A Navy ship was sailing through uncharted islands when the crew spotted smoke on the beach. They went to look. Three huts, and one man running toward them with his arms up, shouting thank you, thank you. Five years since the wreck.
The captain said it was their privilege. Then he asked a question. Is there anyone else here? We counted three huts.
No, the man said. Just me.
Then why three huts?
Easy, Cap. The first one is my home. The second one is my church.
And the third?
That was the church I used to worship in.
We have all got a third hut story. Protestant, by definition, means protest, so we are going to find something. The worship. The preacher. What they did with the money. The scandal. Or maybe they named your sin out loud and you did not care for it, so you moved on.
Some of you carry real church hurt. That is legitimate. What may be less legitimate is that you never went back.
I meet young people all the time who tell me they are religious, they consider themselves Christian, they are just not into organized religion. What I hear is: I like to do things my way, on my terms. Which is another way of saying I like to worship myself.
And before you tell me the early church nailed it — keep reading the New Testament. The church gets rebuked in there over a hundred and fifty times. Not for getting it right. For being exactly as imperfect as we are. And in the middle of all that, Jesus says, I will build my church, and the gates of hell will not prevail against it.
This beautiful mess is God's plan A for changing the world. Not the building. The building is a facility. The local church is you and me.
Devoted
Acts 2:42 says they devoted themselves. In the Greek that is a complete, intentional commitment. Not convenience. Not when I have time. Not a definite maybe.
This week I was serving with the Army National Guard on a joint-forces mission remembering Hurricane Katrina — Coast Guard, Air Force and Army all working the same problem. You do not test the waters on a mission like that. You stand at the open ramp of a perfectly good aircraft and you send it, and you hope that chute opens. You do question a few life choices standing at that threshold. How did I get here? Please let this work. But hey. Faith over fear.
That is devotion. Now here is where we are.
Ask Americans how often they attend church and about a third will say weekly, and that number has been sliding for years. Then somebody tracked cell phones on Sunday mornings. One in five self-reported weekly attenders actually shows up around five percent of the time.
What we say and what we do are not the same thing.
This is not shame on you. If you are visiting on Labor Day weekend when you could have been at the beach, thank you for coming. It is a question about values. It is like sitting down with someone in debt who cannot imagine where the money goes — you do not stop the bleed until you look at what you are actually spending. What we value, we make time for. Hebrews 10 says do not neglect meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing.
Imagine eating one big meal a week. Would you make it to next Sunday? I wouldn't.
What they devoted themselves to
The apostles' teaching. Ten of the eleven faithful disciples died as martyrs. Nothing to gain, everything to lose, unless what they saw was true. They preserved Jesus' words by hand, before the printing press, when paper and ink were scarce, and they got copies to anyone who wanted one. And that Bible sitting at home is collecting dust.
Fellowship. Koinonia. Not a Sunday high five and I cannot remember your name but it is good to see you. Life on life. Think about the jump again — a jumpmaster inspected the chutes, a packing team packed them, Air Force pilots got the Chinook off the ground. One guy in the door, a whole team making it possible.
Years ago I was in a health scare with an autoimmune disease, getting different answers from different doctors, no idea what the future held. The doorbell rang. Our community group leader was standing there with an envelope. He said, James and Heidi, we are praying for you, and everybody wanted to help with the medical bills. There were thousands of dollars inside.
That is what koinonia looks like.
Some of you say you do not get much out of church. You are not giving much to church, and you are barely showing up. Stop being a consumer. Be a contributor and watch what God does through you.
The breaking of bread. This church loves to eat, and I cannot promise you will lose weight here. So we are opening the building — Sunday mornings, and Wednesday nights. Everyone tells me Wednesdays are impossible, people are too busy. I don't care.
Prayer. Not something small before meals. Oxygen in the lungs. God, save us, sustain us, show us the way, we can do nothing apart from you. The seats in our sanctuary are prayed over before you ever sit in them, because our strength to stand comes from our time on our knees.
What it produced
Awe and wonder. Miracles, yes — and if I could have any gift, I would take healing in a heartbeat. But the miracles were never the point. The greatest miracle is a person carried from death to life, and for that one Christ had to go to the cross. The miracles got their attention. The message changed their hearts.
Then generosity and gladness. Big church in the temple courts, little church in homes — they needed both. And they were simply good to be around.
Look around the room. Different ages, different backgrounds, different languages at home. What unites us is Christ. That is a faith family on mission.
There is an old poem that says if you ever find the perfect church, do not join it — you would spoil it. And since no perfect church exists, stop hunting for it and love the one you are in.
So which hut are you sitting in this morning? The one you are building, or the one you walked out of?
