Letter to Corinth.

Sometimes in my church, there will be this moment in the middle of worship, or during the sermon, or because of a verse, and I will remember my old church. This bitter and melancholy taste takes over my mouth. And I will miss my old church. Even the bad things about it. The hidden untruths and legalism and hypocrisy. The dry bones and empty vessels and fear. The wrathful God. I miss all of that sometimes. There is something safe about understanding everything in your house of worship. Nothing disconcerting ever happened at my old church. Nothing uncomfortable. Nothing convicting. And always conservative. It was just, church.
Then I don't miss it anymore. Elation is always the next feeling that blooms in me. I praise my Savior in a place that is different than the old one. There are faults and flaws and it is far from perfect. But the worship team has been singing like Keith Green lately. And my pastor is the closest I can get to a Mark Driscoll.
I like my new church. This place with a vulnerability and honesty and loving God. Where people actually kneel and cry and pray while holding hands. They don't use the King James version, and yes, I miss my "thees" and "thous." But this place is real. Maybe no realer than the last one. But it's been almost three years, and I still call it my new church. It's disconcerting. It's uncomfortable. It's convicting. And at times it's a little too Pentecostal for me. And so it's very real and human.
It is a body that breathes and moves and works together. It flows. With a lifeblood from a carpenter that died for all of mankind. And it is new. All of the time. Every Sunday. It's new.

2 Corinthians 5
17Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.

No condemnation in this post. Please don't take it that way. If you'd like to hear about my church experiences and loves, come share some cake with me. My kitchen is open. It's part of the body of Christ.