In a few days, I am taking off to Portland to be with my family as my daddy donates one of his kidneys to my aunt, who has been sick with kidney disease for over five years now. Undoubtedly, I will be spending the majority of my time in the hospital- a place commonly associated with death, illness, and sadness. While I can identify with the negativity surrounding hospitals and while they have hosted countless upsetting and impromptu family reunions within my lifetime, I can’t help but acknowledge that I am excited to spend some time in a hospital. Now, let me explain before you diagnose this confession as completely absurd and slightly creepy. I find the atmosphere within these underappreciated facilities to be unlike any other - a haven of realness, rest, and reflection. A hospital is a place of raw emotion; what’s left in the strainer of life after a hard rinsing. While technology and doctors combine to reveal one’s state of health, the gravity of the situations which are a constant in hospitals serve as an x-ray for the soul, exposing the innermost thoughts and emotions of its patients. Amidst all the chaos filling floor after floor of scrambling staff, ailing patients, and distraught family and friends, time seems to slow down and priorities begin to surface. When I step into a hospital elevator, I can feel the grief weighing down on me. And yet, when I walk through the long corridors on each floor, I can almost hear hope echoing off the walls. Such rawness penetrates through walled up relationships and hidden agendas, affairs, and addictions. So much is brought to light by means of sickness. There is something so right about the recognition of our fragile state and the admission that we need help which is found in a hospital and which is lacking in our churches.
As a disclaimer before I make these comparisons between church and hospital, I must say that I am indebted to every church I have every actively attended and I consider myself exceedingly blessed to have been challenged and comforted my whole life by my pastors and congregation. Nevertheless, there is something deeply wrong when I am surrounded by a deluge of tears in the hospital while the parishioner sitting next to me on Sunday dams in the emotions they fear will stain their façade. Why is it that when we cross paths with someone in a hospital and ask how they are, we expect to hear the diagnosis or dilemma, but the same question in church is rarely met with more than a one-word response? Why is it that more souls are laid bare beside the stretcher than at the altar? I believe that God chooses a desperate and humble cry over a smiling face and Sunday best any day. Church was not intended to be a gathering for the righteous, but a hospital for the sick. I’ll never forget what my pastor once said in response to those who accuse Christians of using God as a crutch: “Yeah, God is my crutch… and my stretcher… and my hospital… and my doctor!” We’ve all heard Matthew 9:12, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick.” And yet, we have successfully fooled not only ourselves but the world around us into thinking that church is a place where the upright congregate and sinners steer clear of. We are a people in a desperate state of urgency for a Savior. If our churches don’t reflect that urgency, how will everyone looking from the outside in know that God is the answer to their needs as well?
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