The church is a hospital. That’s true.
But it’s a hospital with no doctors, only patients. The healing hands of the great physician are not always miraculously coming down from above. No, many times He uses the wounded to tend the wounded.
Grace given to sinners is also grace to be given through sinners.
But, we still have to face the fact of disappointments.
Psychologist H. Norman Wright once said that, on balance, most people will experience more anger in life toward our own husbands or wives than anyone else.
Why? Because there is no one else closer to us. To get close to the family of God is discover that you are a disappointing person called into community with other disappointing people.
I love the church. I love the church from the outside in and from the inside out.
I love the faith, the love, the pettiness, the doubt, the hope, the spirituality and the carnality that walks her halls, sits in her meetings, and serves her cause in the world.
I love the visible, gathered, in-the-flesh church as it is, not simply the church as I wish it was.
And, here’s the marvel, I have it on good authority that they actually love me.
Once, Oliver Cromwell is said to have scolded the artist painting his portrait: “No, no, no. Go back and this time paint me warts and all.” I’ve seen the painting of Cromwell. There’s no doubt the artist did just that.
I wish I had never disappointed a church. I wish a church never disappointed me. But, there we stand, blemishes and warts and all. And to think, He calls this His bride.
