Come To The Banquet Just As You Are

Many years ago, I left the church of my youth as well as any faith I had in God, at least the faith that I was handed by the church I left.  

For years, I never darkened the door of a church, and I thought I was doing just fine without it. But when my former wife began encouraging me to return to church, I eventually relented, and we found ourselves in a Presbyterian church just down the road. 

There were things that I was uncomfortable with, but more than anything, I found myself crying every Sunday, as I came to realize that there were other ways to be Christian than how I'd been raised, that God is love, and that I was beloved.  

It took years for that to sink in completely, and over time, I've had some great guides along my journey with the Church.  One of those was Rachel Held Evans, an author who had been raised in a similar background as mine.   

In her book Looking for Sunday, the late Rachel Held Evans chronicled her search for a church community after leaving the Church for a time.  Like a good writer, she chonicled the journey, and discovered something amazing along the way.  

Rachel Held Evans once wrote: “In my struggle to find church, I’ve often felt that if I could just find the right denomination or the right congregation, if I could just become the right person or believe the right things, then my search would be over at last. But right’s got nothing to do with it. Waiting around for right will leave you waiting around forever. The church is God saying: ‘I’m throwing a banquet, and all these mismatched, messed-up people are invited. Here, have some wine.’”

There is something deeply freeing in her words. So many carry wounds from church—moments of exclusion, judgment, or disappointment that linger long after they’ve stepped away. Others have never quite stepped in, unsure if they belong or skeptical that anything meaningful could be found there. And still others show up every week, yet feel a quiet distance growing within them, as if the spark that once burned bright has dimmed.

Evans reminds us that the church was never meant to be a place for the “right” people. It is not a gathering of the flawless, but a table set for the hungry. Jesus tells a similar story in Luke 14, where the banquet is filled not with the expected guests, but with the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame. The invitation is wide, surprising, and undeserved. It is grace in its most tangible form.

The truth is, if we wait for the perfect church—or the perfect version of ourselves—we will wait forever. The beauty of the church is found not in its perfection, but in its people: imperfect, searching, healing, and learning to love. It is in shared laughter, honest prayers, and the quiet courage of showing up again.

To those who have been hurt: your story matters, and your hesitation is understandable. But perhaps there is still a place at the table for you. To those who feel disconnected even as you attend: the invitation is not just to be present, but to be engaged—to bring your full self, your gifts, your questions, your compassion. The church becomes more alive when you do.

God is still throwing the banquet. The table is still being set. And there is a place for you—not when everything is right, but right now.

Prayer:
Gracious God, thank you for inviting us just as we are. Heal the wounds we carry, soften our hearts, and draw us into community once more. Rekindle our love for your people and your church. Help us to show up, to belong, and to extend your welcome to others. Amen.

Reflection Questions:

1. What experiences have shaped your feelings about church, and how might God be inviting you to see them differently?

2. Where do you sense a longing for connection or belonging in your spiritual life?

3. How can you actively contribute to making your faith community a place of welcome and grace?