Are We Missing the Point?
How the early church turned the world upside down with radical hospitality—and why we've settled for coffee and a handshake
If you've been in church long, you've not doubt seen it happen:
- A first-time visitor slips out the back door during the closing prayer.
- the fumbling words from a greeter who clearly hadn't expected anyone new...or, if that that, an overly enthusiastic response that makes it clear this church hasn't seen someone new for quite some time.
- The deer-in-headlights look when a visitor is asked if they are "walking with the Lord,"
- The inevitable moments when someone new at the church sits in someone's seat, isn't sure when to stand and sit, and is the only one in the room who doesn't know the communion routine.
The Ghost Visitor Experience
John was checking out a new church. It has been awhile, but he was realizing a newly renewed interest, so he worked up the courage to try out a new church fo for the first time. Let's be honest, this take at least as much bravery as trying a new restaurant where you can't pronounce anything on the menu). He slipped in, found a seat, and... nothing.
The service happened around him rather than with him. He felt like a spectator at someone else's family reunion, watching inside jokes fly over his head while wondering if that person three rows up was staring at him or just naturally had a really intense resting church face.
He left feeling exactly as connected as when he arrived: not at all.
Here's the brutal truth: If someone can attend your church for a month and still feel like a stranger, you're not practicing hospitality—you're practicing exclusion with a smile.
The Shallow End of the Welcome Pool
Jill was in a similar situation. She tried out a new church, too, and this church had clearly read every hospitality book available. They had greeters with name tags, visitor cards with gift bags, and enough coffee to fuel a small city. The welcome was warm, the handshakes were firm, and someone definitely remembered to mention that the bathrooms are "just down the hall and to your right."
She felt noticed. Acknowledged. Maybe even a little special.
And then... crickets.
She decides to return the following Sunday. After all, people were friendly. She quickly discovers that it's like starting all over. The greeter who was so excited to meet her last week now looked at her with a vague "do I know you?" expression. The pastor who shook her hand with such enthusiasm has apparently developed selective amnesia. The same thing happened third week, too, and the fourth, and no one ever moved beyond their Sunday morning friendliness.
She realized that she was experiencing "Sunday morning hospitality"— all surface, no substance.
Lost in Translation: The Christianese Problem
Both John and Jill, despite their reservations, decided to continue showing up at their respective churches, at least for a while, and see what happened. In the weeks that followed, they found themselves navigating the mysterious world of church language – Christianese – that sounds like it was designed by a committee of people who've never talked to an actual human being.
You're invited to "fellowship" (handshakes, perhaps, or eating together?), join a "small group" (which could be just about any size and meets in someones home...maybe?), and participate in "outreach" (does this mean feeding the homeless, or posting questionable Christiam mems on Facebook and Instagram, or something else?)
The membership materials are packed with phrases like "walking in biblical community," "authentic discipleship," and "missional living." Even worse, the pastor's sermons talked about things like "entire sanctification" and frequently said things like, "you all know this story, don't you?" All of these things may have made perfect sense to people who've been in church since they were knee-high to a communion table, but they sounded foreign to John and Jill.
If your church's vision statement requires a theology degree to understand, you've already lost half your audience.
I once read a church brochure that promised to help people "experience transformational community through incarnational ministry in the context of authentic fellowship." I'm still trying to figure out what that means, and I've been in church my whole life.
Remember When Church Changed the World?
Here's the thing – we have a pretty clear (and incredible) blueprint for what a church community can look like.
Let's turn to Acts 2, you all know where that is, right?
The early church was a group of people so captured by message of the gospel and the hope of Jesus Christ, that they reorganized their entire lives around it. They shared meals, shared resources, shared their lives. They were emotionally invested, passionately committed, and absolutely convinced that what they were doing mattered enough to risk everything.
They practiced radical hospitality—not as a ministry strategy, but because they genuinely believed that every person that came across their path was someone Jesus died for.
They weren't trying to get people to join their club; they were inviting people into a life-changing relationship, a world-altering movement.
These weren't perfect people with perfect theology and perfect systems. They were ordinary folks who'd been turned inside out by an extraordinary message and experience of grace. They couldn't help but create space for others to experience the same thing.
Hospitality: More Than Coffee and Donuts
True hospitality isn't about having the right programs or saying the right words. It's about creating space where people can belong before they believe, where questions are welcomed rather than feared, and where someone's story matters more than their ability to recite the right theological answers.
Hospitality is the art of making room for people to encounter Jesus without having to become someone else first.
This means being intentional about language (goodbye, Christianese), creating pathways for authentic connection (hello, actual relationships), and building systems that help people find their place rather than just fill a seat.
It means training greeters to remember names, equipping members to have real conversations, and following up with visitors not because the manual says to, but because we're genuinely interested in their story.
Reflection Questions
1. The Mirror Moment Think about your own church experience—both as a visitor and as a member. Can you recall a time when you felt like "a spectator at someone else's family reunion"? What made you feel included or excluded, and how might those same dynamics be affecting visitors to your current church?
2. Language Barrier Assessment Consider the language you use when talking about faith, church activities, and spiritual concepts. If someone who had never been to church was listening to your conversations or reading your church's materials, what percentage would they actually understand? What "Christianese" words or phrases do you rely on that might create barriers?
3. Hospitality vs. Welcome Reflect on the difference between the "shallow welcome" described with Jill's experience and the "radical hospitality" of the early church in Acts 2. Where does your church (or you personally) fall on this spectrum? What would it look like for you to move from Sunday morning friendliness to genuine life-sharing community?
Application Questions
1. The 30-Day Stranger Test Design a practical experiment: Have someone attend your church for a month as a "mystery visitor" and report back on their experience. What specific systems, training, or cultural changes would you need to implement to ensure that no one could attend for a month and still feel like a stranger?
2. Christianese Elimination Challenge Take your church's website, welcome materials, and vision statement and rewrite them using only language that a middle school student could understand. What words need to be replaced or explained? How can you communicate the same spiritual truths in accessible language?
3. Beyond Sunday Morning Strategy Create a concrete plan for moving visitors from "noticed" to "known" to "needed." What specific touchpoints, follow-up systems, and relationship-building opportunities will you establish? Who will be responsible for each step, and how will you measure whether people are genuinely connecting rather than just showing up?
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Steven E Fairbanks
Steven E Fairbanks
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