Church Is A Messy Masterpiece

What's up, church? Welcome to Lagniappe. Let me tell you what's on my mind — and I need you to just hang with me, because you're going to want to close this page. Here's what's on my mind today: it is, of all things, Covid.

And I know you're thinking, "Brad, we don't want to think about Covid.” Hang with me.

Of All Things, Covid!

What I was thinking about today was one of the few positive things I think happened during Covid. Yes, we don't like thinking about masks, and we don't like talking about wiping down our groceries — but it was a season where people tried new things and developed new hobbies. That was fun! Like a lot of people, Pastor Brad decided he needed a new hobby.

Some people were watching Great British Bake Off and decided they were going to bake sourdough bread. Some people were building decks because they wanted to be outside. Most people just decided they were going to become experts at watching obscure Netflix documentaries.

I Decided to Become an Artist

I decided I was going to learn how to paint — not the side of a house or walls, but I was going to be an artist. Now I need you to understand something: painting has never been something that I've done. It's never really been something that anybody in my family has done. We're definitely more sports and outdoor kinds of people. You give us a ball, a fishing rod, a grill, and a muddy pair of boots, and we're good to go. But you give us a canvas and a color wheel, and people start getting awkward.

Nevertheless, I wanted to paint. I've always wanted to have art skills. The main problem is that God, in all of His sovereignty and His wisdom, did not seem to distribute those particular gifts anywhere near my direction. But I thought, Covid's the time to do this. So I went and did what we all do. I went and bought paintbrushes and canvases and little art supplies that make you feel artistic before you've even made a piece of art. I watched YouTube videos of some dude who paints a masterpiece of some beautiful landscape in like 12 minutes, in some calm Bob Ross voice. I thought, this is easy. How hard could this be?

I'm thinking in a week or two I'm going to be painting masterpieces. I'm going to be painting gifts for my friends, putting paintings all over my house, and people are going to walk in and say, "Wow, where did you buy that?" I would just humbly say, "You know what? Actually, I didn't buy that. I painted it — in some season of deep personal reflection and growth."

"I Thought This Was Going to Be Easy"

That all sounds good. But an hour later, there was no deep personal reflection. There was no growth. There was only paint … everywhere. Paint on the table, the floor, my pants, my hands. There was paint on things that God never designed to have paint on them. I'd gone through about six rolls of paper towels. Brushes were in my wife's kitchen sink. Supplies were everywhere. It looked like an art store had come in and thrown up all over our kitchen.

I will never forget Emily walking into the middle of the kitchen, in this very mature, calm, loving way, with the concern of a woman who's trying not to call our insurance company, and said, "What have you done to my kitchen?"

All I could say was, "I thought this was going to be easy."

That was my mistake. This is what is on my mind today for this Lagniappe. I remember starting this hobby, and I thought all kinds of things that were wrong. I thought it was going to be pretty. I thought it was going to be relaxing. I thought it would be enjoyable. I didn't realize that it was going to be messy. I didn't realize it was going to be infuriating, frustrating, humbling, and difficult it was going to be.

So I did what we do when we're frustrated, when our expectations have blown up, and when something's harder than we want to admit. I gathered up all of the art supplies, I marched to the garbage, and I threw them away. I said, with deep personal conviction, "I quit."

This Is How We Treat the Church

Here's what I'm talking about — because it dawned on me. I think that's how a lot of people think about the church. They come in with grand ideas. They imagine church is going to be easy and beautiful, fun, simple — one big, happy family all the time, where there's no conflict and no awkward conversations. Maybe no hurt feelings and no misunderstandings. There's just never going to be sinners who act like sinners. It's just going to be worship, coffee, community and everybody getting along all the time, like the final scene of a Hallmark movie.

Then they join. They get involved, they step into real community, and they discover how messy church can be. People can disappoint one another. They start to discover that relationships require work, leaders are imperfect, communities are not always simple, serving isn't always easy, and loving people is costly.

I think sometimes, when those expectations hit and those realizations hit, people do the same thing I did when their expectations of church have blown up. Sometimes they gather up all of their expectations, march to the garbage, and with deep conviction they say, "I quit."

Don't Quit Too Soon

But here's the part I don't want you to miss: quitting too soon keeps you from seeing what God might be making. It keeps us from seeing the masterpiece.

I think about my story. Eventually, I did go back to the trash can. I did pull out all of my art supplies. I hired a teacher. Even though it was humbling, I kept learning. Guess what? After some time, I'm making progress. I'm not half bad. I'm not saying the Louvre has called, but at least my paintings no longer look like some crime scene. You can tell what it is when I'm done.

There are actually some people — not everybody — who like my paintings. I've even gotten to the place where I enjoy it. But here's what I want to tell you: it took time. It took patience. It took instruction. It took humility. It took staying with the process long enough to see growth.

I think church is absolutely like that. If we leave the moment it gets messy, we may never see the masterpiece that God's forming in the family of God. We may never learn to love deeply, to forgive honestly, to serve patiently, to depend on mercy, to grow into the people Jesus is making us to be.

Church Is Messy — But It's Worth It

So the question really isn't whether church is going to be messy. Friends, let me tell you something: it is. It always is. Go back and read the Scriptures. The question is whether we're going to quit when it gets messy, or whether we're going to stay with it long enough to see God work in that mess.

That's it. That's the little extra beignet in the bag — the Lagniappe that I have for you. I hope it encourages you. Stick with it. I love you.