A Simple Reflection on What Makes the Church Different
“At that very time Jesus cured many who had diseases, sicknesses and evil spirits, and gave sight to many who were blind. So he replied to the messengers, “Go back and report to John what you have seen and heard: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is proclaimed to the poor. Blessed is anyone who does not stumble on account of me.” (Luke 7:21-23)
If you ever pick up a Bible or listen to stories about Jesus, you’ll come across moments that seem impossible. Blind people suddenly become capable of seeing. People who can’t walk jump to their feet. Those on the margins are welcomed and healed. The dead are brought back to life. Those who have nothing find reasons to celebrate. In Luke 7:22, Jesus points to these miracles not just as wonders. They are signs that something new is happening. Hope is real, even when the world seems broken.
But if we’re honest, the world—and even the church—doesn’t always feel hopeful. Sometimes, it can feel like everything is falling apart. People in the church, just like everyone else, can get stuck. They pretend that life’s struggles aren’t real, which is denial. Or they give up completely, believing things will never get better, which is despair. Sometimes, the church spends so much energy keeping up buildings, budgets, and traditions that it forgets what really matters.
The point of the church’s story is to call us to face the hard truth of our struggles without flinching. This is what makes it unique. It also encourages us to hold on tight to hope. This hope believes new and good things are always possible, even when we can’t see how.
This isn’t easy. If you look back at the history of churches, you’ll find plenty of dishonesty. There are also moments where hope seemed to run dry. But the real heart of the church is supposed to be about two things. The first is standing together with those who are suffering, known as the “solidarity of Friday,” the day Jesus died. The second is being surprised again and again by new life. This joy is called “the surprise of Sunday,” the day of resurrection. These two things—being honest about pain and open to hope—set the church apart. The larger world can’t always understand it.
It doesn’t matter if you lean “liberal” or “conservative.” Too often, both sides miss out on these essential pieces. They either soften the reality of suffering or downplay the possibility of new life. But now, more than ever, the church is free to remember what really counts. It focuses on being real about what’s hard. It also dares to hope anyway.
So how do we do that? It starts with honesty. We have to admit what’s been lost. It is people, dreams, or trust. We must refuse to pretend everything is fine when it’s not. Then, we should look ahead with active hope. We must believe that God can still do something new. It is different from what came before.
Often, churches enter what seems like “survival mode.” They worry about money, attendance, rules, or keeping up appearances. But Jesus had something to say about worry. In Matthew 6:25, he tells his anxious community not to obsess about food, drink, or clothes. He reminds them that life is about more than just survival. He points to the birds and the flowers. They are cared for by God without stress or struggle. He says, “Aren’t you worth even more than these?”
This isn’t meant to dismiss the real worries people have. Instead, it invites us into a different way of living. It’s a way where we can admit when things are hard. Yet, we still trust that something good is possible. That’s the “pageant of honesty and hope” Jesus invites us into. It’s a life that doesn’t deny pain or pretend everything is okay. Instead, it believes God’s goodness is bigger than any struggle.
In simple terms: The church is at its best when it’s real about what’s broken and bold about what’s possible. That’s the work we’re called to share—not just as individuals, but together. If you’re feeling weighed down by worry or despair, remember: even the lilies and the birds are cared for. You are cared for too. There’s hope in that.
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