Inviting People To Church: Oh How I Hate Thee. (A Guest Blog by Natalie Febres)
by Natalie
This is a blog about why I hate inviting people to church. It takes a while to get to the point but there is a lovely little story along the way. Hope you enjoy it.
During my senior year of college, I made two new friendships with wonderful, strong young women that changed the course of my life. I spent a lot of time with Kimmy and Linda that year. We had so much in common and I learned a lot from both of them. We studied and listened to music together, went shopping and talked about family, God and guys. They taught me how to dance (but not well, sorry!) and we met each other’s friends and family. These wonderful young ladies were not Christians. I met them at a time in my life where I felt completely alone and they were like sisters to me. Like family, we accepted each other. I didn’t judge them or try to stop them from doing what they wanted to do, and likewise they stuck up for my right to choose to live for Jesus above all else.
Kimmy’s apartment became my home away from home that year. One Friday after long hours of studying, Kimmy and Linda asked about my plans for the evening. I was going to church for a campus ministry event, but I didn’t know what to say. So I just told them the truth, which is usually a good idea in those situations.
To my surprise, they actually wanted to come. Which both thrilled and terrified me. In case you don’t know, growing up Christian means that you are bombarded with three conflicting, angst-inspiring, crazy-driving messages:
1) Your friends who aren’t saved are going to hell.
2)The only way they will be saved is if you run out and invite them to church, RIGHT NOW, and you’d better hope the church service is really good or they will hate it and never want to come back, thus damning them eternally to hell.
3) When you ask your friends to go to church with you they will most likely respond with the verbal equivalent of an old testament stoning. They will ridicule you and probably never want to talk to you again. And if they never want to talk to you again, who will to invite them to church? That’s right, nobody. And then they will definitely end up burning in the fiery pits of hell.
Rewind four years. When I was in high school, I was a total goody-goody. I didn’t even drive until halfway through my junior year and didn’t have a lot of freedom even then. I wasn’t athletic at all, so my only after school activities were the campus bible club and anything that had to do with church. I really didn’t have very much in common with the other students at my school, except for the Christian ones of course. I was by no means an outcast or unpopular, though; as a matter of fact I was well-liked by pretty much everyone: I had an intact sense of humor, didn’t talk about people behind their backs or get caught up in stupid petty disagreements, and was both smart enough for people to want to copy my homework, and nice enough to let them do it (some of the time). But besides one or two people, my only really good friends were those who identified themselves as Christians. And I don’t think it has that much to do with not having enough in common, either. I was scared. (See the three points above.)
That’s right. I was afraid to make close relationships with people who were not of my faith because I didn’t want to be ridiculed or rejected… ummm… well, now that I think of it, that’s just the surface issue. Nobody wants to be made fun of, but if you feel strongly enough about something, a few bad jokes really become a non-issue. The ugly, cowardly truth is, I didn’t want to be responsible for offending someone so deeply that they turned their backs on Christ. When I carried my Bible along with my other textbooks, what kind of a statement was I making? Was it a welcome or a warning?
Hey everybody. Yup, I’m a Christian, look at me. You can ask me for a buck if you forgot your lunch money but don’t get too friendly because we preach at you. You don’t want that. Please don’t tell me about the guy you fell in love with and decided to give it up to or the drinking you did this weekend because if you do, I will have to call you out on it and start talking about how Jesus can fill that hole in your life. I will give you a bible and invite you to my church. Seriously though, unless you’re already in the club, please stay away because if I can’t turn you, I don’t want it to be my fault that you are going to hell.
Wow, the real monster in the closet emerges. Let’s put that thing back in its cage, shall we? I like the “I’m scared somebody might make a joke about me!” defense much better, don’t you?
Fast-forward four years, to the end of this story. I’m sitting in an apartment building, amazed that my friends actually want to go do something with me. Watching wide-eyed as they grab their purses and shoes and keys. No, neither of them will ‘join the club’ tonight. But they will tell me that they thought the service was fun, and beautiful, and moving.
Why do I hate inviting people to church? Because it shouldn’t be so hard. Because our friends should want to do things with us. Because we shouldn’t psych ourselves out so much that we live a life of fear, shunning relationships with non-believers that could *gasp of horror* go on for years and years without them ever coming to know Christ! Oh, what is a Christian to do?
Where did we ever get the idea that it is our job to do the ‘saving’? (Why, for that matter, do we bombard our young people with the bizzarre idea that only they can save a lost soul? Does that really serve the purpose of evangelizing, does it just alienate and therefore insulate them from a culture in need of God’s love?) Ok, I can understand spreading the Gospel to those who haven’t heard it. But first and foremost we are called to love God, and love the people in our sphere of influence. Sadly, today my sphere of influence (again!) has almost no non-Christians. So, sorry, I am not going to be inviting anyone to church anytime soon. But I am going to try my hardest to make myself available as a friend. A friend who is interested in more than whether people want to join my club.