I was sitting in church a few weeks ago listening to the sermon, with plenty of empty seats around me, when this thought came to mind: I should invite someone to church.
It seems like a no-brainer. Of course. Invite someone to church! But I have a shameful confession. In all my years of attending church, of going to Sunday school, of taking part in various church functions, of participating in and even leading Bible study lessons, I do not think I have ever said to someone: Would you like to go to church with me?
Oh I have my reasons for not having invited anyone, and here they are. 1) I can’t invite anyone I meet through my job, because I work in Westchester County and everyone I know through work lives far away from my church. 2) I don’t invite my immediate family, because they are Catholic and attend Saint Stephen’s. 3) Outside of co-workers and family, the only people I know are my friends I know through Bellvale and Sugar Loaf, and they already go to church. So there. That’s everyone.
I was running these reasons, through my mind when God gave me a nudge. “Kimberly,” He said. (That’s what God and my mom call me when I’m in trouble.) “Are you trying to tell me that outside of those people, that you never encounter anyone else? Are you saying that in the coming year, perhaps the coming weeks, there is absolutely no possibility that you will meet someone that you can invite to join you on Sunday?”
God got me there. Truthfully, He gets me every time. Most likely, I do cross paths with people whom I could invite. And if I want to be brutally honest, here are the real reasons I don’t ask others to my church. Part of it is shyness. Part of it is, I’m afraid it will be awkward. I have it in my head that it’s going to be difficult for me to utter those simple words: Do you want to go to church with me sometime? But really, what’s the worst that could happen?. The person might say no. True, that might happen, but then what? Will the earth stop spinning? No, the worst that will happen is that there may be a couple of minutes of awkwardness, of the other person and I stammering over our words.
What else might happen? Well, if I invite someone to church, they might think I’m religious. Hmm. Well here’s a news flash. Even though I’ve never thought of labeling myself “religious,” I guess I am. Wait, I don’t guess I am. I am. Yes, it’s true! I believe that Jesus of Nazareth, who walked this earth more than 2,000 years ago, was the son of God. I believe that he was God incarnate (God in human form). I believe that he died a horrible, painful death, tied and nailed to a hard, wooden cross, and that he was buried, and that three days later he rose from the dead. I believe that he later ascended to heaven. I don’t know where heaven is, or what it looks like, or what it has in store for us, but I believe it is.
And you know, I believe that some of the happiest, most fulfilling moments of my life have been spent within the fellowship of the various church families I’ve been a part of in my life, and I believe that God would be disappointed in me—is disappointed in me—for not taking the opportunity to share all this with someone else, someone who may not have yet accepted Jesus Christ as their Savior, as the Messiah, as the Son of God. Why would I hold on to those wonderful truths, which are the core of the happiness and peace in my life, and not share them with someone else? All because I’m too timid to say: Would you like to come to church with me?
Hang on for a second … okay, done. I had to kick myself!
I leave you with Mark 1:16-18—As Jesus walked beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. “Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will make you fishers of men.” At once they left their nets and followed him.
—Kim Paras
No comments:
Post a Comment