Asking for a Friend - Is the Church a Mission Center or Social Club?

Matthew 28:16-20

Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshiped him, but they doubted.

And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit

and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you.

And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.

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We are party deprived. That’s the argument Ellen Cushing makes in a wonderful little article in The Atlantic earlier this year. On any given weekend or holiday, only 4% of Americans hosted or attended a social event. Polling shows most people like the idea of parties, but nobody wants to host them. Maybe that sounds familiar.

None of this should surprise us. More than any other time in modern history, adults spend less time with friends and more time alone—and we’re strangely okay with it. In fact, we often prefer it. Confined to our couches, transfixed by our phones, feeding on the stories our screens serve us. Simply put: we need more parties.

And yes, that’s part of my response to today’s question: is the church a mission center or a social club?

This is the second-to-last week of our Asking for a Friend series. And we have covered lots of big topics. But today the question is both what should the church with a capital C—the universal body of Christ across all time and space—be, but also the lowercase c church: Cross of Grace. What are we? A mission center or a social club?

Someone was looking at the list of questions a couple weeks ago and began laughing out loud. Oh no, I thought, we made a typo. But then they turned to me and said “who’s preaching on the 14th?”. I lied and said I don’t know because depending on why they laughed I might have changed it. But this person said well because it’ll be the easiest answer of them all. I said “why is that?” and they said because the answer is yes!

It is both a mission center and a social club. I’m sure many of you think so, too. But if I had to guess, most would say the church needs to be a mission center:the place that equips, educates, empowers, and then sends out not just people but disciples to share the gospel in word and deed. That’s what Jesus commands in the Great Commission: Go, baptize, make disciples.

Here at Cross of Grace, that language is familiar. Nearly 25 years ago, when we were just getting started in the school and knocking on doors, we called ourselves a mission center—even without a building. It’s also why we call ourselves Partners in Mission, not members. Members join to consume. Think wellness center, country club, or book club. But partners engage to participate. And this mission of sharing the grace of Jesus Christ, with no strings attached, depends on your participation.

It just so happens that church is also a social club. And sometimes we feel guilty about that—like fellowship is less important than mission, or just a by-product of “real” church work. But here’s the problem: too often we treat mission and worship like consumers. We show up, get what we think we need, and leave. That makes faith transactional—something we “use” to make ourselves better.

So maybe the real question is: should mission always come first, and fellowship second? I don’t think so. I don’t think that’s what the Bible shows us, either. Which is why today I want to come to the defense of church as a social club, because fellowship is not secondary. It’s essential.

Keep in mind, when we talk about church as a mission center or social club, we’re talking in metaphors.

And metaphors are helpful—they give us new ways of seeing something familiar. But no single metaphor ever tells the whole story. Take the old saying that the church is a “hospital for sinners.” It sounds good, but if we lean on it too hard, church becomes just a place you visit when you’re sick, get patched up, and leave until the next problem.

Every metaphor has limits. Whether we call the church a hospital, a mission center, a social club, or one of the thousand other metaphors we use. At best, they point us toward the deeper truth: the church is a community of flawed people, gathered by God, given the gift of grace in Jesus Christ.This gift of grace doesn’t just forgive us; it transforms us. It places us in relationship with God, and that changes who we are.

As Isaiah says, we become a light that reveals the source of our gift, a lens that offers a new way of seeing the world. We become liberators for those held down by oppression.

That is what Jesus did, and that becomes our mission too—not because we have to, but because we can’t help but share what we ourselves have received.

But that kind of work is never easy. It is hard, long, dangerous, and exhausting. Which is why the grace of God doesn’t just send us out—it also gathers us in. It gives us each other. Because if we’re going to live into this mission for any length of time, we will need fellowship.

That’s exactly what we see in Acts. After hearing Peter proclaim the grace of Jesus, the people were moved. But notice what they did next: they didn’t scatter to form food pantries or community centers. Instead, they devoted themselves to eating and praying together.

In just five verses, Acts gives us five reminders of the early church’s desire simply to be with one another.

Fellowship wasn’t an afterthought, and it didn’t come after mission. The two rose up together, side by side, as the Spirit’s gift to the church.

To me, the bigger miracle of Pentecost wasn’t that people suddenly spoke in languages they had never learned. The real miracle was that people actually wanted to be with one another. Can you imagine such a thing in the year of our Lord 2025? Fellowship be damned—we’d rather be alone.

Or maybe the deeper truth is we don’t really know how to be together anymore. And that’s exactly why I want to defend the Church—this church—as a social club for this moment in time. Because if we don’t know how to be together, then practicing fellowship is the mission.

At a time when political violence is rising, when fear of our neighbors is the default, when anxiety and loneliness feel normal—and we’re largely okay with that—the work the church is called to right now is fellowship itself.

And if you think that’s not biblical, Jesus should did spend a lot of time eating and drinking with people…

so much so that he was known as a glutton and a drunk. And the people weren’t just his disciples, but those who were different from him in every imaginable way.

Maybe if we spent more time together, if we ate and drank more together, if we learned how to talk and listen to one another, if we began to see the image of God in each person, we wouldn’t feel the need to tear each other apart over political disagreements.

I know that’s an over simplification, but I also believe it’s true. What’s really happening at our social gatherings—brew club, Mardi Gras, Oktoberfest, moms’ night, or anything else—is that the grace of Jesus Christ is shaping us. It’s teaching us to be a people who want to be together.

This desire is not soft sentimentality. It’s the work of the Spirit: forming in us a determination to care for our neighbors and seek their good, even when they are different, indifferent, or opposed to us. Grace gives us the desire—and the courage—to be in the company of one another.

And when we do, we begin to see the face of God in every person, whether a Partner in Mission, a neighbor, a friend, a Democrat, a Republican, a president, pundit, and more.

The Church is constantly reforming how we meet the needs of our neighbors and the world around us.

Right now that looks like more parties and more fellowship—especially with people who don’t look, act, think, believe, or behave like us.

Yet, what never changes is what we offer. The church, this church, always offers the grace of Jesus, with no strings attached. We offer it at the font, at the table, through the resources we share,

and yes, through the fellowship that binds us together in Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

Not So Golden Silence

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John 14:8-7

Philip said to him, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” Jesus said to him, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own, but the Father who dwells in me does his works.

Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me, but if you do not, then believe because of the works themselves. Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father.

I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it. “If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him because he abides with you, and he will be in you.

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Speech is silver. Silence is golden. That’s the full proverb, not just the part we usually hear. It implies it’s better to listen than to speak, and often I agree. But what about when those three little dots appear on your phone screen—and then vanish? How do we feel then? When you call someone and it goes straight to voicemail? When an email notification reminds you it’s been seven days with no reply? You submit a job application and never hear back.

They promised to call, but the phone stays silent. The calendar pages keep flipping, and you lose track of how many months it’s been since you last heard from your son or daughter, mother or father, family member, or once-close friend. Silence then isn’t golden. When communication stops, the silence isn’t just deafening; it’s devastating. Because we often take silence—an unreturned call, a job application ignored, a text unread—as judgment.

Instead of considering someone might be busy, distracted, or forgot their vacation responder, we assume they changed their mind about us or we offended them. Silence is rarely taken at face value. We struggle with silence because, as humans, we’re wired for communication. It’s how we connect and form bonds. When that connection is cut off, when we are ghosted, (or when we do the ghosting you know who you are) it causes confusion, lack of closure, even discontent. And we don’t function as we should.

Take, for instance, the silent treatment. We’ve all done it. We’ve all been on the receiving end of it. That is silence as punishment. Kipling Williams, emeritus professor of psychological sciences at Purdue University, has studied its effects for over 30 years. The silent treatment is a common tactic in all kinds of relationships: friendships, marriages, family bonds, coworkers—you name it.

Why do we do it? Some say it feels satisfying—like gaining control or making a point.

But psychologists warn it can cause lasting harm. One leading psychiatrist says that for those shut out, intentional silence triggers “anxiety, fear, and feelings of abandonment,”. It often leads to self-doubt, self-blame, and self-criticism.

Worse than that, silence hurts—literally. Purdue’s Dr. Williams found being ignored activates the same brain areas as physical pain. “It’s not just metaphorically painful,” he said, “the brain detects it as pain.” Silence can indeed be violence—or worse, deadly.

I wonder if the disciples felt like they were getting the silent treatment from Jesus. At the end of Luke’s Gospel, the last thing Jesus said to his disciples was, “Stay in the city until you have received power from on high.” In the first chapter of Acts, which continues Luke’s story, Jesus tells them just before his ascension, “You will be baptized with the Holy Spirit not many days from now.” So in Jerusalem, they went back and forth from the temple to where they were staying, praying continually and waiting for the Holy Spirit to come—whatever that would look like.

The first day passed—no big deal.

Day two, more prayers—still nothing.

By day three, their hopes were up—a lot can happen in three days, they told themselves. But again, nothing.

I wonder if the disciples, as they waited for this Holy Ghost, felt like they might have been ghosted? Hours became days, days became a week—and still no sign of the Holy Spirit.

Surely you know how this feels. Is there anyone who hasn’t waited for God to reply to their prayers? To make good on a promise you feel God has made to you, like not forsaking you, or comforting you, healing you, or simply helping you? Anything would be nice—even a no! But instead, you get silence. And just like with people, we take that silence to mean we’ve done something wrong and God is mad, or God doesn’t care, or there is no God at all.

I wonder if on the ninth night after Jesus ascended and promised to send the Holy Spirit, but had yet done nothing, those same thoughts crept into the farthest reaches of the disciples’ minds. But undoubtedly, some of you are thinking: Ten days? I’ve been waiting ten years, twenty years, or more to hear from God—and I’m still waiting today! Talk about the silent treatment—that hurts.

But on the morning of that tenth day, as the disciples were all sitting together in one place— the waiting gave way to a wind. Suddenly a sound like a rushing, gusting wind filled the house. Then tongues, cut in half down the middle, maybe engulfed in flame but not burning—like the bush from Moses—dropped from heaven and landed on each of them. Somehow, the tongues were the bearers of the Holy Spirit that then filled the disciples and allowed them to speak in other languages.

And you know the rest of the story from there. Jews from all around the world understood the disciples. Peter gave a sermon. Nearly 3,000 were baptized that very day.

I think Pentecost has a lot to teach us about the silence we face in this life—both from God and from others.

First, your answer or response from God might—perhaps is even likely—to come in ways you never could have imagined. I’m sure divided tongues of fire weren’t on any of the disciples’ bingo cards for how Jesus would make good on his promise to give the Holy Spirit.

I can’t imagine how frustrating and painful it is—or has been—for those of you who feel like God has altogether forgotten your prayers, your concerns, or simply you. But Pentecost gives us hope—maybe gives you hope—that whatever it is you’re waiting for will come, just in a way you never anticipated. William Cowper, the 18th-century poet, has it right: God moves in a mysterious way.

Second, being in and among a community helps. It helps with discernment and hope. Pentecost wasn’t an individual experience, but a communal one. Everyone had been praying together. Everyone had been waiting together. God moves in a mysterious way, yes; but God also often works in the midst of community. That’s why we, as a community, gather for worship, prayer, fellowship, and more—to help one another in discernment, to offer hope when someone has all but run out, to be the person God is at work through for the other. And if you don’t have that kind of community, I hope Cross of Grace can be that place, that people for you, with you.

Lastly, if the Holy Spirit was able to give words and understanding to people from all over the world on that Pentecost, surely the Holy Spirit can do the same in this time and place. How many of us are experiencing silence with someone we love because we don’t know what to say?

Maybe it’s about politics, or a fight you got into, or a mistake that was made, and you haven’t approached them because you don’t think you have the right words, or you don’t know what to say, or they won’t understand no matter what.

I think that is a dominant feeling for nearly everyone in our culture today. But one thing research tells us is that the silent treatment doesn’t work—and one thing our faith tells us is that the Holy Spirit can do the impossible, like people from Galilee speaking languages from all across the world.

We need a Pentecost today. We need the Holy Spirit to give us words that transcend differences, that repair what has been broken, that grow a community. At a time when we are so dangerously and direly divided, when there is so much pain and misunderstanding, we need the ability to not only speak, but perhaps even more so the ability to understand one another.

Henri Nouwen says, “One of the main tasks of theology [and I would also say of the church] is to find words that do not divide but unite, that do not create conflict but unity, that do not hurt but heal.”

In the days ahead, Reach out to someone with whom you are experiencing silence.

Send a text, make a call, and simply say, ‘I’m thinking of you.’ Let the Spirit move through your words and actions.

In your prayers, lament and be honest with yourself and with God about the silence and pain you’ve experienced from God. And then ask God to work, move, do something! The Psalms, the prophets, even Jesus himself do all of these things, so you’ll be in good company.

Look for moments to listen deeply this week—to a friend, a family member, or someone you normally might not hear. Maybe that's at our Christian Nationalism class or a family gathering or even a different news channel than you normally listen to.

Pentecost is about listening/understanding as much as speaking. These small steps are ways we can practice living in the Spirit’s power now because, we don’t need any more silence, no matter how golden, nor the pain that comes with it.

We need a Pentecost, to break the silence and build community. Come Holy Ghost.

Amen.