This Is Not That: Church

I can remember sitting in my office in Chicago, pastoring a big, busy, multiplying church. Email inbox overflowing. Whiteboard covered in strategies. And I’m reading the first chapter of Love Does by Bob Goff.

And I remember thinking—yes. Like—this is it. This is the picture of church I’ve been reaching for, fumbling for words to describe.

Bob tells a story about high school, about how he was terrible at school, terrible at sports, awkward with girls. GPA so low you could count it on two fingers.

And then this guy shows up. Randy. Motorcycle. Beard. Girlfriend. Basically everything teenage Bob wanted.

And Randy’s part of this group called Young Life. Not church in a pew kind of stuff—more like showing up in the real world. And Bob says Randy would just hang out with him. No agenda. No sermon outline. Just… a friend.

Which was weird. And also exactly what Bob needed.

Fast forward. One Saturday morning, Bob shows up at Randy’s house with his life falling apart. He’s done with school. Done with trying. He’s gonna drop out, hit the road, and head to Yosemite to climb rocks.

And Randy? He listens. Disappears for a few minutes. Then comes back with a bag slung over his shoulder: “Alright,” he says. “How are we getting there?”

Bob points to his beat-up Volkswagen. “I got a ride.” So Randy hops in. And off they go.

They drive to Yosemite. Crash in a cheap motel. Apply for jobs. Strike out at every single one. And then they drive back the next day.

And when they pull into Randy’s driveway, Bob sees another car parked there. His girlfriend’s.

So Bob says Randy invites him inside. And the girlfriend’s not there. But the place is full of boxes. Microwave. Fridge. Boxes everywhere. 

And Bob’s thinking, it’s not Christmas… it’s not his birthday… what’s going on here?

And then it hits him.

He had shown up yesterday. Saturday afternoon. And Randy? Randy had gotten married that morning. Let that sink in.

On the day of his wedding—the night of his wedding—Bob shows up at his door in crisis. And Randy doesn’t say, “Sorry man, bad timing.” He doesn’t hand him a prayer card or a lecture.

He grabs a bag.
He gets in the car.
And he goes with him.

And Bob says, “For the first time in my life, the word Emmanuel—the name God used to describe himself—hit me. I’m with you.”

And I remember sitting there, in my church office, reading this story, thinking: That’s it. That’s what I want. That’s what Jesus did.

To simply be with people. Not fix them. Not manage them. Not fit them into programs. To actually be with them.

And yet here I was, pastoring a church that demanded everything but that. Running a system that kept me too busy to do the one thing Jesus actually did and called us to do.

And that—reading Bob’s story—was when it started for me. The moment I realized I was already planning my exodus from the system.

Because if Randy dropping everything to be with Bob—isn’t a picture of the Church Jesus embodied, then what are we even talking about?

The Meaning We Forgot

It’s hard to imagine, because somewhere along the way, we were handed a version of church that was… something else.

Services. Stages. Schedules. Leaders with titles. Followers with seats. And yet—when the New Testament talks about the Church? It never once describes it like that.

Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 12:27: “You are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it.”

Not, “You attend the body.”
Not, “You join the body through a membership class.”
You are the body.

In Romans 12:5: “In Christ, we, though many, form one body, and each member belongs to all the others.”

Not competes. Not compares. Belongs.

And in Ephesians 1:22–23: “He is the head of the body, the Church.”

Not a pastor. Not a board of elders. Not the brand. Jesus.

It’s why the Epistles weren’t written to churches the way we see them now. They were written to the Church—singular—spread out through everyday people in different places.

Even the word we translate as “church” in the Bible (ekklesia) wasn’t a religious term. It was a common Greek word meaning “assembly” or “gathering,” often used for civic or military meetings in Greek and Roman contexts.

So when the early Church gathered in homes, the Bible simply called it what was: people meeting.

It’s an easy miss, until you realize Rome wasn’t handing out 501(c)3 status to people who said, “Jesus is Lord.” They were handing out arrest warrants.

And Jewish leaders weren’t offering rented space at the synagogue to people claiming, “Jesus is the Messiah.” They were plotting their murder.

So what did the early Church do? Exactly what Jesus did: they gathered around meals to remind one another—the Kingdom of God is here. (Mark 1:15)

And what about leaders? 

Surely somebody had to run the show, right?

Well… not really.

In Luke 22:26, Jesus says: “The greatest among you should be like the youngest, and the one who rules like the one who serves.”

So whatever leadership means in the Kingdom, it’s not about climbing a ladder.It’s about washing feet. Being in the mud with fellow sheep. Handing out grace like free bread.

Later, Hebrews 13:17 gets thrown around like a trump card: “Obey your leaders and submit to them…”

Sounds authoritarian. Except the word for “obey” is peithomai—which means to be persuaded by someone you know and trust.

Not coerced.
Not commanded.
Persuaded.

And “submit”? Hypeikō. It’s only used once, here, in the whole New Testament. It means yield. Like giving someone room to merge in traffic.

So the picture isn’t: “Find a spiritual boss and do what they say.” It’s: “When someone shows you Jesus, let it shape you.”

That’s not hierarchy.
That’s friendship.

Which is exactly why 1 Peter 2:5 calls every single believer—all of us—“a holy priesthood.”

And those other church words? They’re not job titles to chase. They’re snapshots of what was already happening as grace spread through ordinary people.

• “Elder” was simply a cultural word for someone in the community people trusted—someone whose life had a gravity that pulled others toward what was true.

• “Deacon” literally means “servant”—people who stepped up where needed, often just making sure everybody got fed. (Acts 6 is basically the first Church potluck problem.)

• And both? They were footnotes of what was emerging in expressions that were 3 years old (Titus 1:5), not blueprints to copy-and-paste into every setting forever.

In other words—these words weren’t meant to create a hierarchy. They were meant to honor what was already happening among ordinary believers learning to trust Jesus together.

Because the Church isn’t clergy and consumers. It’s friends with God. Friends with each other. Wherever they are. That’s it.

Reclaiming What Could Be

So maybe Church doesn’t look like what you were handed.

Maybe it’s porch nights with neighbors.
Text threads with honesty.
Hospital rooms and driveway conversations where someone says,
“I thought I was the only one,”
and you get to say back,
“Me too. And you’re not.”

That’s the Church.
This is not that.