How Not to Invite a Friend to Church
IS THERE A RIGHT MOMENT to invite someone to church? After how many years of friendship? After how many backpacking trips? After how many work week lunches? With Hannah I was still waiting for the right moment. My friend Kevin was not waiting. He had met Hannah a few times, and one Friday night in our living room, he made a radical suggestion.
“Hey, you should come to church with us sometime,” he said, taking a sip of beer. Hannah’s face burst into a grin.
“I would be honoured to come to church with you! I thought Meghan had not invited me because she was ashamed of me.”
I was speechless. After all of my carefully calculated maneuvering around her agnosticism, this was all it took? This was the big “church invite moment”? My mind flashed through our handful of conversations about spirituality and religion over the years. Had she ever given me an indication of interest? Or had I just hoped that the Holy Spirit would do all the work and save me the embarrassment?
I grew up in a tight-knit Christian Reformed Church and school community. Somewhere amidst all of those catechism lessons and Bible worksheets, I came to believe the dusty rumour that church was uninteresting to anyone on the other side of the stained glass. In university, I wanted my unbelieving friends and roommates to know that I was open-minded and respectful. I was not going to affirm the evangelical stereotype and invite them all to church. Who was I to interrupt their Sunday morning yoga plans?
The excuses to withhold a church invite are endless. What if they think we are all hypocrites? What if the service triggers a deep woundedness? What if they judge me for buying into this weird community? What if they hate it?
Full hospitality
Amidst all of this waffling, I was missing the truth of Christ’s call to hospitality. Christian hospitality is not just about soup lunches and coffee in the foyer, it is about welcoming our friends and neighbours into the everyday moments that make up our lives, including our church communities. Peter writes “Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling” (1 Peter 4:9). This means that we must invite our unbelieving friends to come to church with the same enthusiasm that we use to extend invites for concerts in the park, afternoon hikes or backyard BBQs. These invites are not about altar calls; they are about living transparent lives and building authentic relationships as whole people.
As a Reformed Christian, I know that Christ is working to redeem every square inch of this world. Why then should I try to hide a few inches of my world from my unbelieving friends?
Hannah was right. I was ashamed. But not of her. I was ashamed of church culture. I looked around at our awkward responsive readings, marathon congregational prayers and opaque song lyrics and assumed that Hannah would be shocked, confused and certainly offended. Years of internalized grumblings about the weirdness of church culture manifested itself as shame.
Let me be clear: I love my church community. I think our preaching is challenging, our music is uplifting and our programs are enfolding. When I am talking to Christian friends, these positives are a free flowing part of our conversation. But when I’m surrounded by university or work friends, I get worried that the weirdness of church culture will obscure the beauty of the church community. In this moment of fear, I put on an armour of shame against an anticipated onslaught of rational secular critiques. But Hannah was not interested in critiquing the worship or debating theology. Like any good and caring friend, she was genuinely curious about where I spent my Sunday mornings.
When I asked Hannah about her favourite part of church it was not what I expected.
“I liked the song ‘Just as I am,’” she replied thoughtfully. “I’m kind of all about that and I especially liked the concept of surrendering to something.”
“Ya, that’s kind of the whole point,” I said with excitement. Despite my fears, despite my shame, Hannah still heard the good news. Church culture is weird. Church communities are broken. But by the grace of God, there is something about this gathering that is mysterious and beautiful, from all sides of the stained glass.
