My church extends from the depths of the Amazon to the peaks of the Himalayas, from the sands of the Sahara to the waters of the Southeast Asian seas, from every broken heart to every restless soul, from the trash heaps to the penthouses, and everywhere in between. Yet the only walls we have here in church are the walls we’ve torn down and now stand triumphantly on top of.
I just joined a church. There are no windows here. For what would be the use, the light’s already too bright to bear. And every person’s heart stands gaping, plain before you, brilliantly shining. Windows here would only get in the way.
I just joined a church. There are many members, but only one body. Many voices but only one cry. Many interests but only one passion. We came from many houses but are traveling to one home. And despite all this uniformity, the diversity is staggering.
K Squad rolling in to Training Camp
The walls here echo with laughter. Shouts of praise ring through the night, and ‘Freedom’ is painted in the brightest letters, as big as you can imagine.
I met a lot of people here at church this last week, and they didn’t all come from the same places but they’re all here for the same reasons. And each one has a story that somehow ends the same way. With Sonship, adoption, affirmation, purity, unmerited love, beauty, purpose, hope, freedom – I’ve never heard people talk about such things with this level of candor. And something inexplicable kept happening. Through vulnerability we became strong, through brokenness we became whole, through pain we became joyful. Our restlessness had been satisfied by His rest, our anxiety with His peace, our wandering with His direction, our grief with His joy, our pride with His affirmation.
I just joined a church. And these people here, I just met them. But already we’re brothers and sisters, for we found we shared the same father. And no one was judged for where they’ve been, and no one was shamed for who they were. And the worse the stories got, the more support there was, because the ending was that much more beautiful. We sacrificed for one another as if we’ve known each other our whole lives. We found encouragement, rather than criticism in each others’ words. And fellowship, rather than competition in each others’ company. I guess, after all, what is there to compete for when you’re at the foot of the cross, where the ground is only level.
I found I became someone I didn’t know existed before church this week. There was life spoken over me, and truth spoken in me, and peace spoken through me, so much so that I barely recognize the path I took to get here.
I just joined a church. They do things a little differently there. They believe what they say and they act in a way that reflects truth in what they read. When God says He’s the same yesterday today and tomorrow, they expect Him to show up like He did 2000 years ago, like He will at the end. We wield His authority when we speak because He says He gave it to us. We guard our minds and rein in our tongues, but our hearts we set on fire, and constantly fan them into flame. We treat each other as parts of our own body, as holy, perfect Sons and Daughters of a worthy God. We turn to prayer before we turn to medicine and prophecy before doubt, and we constantly affirm each other, calling out the best in one other. And by the end of the week we all had grown three feet taller, our hearts three feet deeper. Our wounds had been reopened but now stood scarred over, the smiles on our faces stood wider than they’d ever
been, and we all had this crazy light in our eyes. There is power here. And we have become empowered.
There were intense moments of laughter, and intense moments of grief. The grace we experienced didn’t cost us anything but we refuse to treat it like that. And the agony of identity we experienced, washed in the love of a God who takes us as we are but loves us too much to leave us that way, somehow led us into more joy and liberty than we knew what to do with. Here, have some of it.
We worshiped hard. We sang and we shouted and we jumped and we cried. We shook and hollered and stomped the ground, and the whole place shook at the sound of such an army. And there was dancing. Hooo boy was there dancing.
I wish you could have experienced it, because words alone don't even come close to doing it justice. Church wasn’t safe. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t painless, it wasn’t quick, it wasn’t comfortable, it wasn’t what I expected. But it was good. It was SO GOOD. And even now, I can hear the echo of freedom in my ears, I can see the silhouette of the glory of the Lord on the inside of my eyelids, and I can feel His presence as my hope my strength my peace, and I know I’ve finally found what I’ve been looking for all this time.
Love,
Danny
