Space. Let’s talk about the space where you sit between the 9-11 hours on Sunday morning.
Let’s talk about the space where you eat your meals, laugh with people that know the word “wounded” and believe redemption was purchased.
Are these different spaces?
Let’s be honest. You and me, none of this Sunday morning greeting garbage.
Garbage – because I think we’re all pretty tired of the firm handshakes but quivering heart. I think we’re all pretty fatigued over the Sunday drive silence and then song singing once we find a pew.
Spaces. Are you tired of the disconnect?
I mean – if this whole cross thing is true doesn’t that mean things outside those morning announcements or another building pitch from the man that doesn’t know you’ve been out of work for 6 weeks and the table is getting cold.
Can I just say sorry? Because we’ve taken this church thing and we’ve loved the walls more than the wounds. We’ve honored the fundraising like a c suite executive trying to open another branch.
But your heart needs the simple and the solid.
We need hands, and hope, and healing.
But the pulpit is often full of men that don’t talk about wounds as if Jesus wasn’t nailed to the cross but simply preaching.
There was no preaching on that wooden beam. There was an invitation.
Come, if you know your hands can’t do it.
Come, if you’re tired and need to know the word rest.
Come, if you know you’ve been hurt and you’ve hurt and you just want the hurting to be healed.
Come, if you think children know best.
You’re invited. If no one has ever told you this but just preached words that felt like wounds more than healing, – you’re invited.
Come, because the meal has been purchased and your dad would like his children to eat.