Oh Church, I love you. I really do. My heart hurts to write this. But I must, because I am you. I have your history. Abraham and Moses and Jesus and Augustine and MLK and Graham. These are our people who created a path for us for gospel flourishing. But even from the clearest beginning and the most profound middle—blood-spattered cross and all—we don’t get it right. From Edens to exiles, our eyes are still blinded to what we want most. Control. A sovereignty over our lives. This is what we crave.

And this isn’t someone else’s story. This is my story. And yours. This is the story of the church.

Recent surveys reveal that 20% of you who confess Jesus and attended a local church before the start of our current pandemic won’t be coming back to public gatherings when the pandemic concludes. I would like to say that I understand. I confess that my heart has also drifted during this season of isolation and panic. And of course when we drift, it’s never to places of wholeness and wisdom. But 20% of you? 1 out of 5? Like a lover, I’m heartbroken.

So I have to ask, why are you leaving? Perhaps a new revelation that the church which nurtured you, loved you, cared for your children, and walked with you in the beautiful mundaneness of life is actually not enough? I don’t buy it. I think you already knew she was fractured. I think you already suspected, like Brennan Manning, that the “Church is a whore. But she’s my mother.” Fractured and frail and so imperceptibly imperfect. 

SO WHY LEAVE NOW?

A divorce never happens overnight. It begins with bits of romantic apathy. Moves to active arguing. Then unforgiveness and worse yet, indifference. Not hatred, but an “I don’t care what happens to you” kind of attitude. Then someone leaves and the children are left to be the adults.

I will confess, the church wasn’t doing great before this pandemic. We had grown cold to what it really meant to abide with Jesus, love our neighbors, live a life of sacrifice, and be on mission for the sake of the gospel. Yeah, that. We traded down years ago for a lukewarm, politically savvy, safer, Hallmark version of what Jesus ultimately calls us to. We married our lives and faith to politicians who don’t care, don’t believe, and don’t live lives that reflect character, let alone human decency. We gladly stood on the side of racial supremacy and financial disparity, as long as our churches stayed white and rich and safe. We also stopped doing anything that actually mattered. Except, well, we built enormous sanctuaries that stayed empty on Sundays while the cries of thousands in our cities went unanswered. Our lust for power and respect caused us to be suspicious of those who Jesus actually came for—the poor, the broken, and the sick.

Is the church fragmented? Oh yes, she is! But she is our mother.

I hear you say, “We are still the church! We’re just not coming to a building anymore.” But you are not the church when you isolate in your echo chambers of self-confirming doubt. You are not the church when you’re alone. Doesn’t the Psalmist remind us, “Who can discern his own error?” (Psalm 19:12) You are not the church when you, like many faltering church fathers, hitch your wagon to a man, or a political party, or an ideology, Unless it’s the one that calls us to take up our crosses and build a life of faith in Jesus. You are not the church when you settle into unforgiveness and anger and rage over the fiascos of the modern church. You are not the church when you are alone. Church, THE church, is a community. A people. And we need you. 

Oh church, come back! We love you. You make us better. Stronger, even. But mostly, the church is at her best when we walk arm-in-arm together, in love, and for the gospel of Jesus. Oh church, come back!