To Those in the Back Row on Sunday:
The moms with wiggly, noisy toddlers who blush red when people turn around to eyeball you.
The elderly with feeble knees and fragile backs who couldn’t quite walk all the way up to the front seats as once able.
The homeless persons finding warmth, refuge and a few moments of safety.
The former pastors and church leaders who haven’t walked through the doors of a church these past couple years after the great hurt this Bride brought.
The couples who’s marriage is crumbling but came thinking this would be a place to find help or hope or both.
The teenagers texting and giggling, with fresh cuts across their forearms hidden under their trendy clothes, wondering if they belong anywhere.
The questioning and riddled with doubt who come in after the music service and leave before dismissal, avoiding judgmental glances or probing questions.
The family who’s father is happy clappy and friendly, but drinks himself asleep each night.
I see you.
And if I could, I’d sit right next to you and tell you this:
You are so loved.
You are so wanted.
You don’t need to come here to get right. Jesus did that for you.
You don’t need to come here to make amends for those things you did. Jesus made amends for you already.
You don’t need to find a dress in the back of your closet and go to church with your best face on like your grandmother once did to earn the title of “good.” Jesus made you in his image and calls you good, anyway. Take the costume off and be real.
You don’t need to sit here anymore and wonder if you’ll ever be good enough, if you’ll ever feel better, if you’ll ever not be ruled by shame.
I’ll sit right next to you and tell you the guy in the pulpit doesn’t have a magic wand or a remedy or a formula to fix you or heal you. And if Jesus were here in person, he’d be sitting with us, too.
Jesus wouldn’t get up front and brag on his skills, ability, spiritual growth or title. Jesus wouldn’t tell you that your failures make you unworthy. Jesus wouldn’t open the scroll and use the words on the page to cast judgment and demand conviction and repentance.
No… Jesus would get off the stage. He’d walk down the aisle that separates. He would sit down with you and He would listen. He would not be ashamed to sit with you. He would love you without conditions or money put in the offering plate.
It’s time we do this, too, church. The people in the back rows and out beyond our walls don’t need more offerings or nicer carpets. They need connection. They need someone to see them- to look them in the eye and feel their sorrow and weep with them. No more side glances of judgment. No more “good mornings” with a half-hearted smile. Get up and sit with them. Because the nice song at the end of service that makes us feel good isn’t cutting it for those in the back row. They walked out of service before the happy notes could numb their soul. Because these are the souls looking for real love, real hope- and many cannot seem to find this in your space on Sundays.