When Church Doesn’t Feel Like Home
I’ve been wrestling with something lately — something that I never really thought I’d have to face. I’ve been part of a church community for a long time. I’ve sat through countless Sunday sermons, served in ministries, and built relationships that have shaped my life. But somewhere along the way, I started feeling like I didn’t fit anymore.
It wasn’t that I stopped believing or that the people around me suddenly changed. Honestly, I can’t even point to a single moment when things shifted — but they did. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, I began to feel like I was on the outside looking in. Conversations in leadership meetings left me feeling more confused than connected. Decisions were made that I didn’t understand. And the more I tried to engage, the more it felt like I was being pulled into something that wasn’t about Jesus anymore — it was about politics, structure, and appearances.
And that’s when the conflict started.
Over the past 20 years, my wife and I have built tight, genuine relationships with the people we’ve served alongside in youth ministry. These aren’t shallow connections — we’ve walked through life with these people, seen kids grow up, shared heartbreaks and victories. We’ve sat on floors with teenagers, listened to their deepest fears, prayed with them, and helped them navigate faith in the real world.
But now, those relationships feel like they’re under attack.
Maybe it’s because of who we supported in the past. Maybe it’s because I’m not a simple, follow-the-leader personality who’s content to just go along with the flow. I’ve always believed that leadership isn’t about holding a position — it’s about leading with authority that comes from conviction, from knowing the people you serve and walking with them. But that kind of leadership doesn’t always sit well with church structures. Sometimes people would rather you just stay in your lane, nod along, and not ask hard questions.
I’ve learned the hard way that not every church leader appreciates that approach. There have been anonymous complaints — the kind that leave you feeling powerless because you don’t even know who’s speaking against you. There’s nothing you can respond to, no chance for reconciliation because you don’t know who’s hurt or why. And when conflict becomes more about politics and power than actual relationship, it cuts deep.
And honestly, that’s what hurts the most. The relationships we’ve built over decades are real — but now those relationships are being strained by invisible hands behind closed doors. I’ve found myself wondering, Is this really what Jesus intended?
Jesus didn’t run His ministry through anonymous complaints and quiet meetings. He confronted issues face-to-face. He restored broken relationships with conversation and truth. He didn’t build walls to protect the institution — He tore down barriers so that people could see and know God more clearly.
And that’s why I’ve started thinking about what it would mean to step outside of the structure — not to leave the Church, but maybe to rediscover the heart of it. I’ve been thinking about gathering with a smaller group of people, not in a church building but maybe in a living room or around a kitchen table. The early church did this — meeting in homes, breaking bread together, sharing their lives in an intimate and real way. There was no stage, no polished production — just people pursuing Jesus together.
But this isn’t about starting something new — at least not in the sense of building another “thing.” This isn’t about rebelling against the church or rejecting structure. It’s about doing something fresh. About creating space where real conversations can happen — not sermons, not programs, not agendas — just people, gathered around a table, figuring out faith and life together.
I’m not talking about leading a small group or launching a house church. Honestly, I’m not looking to be a leader right now — but I can be a host. A facilitator. A friend. I can open my home, invite a handful of people — believers, skeptics, people who aren’t sure where they stand — and just let the conversation happen.
No pressure. No structure. Just real connection. A place where people can share their doubts and questions without fear. A place where we can open the Word together, wrestle with it, and not have to land on neat answers by the end of the night. A place where prayer doesn’t feel forced and worship doesn’t have to mean singing — where it could be sitting in silence, or talking about hard things, or even laughing together after a long week.
I don’t know where this is going yet. But I know that I’m craving something real — something that feels more like Jesus and less like an institution. I’m not bitter. I’m not angry. I just want to find a space where I can sit with others, open the Word together, and share life in a way that feels… whole.
I’m not sure what the next step looks like. But I think it might be smaller. And quieter. And maybe even around a table instead of a stage.
So, here’s my invitation: If you’ve ever felt this way, if you’ve ever wondered whether there’s more to faith than church programs and Sunday services, maybe we can figure it out together.
Let’s sit down — at a table, on a back porch, or in a living room. Let’s talk about the hard stuff — the doubts and the struggles and the places where faith doesn’t come easy. Let’s pray — not because we have to, but because we need to. Let’s read the Bible — not to “study” it but to listen to it. Let’s just see where it goes.
No pressure. No agenda. No judgment. Just space.
Maybe that’s what Jesus had in mind all along.
