But I also didn’t expect him to know nothing about what was happening. That was what stuck with me the most.
Some time later, I visited a different church. I had never been to the service of any tradition but my home church’s before, so much of it was new to me. But a time for corporate prayer came, and the clergy began with: “First, let us pray for the people recovering from the shooting.”
I knew that was right. I knew that was what the church of Jesus would do.
I attended a few services at that church, and a simple call to prayer for what was taking place around the world happened in every single one of them.
It wasn’t political, wasn’t polarizing, wasn’t angry, nor was it despairing– it was basic compassion.
It was looking at events taking place in the lives of others and recognizing: “I have a share in that.”
To the people in that church, because something affected humanity, it affected them, too. They were kingdom-minded.
I have no memory of the churches I grew up attending ever mentioning or praying for things like this.
But it isn’t a denominational thing to do– it is a biblical thing to do.
Again, pastor, I’m not asking you to preach a fiery sermon about anything, or to give your church a political label, or even to share your stance on how to fix things.
What I am asking is that you remind the church that people who care about other people are the true Jesus people.
The church has a messy reputation, and not for no reason, but I know there are so many lovely, Christ-like people within those walls. Let’s believe that the people in your congregation are wonderful people who do care about others. The thing is?
How many good, kind people are in churches right now, with hearts and hands ready to help– and they don’t know people need it?
The man I spoke to about the refugee crisis didn’t know what it was until I explained it to him that night. He’d heard a headline on the news while channel surfing (related: most people don’t watch the news), but he didn’t know it mattered. He didn’t know who he could pray for, let alone what he could do to help. No one told him. He had been in church that morning, but no one there said anything, pastor or otherwise.
That isn’t the only example. This weekend, a violent Nazi demonstration happened in Charlottesville, Virginia. One of the most compassionate people I’ve ever known didn’t hear about it until I mentioned it, assuming she already knew. Shock and tears filled her eyes immediately. She had gone to church that morning, too. But no one there said anything.
Is it the church’s job to make sure individual people are staying aware? I don’t know; I think we all should be actively seeking opportunities to pray for and contribute to the lives of the hurting.
But it is the church’s job to make disciples. And that means teaching people what Jesus meant when He told us to pick up our crosses and follow Him.
There are so many good, caring people in the church. But when those people don’t know about the problems, how can they fix them? When the only people who know about the problems are the ones contributing to them or the ones who do nothing, what can that help?
How is that keeping the peace, when there isn’t truly peace to begin with?
We aren’t called to be peacekeepers, but peace makers.
As someone that many people are looking up to as a leader, you, pastor, have the ability to directly affect how the people in your community will respond.
You are in a position to remind the church that humanity is a family, with fates all tied together, and you have the ability to inspire more prayer and more compassion and more action in people whose hearts Jesus has already built for it. You don’t have to tell people how to care; just teach them why they need to. He will do the rest.
Not only that: you get to tell the hurting that they are seen. That they matter. That you won’t turn away but instead will stand with and for them.
That Jesus loves them, and that’s why you are going to love them, too, with a generous, sacrificial love.
A simple announcement. A simple call to prayer. They don’t do everything, especially when there’s such a volume of work to be done. But they do so much more than you’d think. They’re a spark.
Please, pastor: will you tell them?
Will you tell the church when things happen to our family? Will you lead the church to pray and to seek?
Will you show the world the real church of Jesus?
“To ignore evil is to become an accomplice to it.” -Martin Luther King, Jr.
[If you are not a pastor, I still so strongly encourage you to hear this. Bring awareness to the people around you; pray with people; seek a way to help. You are just as capable of sparking change as the people in power, because you give yourself to Jesus, and He multiplies what you bring Him. Love will always make a way to come in.]
When most people find out that I keep a journal, their response is along the lines of: “Wow, that’s impressive; every time I’ve tried to keep a journal it just hasn’t worked.” It’s always an interesting response to me, because I don’t believe a person can “fail” at journaling. It’s something you do for yourself: recording whatever you want to, however you want to, whenever you want to. There shouldn’t be any pressure to make your journal anything but the space you want it to be for you.
I think that’s what I want to stress most: recovery doesn’t stop.
