The Role of Hospitality in Reaching the Dechurched

Ideas don't always come from Ideas.

Sometimes we think of people who’ve dechurched in terms of their ideas: they had ideas about Christianity. Now they have ideas that are secular. True enough. But something we often forget about people who’ve dechurched, or are deconstructing, is that we humans are as influenced by communities as we are by ideas.

In fact, you could say: sometimes our ideas follow our communities.

How many people have dechurched or deconstructed primarily because they’ve simply found a warmer, more hospitable and less judgmental community outside of the church? My hunch, based on plenty of interactions with dechurched folks, is that this is actually a far bigger driver of deconstruction than the ideas behind deconstruction itself…even if that community is simply an online hoard of voices who can relate to and affirm their gripes with the church. That - at least for a time - is scratching at that real human itch we all have to be really understood.

Now, it’s not that the ideas of the dechurched stay the same. It’s that the community often comes first, and the ideas follow…more like a slow erosion than a systematic and thoughtful rebuilding of a house. Sometimes that’s how our ideas work: by osmosis. Not all the time. But I’ve seen it.

So what does that mean for those of us who love people outside the church?

It means that while it’s good to be prepared to defend the Christian faith against loud online deconstructing voices, the truth is, our arguments will rarely find a home in the heart of someone who hasn’t experienced a compelling Christian community. This isn’t meant as an argument against arguments! What I’m trying to say is: we need to focus at least as much effort on creating compelling communities for the disillusioned as we do on creating compelling arguments for faith, and against heresy.

This, after all, is what Jesus did for us, isn’t it? He “tabernacled among us” (John 1:14). That’s not simply because Jesus had some great ideas, and adding humanity to his divine nature was the best vehicle for those ideas. It’s actually more profound and mysterious than that. Jesus walked among us because he was the ideas he was talking about. He was truth, embodied.

In the same way, I’d argue that whatever ideas we’d like our dechurched neighbor to believe can’t completely be communicated in abstraction. Part of the truth of these ideas is found in the way they are embodied in Christ’s community: the church.

That’s all a fancy way to say: we need to be people who practice hospitality toward our disillusioned and dechurched friends. We need to fully live into a compelling, Christ-shaped community that offers far more warmth and grace than the world. That’s something, sadly, I can confidently say most folks who’ve left the church have never experienced.

So, what does that look like? I don’t have a systematic plan for your life, but here are some ideas I’ve found useful over the years:

1. Consider spending time in their space.

Last week, a friend and fellow minister was telling me about working in the U.K. with lots of expats. Most of them, he said, were ex-vangelical and feeling some level of disillusionment with the American church.

“The pivot point for them,” he shared, “was when I would go into their spaces. I can think of one man in particular who I asked to help me with a project, and that meant spending some time in his space. That was when things changed for him. He became open to conversations about Jesus, and the church, after that.”

In many ways, this is a harder and braver way to show hospitality. It requires us to leave spaces where we’re in charge, and enter into spaces where others are in charge. But this was the way Jesus’ exercised all of his hospitality toward others. “The Son of man”, after all, “has nowhere to lay his head” (Matthew 8:20). What a humble guy! Jesus - Lord of the universe - constantly put himself in spaces where others were in charge.

It’s no wonder people felt compelled by him (and offended!).

2. Find your “front porch”.

Two years ago, Tim Keller wrote a compelling article based on some of Dutch theologian Abraham Kuyper’s observations regarding ministry in a post-Christian context. Kuyper begins by describing the purpose of the Jewish temple “forecourt”: a place where those not committed to the Jewish faith could spend time, have good conversations, and explore the shape of faith without being believers themselves.

In that article, Keller argues that Christians need to build more “forecourts” in society: places where people can feel the Christian faith and see it’s shape, before they commit to it. To put it in modern language, he argues, churches need to be about the business of building more “front porches:” “Congregations must build their own church porches where they can serve lemonade to outsiders who are not yet ready to come all the way into the ‘house,’ but where they can be prepared to do so.”

I fully agree with this, and I’m thankful to be around lots of people doing that work: building “front porch” institutions, and building “front porch” rhythms into the life of the church (like a q&a with dinner).

But for those of us who aren’t in ministry, or building institutions, how do we create “front porch” spaces for our dechurched friends?

Here’s the easiest, most natural way I’ve found to do this: form or join a common-interest group. That could be:

-A group of people who love weird indie movies (I’m in one of these).

-A running or biking group.

-A group committed to the dignity of creating sock puppets.

It almost doesn’t matter what it is. It doesn’t even have to be a formal “club” or organization (though it can be, which often gives far more opportunities to build bridges that wouldn’t otherwise exist).

If you don’t have time for a group, just figure out what you and your dechurched friend both enjoy…and get a group of people together to do it! Even if it only happens once a season, that’s still a huge step: Whether it’s golfing, working out, creative writing or simply working in your favorite coffee shop, you can create a makeshift “front porch” where deeper conversations about life are natural and non-threatening.

3. Host a party.

In my book, “The Light in Our Eyes”, I tell the story of my friend Luke the Dirt Scientist. Luke was “out” on church his freshman year of college. But after about a year of spending time with RUF (the ministry I was part of), Luke decided to become a Christian.

How did Luke receive this profound understanding of Jesus’ love toward him?

That’s what I asked him one day of his Senior Year in the cafeteria with the stir-fry (the best cafeteria). I asked him what, exactly, had recaptured his interest in Christianity and compelled him to seek out Jesus for answers. I was thinking of a couple of really great sermons I’d done, and I was thinking about how I’d led some very excellent Bible studies with him.

And do you know what he said?

He said: “It was probably the night we made pizzas at your house. It was like just five of us and it was super awkward but I just loved it.”

“Um, no,” I said. “I asked you what really helped you become a Christian. You know like a sermon I preached or something. Or something I said or something. Or something profound I wrote to you or something.”

“No, that was it. The pizzas. Obviously hearing about Jesus was key. But when we made pizzas at your house, I thought, ‘I’m in. This weird little community is what I’m looking for.’”

What I wanted to say was, “SERIOUSLY!? The stupid pizza night? That was lame!”

But what I said was: “That is very beautiful, Luke.”

For Luke, the merciful love of Jesus embodied - just five of us, making pizzas at our house one night - demonstrated the power of the gospel to him.

And I’ll be honest, here’s what I was thinking that whole night: “This is not a good event. This is not going well. People are talking about math and one kid is only talking to my dog.” But Jesus still used this to reach Luke’s heart. Maybe the weirdness of it was part of it. I don’t know.

But here’s the moral of the story: it doesn’t even have to be a good party.

It just needs to be a group of Christians finding joy in life together, as best as they can.

Conclusion

The point of all this isn’t to overwhelm you, and I know some of you are feeling that right now. These are ideas, not commands.

Could one of these work for your life, now?

Who do you have in mind?

What would it look like for you?

If we’re to effectively bring people into the Christian community, we need to be honest with ourselves: do we have a community worth bringing people into? Are we creating those spaces? My hope and prayer is that as we rethink the ways we reach a post-Christian culture, we’re also finding a sense of restoration and renewal in the church for ourselves.

Creating hospitable communities isn’t just effective.

It’s what Jesus dreams about. For us. For them. For the world.