The Church: Called, Holy, Gifted

This week’s sermon asked, “Why do people need the church?” I realized I can only truly answer in personal terms: “Why do I need the church?” Here’s why I need the church. Not because it’s perfect–it isn’t. Not because it’s always comfortable–it shouldn’t be. I need the church because it reminds me that faith was never meant to be a solo journey. Each person’s calling connects with others, creating something bigger than ourselves. When we work together, we catch glimpses of what the kingdom of heaven might look like here on earth. 

The answer lives in faces and moments that have shaped my faith journey. We often think of church as a building with four walls and a steeple, but I’ve learned that it’s really about the people who refuse to be contained by those walls–the living, breathing community that has walked alongside me throughout my life.

For me, it began with Mrs. Gore, my Sunday school teacher at First Baptist Church in Decatur, Illinois. In third and fourth grade, she planted the first seeds of faith in my young heart, teaching me Bible stories and showing me that Jesus’s love was personal and real. I can still picture her gentle smile as she helped us memorize Scripture verses, her patience as we asked endless questions about Noah’s ark and Daniel in the lions’ den. I didn’t know it then, but she was laying the foundation of what church community would mean in my life, showing me that faith could be both profound and deeply personal.

As I grew into my teenage years, the church took on new forms. The Gruenewald family, living just houses away from mine, became my second home. Their house was always open, their table always had room for one more, and their love was unconditional. Together with their four children, all around my age, we lived out what church community truly means–praying together, attending youth group, going to camp, and watching our faith take root and grow. In their home, I learned that church happens in the everyday moments of life shared together, in the laughter and tears, in the ordinary and extraordinary.

In my mid-thirties, in the aftermath of divorce, church revealed itself in yet different ways. Through small group and choir, I discovered that community doesn’t just celebrate with you in the high moments. It holds you together in the broken ones too. These people became the hands and feet of Jesus in my life when I needed it most. They didn’t try to fix everything or offer empty platitudes. They sat with me in the pain, brought meals when I couldn’t bring myself to cook, and gently reminded me that I wasn’t alone in this journey. Their presence was a testament to what church really means–showing up, staying present, and loving without condition.

Looking back, I see God’s faithfulness in continuously placing people in my path to be the church with and for me. Each person has helped shape who I am today, each relationship strengthening my faith. Together, we’ve served, grown, and cared for others, extending the same love we’ve received to the world around us.

It’s so easy to become isolated today. We pride ourselves on independence, fill our calendars to the brim, and often sacrifice deep relationships for surface-level connections. Technology makes it simple to avoid real community, and our fast-paced lives provide endless excuses for emotional unavailability. We chase success and status, forgetting that the church calls us to a different way–not to claim the best seats at the table, but to serve at it.

The church has taught me that true community means seeing each other, serving each other, and loving each other, not because we’re perfect, but because we’re perfectly loved by a God who designed us for connection. It means making space at our tables and in our lives for others, even when it’s inconvenient. It means being vulnerable enough to let others see our struggles and strong enough to help others carry theirs. In a world that increasingly pushes us toward isolation, the church pulls us back to what matters most: living out our faith together, supporting each other’s callings, and making this world look a little more like heaven. Not just in theory, but in practice, one relationship, one act of service, one moment of grace at a time.