Recently, I’ve been asking myself why I do certain things. There’s something about us humans that defaults to autopilot in some circumstances – and I’m curious to know why I’m doing what I’m doing. For example, why is it that I go to church? The Bible really only tells us to get together once, and in light of how many other commands are given in the New Testament, this doesn’t seem like a heavy matter for the writers – unless it’s just assumed that their readers were going to church.
For me, the Church, the actual, living, warm flesh of Jesus Christ, has to join together if they want to make an impact in this world. We’re essentially called to do two things: love God and love others. I think when we get together as a common body, we can love God in ways that we can’t love him by ourselves. Not all of us have gifts of preaching, or singing, or encouraging. But most churches as a whole, have individuals who do have these giftings – and we miss out on them if we’re not part of a body. We’re also able to love others in ways we couldn’t by ourselves. For example, think of the church’s property – and what it could be used for. At Keystone, we’re currently in the plans of building a new church building, and one of the central conversations in the midst of these plans are ways that this building can impact the lives of those in our neighborhood (as well as those who attend the church). I’m not able have ball fields for kids to play in, or a small library for people to read at, or a cafe that’s affordable and inviting by myself. A church could though.
I try to limit the lengths of these letters, Jack – and I’ll stick to that, but please know I could write for much longer on this subject. I used to think that I could do this “Jesus” thing on my own, or even with just some friends keeping me accountable – but it’s a pride-filled lie. We can’t do it on our own, and Jesus knows it. We need to play a part in health churches, and in doing so we can love God and love others in ways we can’t just by ourselves. Till next time, Jack.