If I weren’t a regular church go-er due to my lack of love for Jesus, but went on Easter Sunday out of some obligation, I’d more than likely be uncomfortable and not return.
The beautiful clothes. The almost-plastic, smiling faces. The full parking lot and sanctuary. The specially-designed service intended to target me. The worship music everybody seems to know. The raised hands. The uncomfortable silence among strangers while one man tells the crowd his interpretation of the Bible I barely read. The dose of guilt tacked on to the sermon intended to make me want to return next week.
Even if the message were one of hope, I’d feel certain it wouldn’t apply to me.
I’d need a personal relationship. I’d need someone to be to me the hands and feet of Jesus. I’d need you to tell me your personal story of how Jesus stepped into your mess with you, and rescued you. I’d need to know how He loved you when you were unloveable…because I’d need to know He could do the same for me.
And even then, that might not be enough for me to love Jesus.
Maybe I’d just need to know you’d love me whether I attend church or love Jesus.
So, no, I probably wouldn’t return to church until next Easter when I would, once again, feel obligated to attend.
