Why I Still Believe in the Local Church

And why I stay

I know why people walk away.

I’ve sat with them, weeping. I’ve heard the sobs, the confusion, the fury that comes after someone trusted the Church with their heart, their pain, their story; and was met with dismissal or silence or, worse, exploitation.

I’ve held the hands of survivors who were told to forgive before they were even believed. I’ve stood beside pastors who have given their lives to the Church and then been devoured by it. I’ve looked into the eyes of those who once sang hymns with abandon and now can’t bring themselves to enter a sanctuary without flinching.

Some walked away quietly. Some walked away with a scream.
And I’ve almost walked away, too.

So no, I don’t judge the ones who left. I understand them.
The local church, for many, has not felt like sanctuary. It’s felt like betrayal.
And yet—I still believe.

I believe in the local church.
Not because it has always been safe or good or right.
But because I believe in Jesus.
And I believe that Jesus hasn’t given up on us.

The Church is a Mess. But It’s His Body.

Let’s be honest. If the Church is the body of Christ, she is bruised and limping. Sometimes her wounds are self-inflicted. Sometimes she lashes out and hurts the very people she’s meant to heal. She’s been captured by power, fame, celebrity, consumerism. She’s made idols of tradition and spectacle and success. And yet, she is still the place where God insists on showing up.

Jesus never distanced himself from broken bodies. He moved toward them. He healed them from within. He called them beloved. The same Jesus who touched lepers and knelt before betrayers and forgave with his dying breath is still showing up in our broken churches. Not because we’ve earned it, but because he is who he says he is: Emmanuel. God with us. Even here.

The Numbers Tell a Complicated Story

In recent years, nearly 40 million Americans have stopped attending church. That’s real. That’s grief. But the story is more layered than it seems.

According to Pew Research, the long decline in Christianity has recently slowed, and may have leveled off. Weekly attendance is stabilizing if not growing. And more than four in ten U.S. adults say their spiritual lives have grown stronger over time. In a post-pandemic world, many are returning. Quietly. Not en masse. Not to be entertained. But to find what digital life can’t offer: presence. Real presence.

Barna’s latest data shows Millennial church attendance nearly doubling since 2019, especially among communities of color. These aren't people chasing nostalgia. They’re searching for something real. Something rooted. Something embodied.

Embodied Hope in a Disembodied Age

That’s what I see in the local church. Not a perfect institution, but an embodied hope.

This is where we taste the bread. This is where we kneel and lift and anoint. This is where we show up tired and unsure and still sing. We clasp wrinkled hands. We whisper prayers over hospital beds. We baptize squirming toddlers. We pass the peace between people who haven’t spoken since the last elder meeting blew up. We lay hands on the anxious and anoint the dying and gather at the table as if Jesus is actually present, because he is.

You cannot livestream that. You cannot digitize it.
That kind of formation takes time, space, incarnation.

Jesus did not call us into convenience. He called us into communion.
And communion is messy. It takes presence. It takes staying.

I Don’t Want the “Good Old Days.” I Want the God Who Makes All Things New.

There is no going back. I don’t want to recover some golden age of church life. I don’t want a fog machine and a countdown clock and a shallow smile that covers rot. I also don’t want to cling to worn-out traditions just because they’re familiar.

I want Jesus. I want his presence. I want his Spirit poured out in our time, in our language, in our questions, in our living rooms, in our sanctuaries, in our fellowship halls, in our grief groups, in our youth rooms, in our awkward, ordinary, local churches.

I believe we are on the edge of a revival we cannot control, predict, or manufacture. I believe God is raising up prophets in sneakers and prayer warriors in recovery meetings. I believe the Spirit is stirring something we do not yet have language for. Something deeper than church growth strategies. Something more disruptive than denominational plans.

I believe that Jesus still believes in us.
And if he hasn’t walked away, then neither will I.

A Benediction for the One Who’s Tired

So if you are weary of the scandals, the noise, the politics, the pretending, hear this:

You are not alone.
You are not foolish for hoping.
Jesus is not done with his Church.
He is making all things new.
Not by rewinding the clock
But by redeeming the very mess we’re in.

I still believe in the local church.
Because I believe in Jesus.
And Jesus still believes in us.