One thing that I love about not working (outside the home, that is) during this season of life is that I get to attend our church's women's ministry, Thrive. This semester, we are going through the book of John. The teaching we receive every week is like water quenching the dryness of the desert. I love leaving feeling refreshed and filled up.
Yesterday, we discussed John 4, the ministry of Jesus to the Samaritan woman. We dove into the topic of what it means to cross human judgmental boundaries to truly love others. And that got me thinking about what that means for the church. As we pondered the idea of people being turned off the church, my table leader, Cathy, came up with a wonderful description of what the church should be: a hospital instead of a beauty pageant.
I love the hospital analogy. Hospitals are places where sick people come to get well. They are filled with the broken, the infirm, the dying. People waiting for the touch of a physician. Beauty pageants are filled with plastic people, fake smiles plastered on their faces; everyone looks the same, with no real depth behind the lovely exterior (a little overly simplified, but go with me on this one).
I find myself longing for the hospital. I know I am in need of one. At least for me, nothing has brought my sin, my brokenness to the forefront like being a parent. I find as Brennan's latent sin nature awakens, all the sin that I've shoved deep down inside comes bubbling up as well. Two strong sin natures can't compete for long before something needs to give! And this where I find my need for the hospital is greatest. A place to find healing. A place to have the brokenness caused by sin mended again. A place to meet the Great Physician.
I know I'm not alone in the desire for a hospital. Wouldn't it be great if the church began to foster an atmosphere of transparency and security, inviting people to truly come as they are, sin and baggage and all? We shouldn't be afraid of admitting our own sin or hearing others admit theirs. Sin happens. To everyone. Rather than set ourselves up as judge and jury, why not let people know that we've heard of a great hospital where we get to meet with best physician of all?
The Samaritan woman went to that hospital. The outcast, the adulteress, of a race labeled ceremonially unclean. Jesus came to where she was. He didn't judge. He showed her love. She received His love. And, in turn, she became the catalyst for many in her town to believe in Christ.
Imagine the ramifications. The possibilities are endless if only we open ourselves up to receive our own healing from the Great Physician. And what if we then extend the same love and mercy to others in need of that same touch from Christ? Pretty exciting to think about!
