Jesus Is Evident in Their Actions

I’ve gone to church my entire life. So has Erin.

Growing up Assembly of God, we attended Sunday morning church, Sunday morning Sunday School, Sunday evening church, and Wednesday evening church. Every week.

Around third grade, we switched to a non-denominational church.

Which, is a funny name for a denomination. Because it is a denomination. But if you put non in front of it, it isn’t?

I digress.

We as Christians wave our denomination flags as if they matter.

Here in West Texas, it’s really three questions:

• What’s your name?
• What do you do for a living?
• Where do you go to church?

Boxes. That’s what each of these questions do. Place people in mental boxes. Into tribes.

Are they rich? Are they poor? Oh, a doctor? Oh, a teacher? Oh, you don’t work? Are they charismatic? Are they Baptist? Catholic? Do they believe in the Holy Spirit? Predestination? Do they even tithe!? Are you in my tribe or not?

And, it’s sad really.

I do it too. I’m guilty. Raising my hand. Point the finger at me.

“To the people who sprint toward you in hard times — the kind who love with action, not convenience. Words feel inadequate. Thank you.”

And do you know what is incredible? Hundreds of people have reached out to help us. Some subtle. And some sprinting towards us. And when the Lord sends people sprinting into your lives, embrace them. Allow it. Receive it.

Maybe the point is this: in the past thirty days, we’ve seen the Church more alive, more kind, and more like Jesus than ever before.

And it’s not about affiliations.

We don’t go to church with most of these people. Honestly, we don’t care if they even go to church. Because Jesus is evident in their actions, not their affiliations.

From the sourdough left on our porch, to the gift cards, to the prayers and encouragement, to the flowers — the many, many flowers — to the books and handwritten letters, we see you, the church, our church, and we see Jesus in all of it.

The church is our neighbors. Our family. Our friends. Near and far. Laboring together in this trial. Even though others are hurting too, they still help. And even though we are in the middle of a cancer fight, we will still help and love and sprint toward others. We will operate in the overflow of His goodness. His goodness beyond circumstances.

And friends, the world needs us. It needs the church. Not just to tithe and attend and serve on Sundays. The world needs us to be neighbors who go above and beyond, to be friends who feel like sunshine, and who lay down our affiliations and tribes to love everyone as we love ourselves. We should be inconvenienced more. Awakened from our routines and day-to-day repeats.

Sprint towards those in need. Sprint towards those you love. And those you don’t. Because when the church isn’t religious or tribal — it thrives. And it doesn’t look like “church” at all.

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We had been in chemo for a few hours. I got up to get a cup of water from the water station a few “rooms” from us.

Rooms is a generous term. They are open cubicles, no privacy, stacked maybe ten feet apart from each other. The setup isn’t unpleasant, but quarters are tight.

Walking back from the water station, I felt a heavy weight. Like an anchor of sadness, of anger, of confusion.

Every single room was filled with a person. Most people sitting alone, being infused with life-saving and life-altering drugs. Others sitting quietly with a spouse or friend.

And the gravity of it — the pain, the weight — was unbearable. Why do so many people have cancer? Why are these poor people here? They don’t deserve this. They didn’t ask for this. Are they going to die? Are they going to live? Are they going through this alone? Privately, quietly?

God, where are you?

That morning, I asked the nurse: busy morning?

Her eyes got big. “Every morning is busy,” she said. “We are beyond capacity.”

Beyond capacity.

• One in eight women will get breast cancer. Twelve percent.
• Men: ~39.9% lifetime risk of cancer
• Women: ~39.0% lifetime risk of cancer

God, this world is broken. And hurting. And sick.

The weight I felt walking back from the water station — it’s me waking up. It’s me leaving my bubble-wrapped life to see the world as it is, in desperate need of hope and for people to help the sick, the lonely, and the afraid.

Because they exist. And they exist next door and down the street and across town. And some hide it better than others, and some journey alone. And so we are called to sprint toward them and be the fullness of Christ for them in practical, everyday needs.

And I’ll be honest. I don’t know how to help them. And maybe that’s okay, but we will help and sprint toward and gift and give to those in our lives. Just as many of you have done for us.

Because Jesus is near and was near the sick and poor. The marginalized and downtrodden. The outcasts and the non-religious.

It wasn’t just a metaphor. So shouldn’t we be near them as well?