Scribed In Light

God meets people where they are.

People often meet others where they themselves are.

There is a profound difference.

Perhaps nowhere is that difference more evident than in the distinction between religion and Christianity.

Religion often focuses on outward conformity. Christianity begins with inward transformation.

Religion often asks, “How well are you following the rules…and too, as WE perceive them to be?”

Christianity asks, “How can I help you find the One who saves?”

God has never expected people to become whole before coming to Him.

He has always met them exactly where they stood.

He met shepherds in fields, fishermen beside the sea, tax collectors at their tables, a woman at a well carrying shame, an adulteress surrounded by condemnation, a doubting disciple, a persecutor on a dusty road, and a thief in the final moments of his life.

Never once did He say, “Clean yourself up first.”

He simply said, “Come.”

That is what grieves my heart today.

Some churches have become places where the broken feel they must hide their brokenness before they dare walk through the doors.

A woman dressed like a prostitute enters the sanctuary.

The whispers begin.

The glances are exchanged.

People quietly shift in their pews.

But what if they knew her story?

What if she had been abused as a little girl, run from a home that was never safe, manipulated, trafficked, and convinced that selling herself was the only way to survive?

Would they still see only a prostitute?

Or would they finally see a daughter desperate for hope?

A man smelling of alcohol stumbles into church.

Most notice the bottle before they notice the burden.

But what if they knew he had buried his wife and child?

What if every drink was an attempt to quiet a grief too heavy to carry?

Would they still see only a drunk?

Or would they see a broken man?

A father is caught stealing food.

Most see only a thief.

But what if he believed it was the only way his children would eat that night?

We rarely know the chapters that came before the page we’re reading.

Yet we become remarkably confident in judging the entire story.

The truth is, we often see people through the lens of our own experiences.

God never has.

God meets people where they are.

People often meet others where they themselves are.

He sees the frightened child beneath the addiction.

The wounded heart behind the anger.

The betrayal beneath the mistrust.

The whole story while we judge a single chapter.

He doesn’t wait at the finish line demanding people find their way to Him.

He steps into the middle of their mess and walks with them from where they are.

If we truly desire to become more like Christ, perhaps our calling is not to expect people to meet us where we are.

Perhaps our calling is to walk toward them where they are—just as He first walked toward us.

Somewhere along the way, many of us have forgotten what Christ actually commissioned us to do.

He did not call us to determine another person’s worthiness.

He called us to love.

To love God.

To love our neighbor.

To bear one another’s burdens.

To forgive as we have been forgiven.

To extend mercy because mercy was first extended to us.

When judgment becomes our first response, love quietly steps aside.

We become skilled at identifying sin while overlooking suffering.

We see behavior.

God sees the heart.

We see a moment.

God sees a lifetime.

Perhaps one of the greatest misunderstandings within Christianity is the fear of being associated with broken people.

“I can’t be seen with her.”

“People will think I approve.”

“I can’t invite him into my home.”

“People will think I’m supporting what he’s done.”

“I can’t have supper with them.”

But wasn’t that exactly what people said about Jesus?

He ate with tax collectors.

He welcomed sinners.

He sat beside those respectable society had already rejected.

The religious leaders saw guilt by association.

Jesus saw people made in the image of God.

There is an immeasurable difference.

Loving someone is not the same as approving of every choice they make.

Compassion is not compromise.

Mercy is not endorsement.

Grace is not permission.

Jesus never ignored sin.

But neither did He make sin the first thing people experienced when they encountered Him.

They experienced His love.

His compassion.

His presence.

Then, through relationship, hearts began to change.

Far too often, we become more concerned with protecting our reputation than reflecting Christ’s.

We hesitate to welcome the addict, the prostitute, the homeless man, the recently incarcerated, or the family everyone else avoids because we fear what others might think.

Jesus never seemed concerned with protecting His image.

He simply kept pulling up another chair.

The world does not need more Christians protecting their image.

It needs more Christians reflecting Christ’s heart.

The church does not belong to its members.

It belongs to God.

Those are not our pews.

They are His.

The sanctuary is not ours to guard.

It is His to fill.

Church was never meant to be an exclusive gathering for people who have already found Jesus.

It was meant to be a refuge for those still searching for Him.

A hospital for wounded souls.

A lighthouse for those lost at sea.

Our calling was never simply to occupy a pew.

It was to become Jesus in skin.

To carry His compassion into places where hope has grown dim.

To illuminate the darkness rather than hide from it.

Before asking whether someone belongs in our church, perhaps we should ask a different question.

Do people leave our presence feeling closer to Jesus…

Or merely closer to our opinions?

If Christ walked into our sanctuary next Sunday with a prostitute on one arm, an addict on the other, a homeless man following behind, and a recently released prisoner beside Him…

Would we recognize Him by the company He keeps?

Or would we quietly wonder why He brought them?

Perhaps the greatest tragedy is not that the prodigal son wandered away.

Perhaps it is that the elder brother stood so close to the Father, yet his heart failed to reflect the Father’s joy when someone broken came home.

May we never become so comfortable in our faith that we forget what it felt like to desperately need grace ourselves.

May we never guard God’s doors when He has called us to open our arms.

May we never mistake our comfort for Christ’s compassion, nor our opinions for His truth.

Instead, may we become the kind of people who meet others where God first met us.

Not with condemnation…

But with compassion.

Not with assumptions…

But with understanding.

Not by asking, “Do you belong here?”

But by saying, “Come. There is room.”

Because every one of us was once the stranger.

Every one of us was once the prodigal.

And if we’re honest, every one of us has a little of the elder brother to surrender as well.

May we be known less for the sins we condemn…

And more for the Savior we reflect.

Walk gently.

Love deeply.

Laugh often.

Contemplate passionately.

Reflect intentionally.

Steward faithfully.

And as you journey through this one beautiful, fragile life, may you always strive to become a little less like the elder brother… and a little more like the Father who never stopped watching the horizon for His child to come home.

— Tina N. Campbell

Scribed in Light

“When we know better, we do better.”
— Maya Angelou

“The highest form of knowledge is empathy.”
— Often attributed to Bill Bullard

1 Samuel 16:7

“People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.“

Galatians 6:2

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.“