Church Faces Everyone, Church Faces
So if you’re looking for a perfect church—this isn’t it.
Let me tell you where I learned theology.
Not seminary.
Not a quiet time.
Not even the Bible—at first.
I learned it in the church parking lot.
Growing up, my mom played the organ. And my dad had what I would call a statistically informed faith.
He used to say, “There’s about a 60 percent chance God exists… and your mom is playing the organ.”
Which translated to: “Get in the car. We’re going to church.”
So my sisters and I would pile into the car.
And church—started in the car.
There was cussing.
There was fighting.
There was crying.
There was weeping and gnashing of teeth—biblical levels.
It was chaos.
It was Lord of the Flies with seatbelts.
I don’t even remember what we fought about, but we fought!
Hair was messed up.
Feelings were hurt.
Nail marks were left where someone dug in for emotional survival.
All of that in a 20-minute ride.
It was chaos.
It was family.
It was not spiritual—unless you count desperate prayers.
And then—we’d pull into the parking lot.
My dad would turn around, calm as a monk, and say the most sacred words he knew:
“Church faces, everyone. Church faces.”
And we knew exactly what that meant.
Wipe the tears.
Fix the hair.
Adjust the attitude.
Smile like you’ve been walking with Jesus all morning.
We’d step out of the car looking like a catalog for holiness—
while five seconds earlier we were one argument away from Revelations.
The greatest miracle in most churches doesn’t happen in the sanctuary—it happens in the parking lot.
And that’s where I learned something early:
Church is where you show up presentable, not honest.
The Masks We Wear (And Why We Wear Them)
We wear masks because we’re afraid.
Afraid that if you knew the real me—the car-ride me—the messy me—the not-okay me—you might reject me.
Psychology calls this impression management.
Attachment theory calls it protective behavior.
The Bible calls it fig leaves.
If Adam and Eve taught us anything, it’s this: shame makes tailors out of all of us.
So we curate.
We filter.
We learn the language.
We perfect the church face.
But here’s the problem:
Masks don’t create community.
They create crowds.
And crowds are lonely.
You can be surrounded by people and still completely unknown.
Why I’m Still Doing This
Let me say this clearly:
I don’t have to do ministry.
I could stop. I could do something easier. Something quieter.
Something with fewer opinions and fewer emails.
But I’m still here.
Not because it’s impressive.
Not because it’s safe.
Not because it’s glamorous.
I’m here because I feel called.
And not called to build a megachurch.
I don’t ask pastors anymore, “How big is your church?”
I ask, “How loving is your community?”
Because God isn’t building an audience.
He’s building a people.
The kingdom of God has never been impressed with attendance—it’s impressed with faithfulness.
Bonhoeffer, Imperfection, and Real Community
Dietrich Bonhoeffer said it best in Life Together:
“He who loves his dream of a community more than the Christian community itself becomes a destroyer of the latter.”
Translation: The fantasy of perfect people ruins real church.
The sooner we admit we are all imperfect, the sooner we get to real community.
Confession doesn’t weaken the church—it activates it.
Grace doesn’t work in theory—it works in practice.
Real community isn’t built on pretending.
It’s built on presence.
Grace only works when there’s something to forgive.
Fighting for Your Future, Not Shaming Your Past
In real community, we don’t shame people for where they’ve been.
We fight for where they’re going.
That means love and truth.
Grace and growth.
We say:
“I see you.”
“I know your story.”
“And you’re better than that.”
Not in a condemning way.
In a covenant way.
Love without truth is sentimental. Truth without love is brutal. Jesus refused both.
Wounded Healers and Overestimated People
This will be a community of wounded healers.
Not people who have it all together—
but people who have been met by God in their brokenness.
Jesus didn’t choose impressive disciples.
He chose available ones—and then He overestimated them.
Peter didn’t act like a rock.
Jesus called him one anyway.
That’s what God did with me.
That’s what my mom and dad did with me.
They put a crown on my head when it didn’t fit yet—and loved me while I grew into it.
People grow into the names love gives them.
What We Will Be Known For
A lot of churches are known for what they’re against.
We won’t be.
We’ll be known for what we’re for:
For love
For God
For people
For your future self
We will overestimate people on purpose—because Jesus did.
Because God did with me.
An Invitation, Not a Performance
So if you’re looking for a perfect church—this isn’t it.
But if you’re looking for:
An imperfect yet loving community
A place where you don’t have to keep your church face on
A people who slow down enough to know your name
And slow down enough to talk about something deeper than the weather
Then maybe—just maybe—this is your place.
Not because we’re impressive.
But because we’re intentional.
We’re not building a church you attend. We’re building a community you belong to.
And that’s why I’m still here.
Not because I have to.
But because I’m called.
The Best Is Yet To Come, Real Community—-
Rev. John Roberts
That Bonhoeffer quote about loving the dream of community more than the actual community cuts deep. The car-ride-to-church imagery is so visceral because everyone's lived some version of that dissonance between private reality and public presentation. Communities do get stronger when they stop demanding performances, had a mentor once tell me people can smell authenticity through walls and it's true.
Thank you, John for your caring words! Church is a gathering of imperfect people trying to learn and grow in God,s word with the help of our hope dealer! This is not for “perfect” people—as if they exist! I am certainly imperfect, but work daily to be better!