[a conversation with longing]

In recent conversations with old friends and acquaintances, I have realized there is an underlying desire and longing to spend time with God in the community. I am reminded of how, when I was young, my friends and I would offer the community a worship night once a month. Our heart’s intent was to provide a space to encounter God. It did not matter the background, whether you were new to faith or had been years into knowing God, whether your doctrines were like ours or if you believed something else. Our intent was to unite the body and bring a united worship to our God. Even now, I find myself longing for this kind of community — the vulnerability, the beauty, the harmony we experienced in the spaces we created as young people were full of life-changing moments for many — and for ourselves. This was what we wanted, but as we have grown older, have we lost the desire to worship Him in unconventional ways? It seems now that too often I find myself asking, “Where did my heart for worship go?”

Now I work in a public school and interact with kids of many backgrounds and ages. I continually ask myself, where does God fit in their lives? How do we purely offer Him? Are our current efforts like leaves in the wind — here for a moment and then gone — or are they like seeds that take root, grow, and mature? I was young and believed everything could be possible. I had a team of young hopefuls who also thought we could achieve anything, and we saw God move so radically and beautifully, but now I am the older leader, the example, and I find myself wrestling. How do we empower them to be the generation that leads us into what God has next? I believe that it is through this next generation that God will raise up influence that shakes hell and brings forth righteousness and holiness. 

Now I am aware of my age, which in no way is old, but I still find myself learning. To be honest, in all the leading I have done, I have deeply needed someone to lead me. So often, I want people around me who know the Lord, but in the same sense, I know fully that we are called to be with those who do not. 

This thought stems from a book that I read about beauty and the cultivation of that beauty. The author mentioned how Van Gogh’s Starry Night loses part of its compositional beauty when the church is removed from the painting. The light is no longer in the church but scattered through nature, as if the Holy Spirit has moved freely into the world. It made me wonder: has the church lost its light? Sometimes the world seems to reflect love and grace better than we do. We have become so focused on righteousness that we forget the grace that saved us. Lord, would you help us? I truly believe we must ask ourselves if all the production and lighting truly make a difference, or if they distract. Do the socials we post every Sunday simply make us look like everyone else? I am aware that they do catch people’s attention, but attention can only be caught; to have deep roots and be truly planted is what I want to achieve in my life and in others.

I remember a time when the church would help others and come together to meet people’s needs. Stories of how a church community would rally around a family because they knew the need. Organizations and ministries that do these things aren’t bad, but the human touch and the knowledge that it came from the same people I worshiped beside on Sunday is what made it even more genuine. Hearing someone say, “The Lord felt I should do this for you,” felt like family. I pray that the Lord would lead me to love so radically that I can put others before myself. This is the kind of community we see in Acts, and I believe it can be like this again.