Pastoral Letter: Who Will Speak First?
– A Wednesday Reflection on the Ministry of Welcome
Last Wednesday morning, I shared coffee with one of our Welcoming Team members. As we talked, I could sense her deep love for Christ and for our church community. She said quietly, “I just don’t want anyone who comes to church to feel alone.” That one sentence stayed with me all day.
Her words reminded me of what holy hospitality really means. It is not a task or a program—it is a way of seeing people through the eyes of Christ. As we spoke, I began to imagine the kind of church we are becoming: a community where siblings in Christ are bound together not only in worship but in daily life, a church that loves, serves, and lifts one another up in the Spirit’s quiet rhythm.
We are already living into that vision. Grace always moves ahead of us, inviting us forward. And that is why I find myself praying with deeper hope. If we keep walking prayerfully and listening for the Spirit’s guidance, who knows what fruits of grace might yet blossom among us?
What kind of church do you dream of? A church where the choir’s voices and the resonance of organ, piano, and instruments rise in beauty; a church where drums, guitars, keyboards, and the praise team’s harmonies draw the congregation into joy-filled worship; and a church where the Word and the Table are shared in quiet simplicity—where reverence itself becomes music.
Even in a church filled with such beauty and sound, silence can still hide in the heart. And that is where hospitality begins—not with plans or structure, but with awareness, with choosing to move toward another person.
I have been in a room full of laughter and still felt outside of it. It takes only one voice, one smile, one gentle “hello” to break that distance. The gospel, I believe, begins right there—when someone dares to speak first.
I hope every person who walks into our church will taste and see the goodness of the Lord—not only through the Spirit’s presence but through the warmth of our community, through the small kindnesses that make God’s love tangible.
That evening, I went to our Youth Group gathering still thinking about that morning’s conversation. As we shared pizza, the room filled with laughter and stories from the week—successes, worries, and the easy teasing that marks friendship. I watched our students listen to one another with sincerity, and I realized again that church is not a place we go; it is the space we make for one another.
Our game that night was simple: shooting rubber bands at a popcorn tub. At first, no one could hit the target. Then came laughter, experiments, new strategies—and soon, victory. When we raised the challenge by folding paper to launch through the air, their focus and joy deepened. It was such an ordinary moment, yet grace shimmered in it.
Afterward, we gathered in a circle, and I asked, “Do you know what the word sin means?” They answered thoughtfully, speaking of right and wrong. One student added, “When we sin, we move away from God.” That opened the door for a deeper conversation.
I told them that in Hebrew, ḥaṭṭā’ means “to miss the mark,” and in Greek, hamartia means “to fall out of relationship.” Sin, at its core, is not merely moral failure—it is distance from God. We remembered how Peter began to sink when he lost sight of Jesus. When we turn our gaze away from Christ, we lose our footing; when we look again toward him, relationship is restored.
That night I meant to teach, but I was the one who learned: the gospel always begins with a restored relationship. That evening reminded me of my morning conversation—that every smile, every story shared in love, is itself an act of welcome in the name of Christ.
After the youth left and the Barn grew quiet, I prayed: “Lord, may the grace you gave these young ones tonight spread through our whole church, and touch those who come seeking You.”
If someone were to ask me, “What makes your church special?” I would say this: here, people who love Christ listen to one another’s stories. They laugh and cry and pray together. They gather to worship and scatter to love their neighbors. We are not perfect, but we keep moving—one faithful step at a time—toward the full stature of Christ.
And perhaps that step itself, that small act of reaching out, is where the gospel truly begins. Maybe that is what it means to hear that quiet call again: “Who will speak first?”
In Christ,
Pastor DH