we don’t care why you came, only that you’re here

They had been wandering in on Sunday mornings for a few weeks now. A set of siblings, two girls and a boy. There were no parents in sight, just the three of them. It was the height of summer and hot as a greenhouse in Cleveland, and still, they’d be out pacing the sidewalks of the neighborhood in the scorching midday.

They probably decided to come inside just to get out of the sun. It was clear they hadn’t been to church before: They didn’t know where to sit or how to act. That the questions from the pulpit were, in fact, rhetorical, or that yell-singing off-key to every song wasn’t likely to garner them any endearment. On many of these sweltering days, this group of kids would slowly wear down the patience of their pew neighbors, eventually eliciting some mild throat clearing or an exaggerated side-eye. It was usually around that time that my husband would give me a nudge and say something like, “those kids are having a hard time. Let’s go engage them.”

They, of course, were thrilled by this development and communicated as such by protesting our presence and questioning our authority to say anything to them at all. But we’d just get comfortable and wear out our welcome. Once they realized we weren’t intimidated or insulted by them and that we weren’t going anywhere, they’d settled down.

After church everyone goes downstairs to the cafe to enjoy warm coffee and homemade pastries, and these kids quickly learned they could panhandle their way to a gourmet breakfast. No sooner did they shove a chocolate cupcake into their mouth and wipe away any evidence with a sleeve, and they were sauntering up to another unsuspecting pateron with an outstretched hand. People were all too happy to oblige for a mere $0.50. It was a wonder to behold. Maybe this is why they kept coming back week after week. 

One particular Sunday, it was just the two girls. After a predictable progression of events, I took a seat in the pew directly in front of them and offered a gentle “shhhhh,” which, also predictably, was met with gestures of protest. 

“Man, this is more boring than school...” 

“Sometimes it kinda is,” I replied. (*truth* ….. sorry pastors) “But we still need to be quiet and respectful during service so people can listen.” 

When it came time for communion toward the end, folks at the front of the church started filing out of the pews and forming a line down the center aisle. It suddenly occurred to me that these kids probably had no idea what’s going on. Turning in my seat, I whispered to them, “has anyone ever explained to you why we take communion?”

“No.”

Okay. So, what the bible tells us is that we’ve all sinned––we’ve done and thought bad things––and fallen short of the perfect life God wants for us. But we’re in trouble because the penalty of sin is death, and we can’t save ourselves. So over 2,000 years ago, God came to earth as a man, Jesus, to live a perfect life for us. Even though he lived a sinless life, he was nailed to a cross.

The little girl's eyes grew wide.

By dying on the cross for us, He took our place and saved us from eternal death. And if you believe this, that Jesus died for you, that he took your place, then He will rescue you, too.

Her eyes grew wider still. And it occurs to me right about now how very crazy all of this sounds, especially if you’ve never heard anything about Jesus before. Can you even imagine? How foreign and morbid is the concept of sacrifice in a culture obsessed with self and instant gratification.

So this is why we take communion: we believe that it represents his body that was broken for us and his blood that was shed for us, so that we can live in freedom. We take it and remember what He’s done for us.

When I was finished, she said, “thank you for telling us.”

The next Sunday shortly after the kids arrived at church, an angry parent-figure appeared in the lobby and, yelling at them and gesturing wildly, marched them right back out the door. We never saw them again.

**************

Maybe it doesn’t really matter what brings you to God, only that you come. Maybe it doesn’t matter why you show up, just that you're here. God is big enough to work out all the details, because I’m convinced that whatever you’re seeking, you’ll find it here:

If you’re weary, there’s rest.

If you’re hot, there’s shade.

If you’re hungry, taste the bread of life.

(I hear it’s even better than the pastries.)

If you’re thirsty, there’s living water.

If you’re lost, you will be found.

If you’re blind, now you can see.

If you’re bored, wake up to wonder.

If you're lonely, find a friend in Jesus.

If you're desperate, there’s hope.

If you’re overwhelmed, there’s community.

If you’re disappointed, let’s grieve together.

If you’re sad, anxious, or depressed, you’ll fit right in.

If you’re happy but hollow, seek and you’ll find more.

If you feel dead inside, I’d like you to meet the Living God.

Oh come, all ye unfaithful. Just come.

P.S. I begrudgingly came to a protestant church for the first time in 1997. It wasn’t horrible. I stayed for the cute boys…..and a sense of belonging.

P.P.S. I’m still here, both for the cute boy and the belonging. ;) And also, God. He uses all of it, friends. Nothing is wasted.