They don't care...

They don’t care about our church building.

The addict.

The one in the closet floor holding a needle.

Ravaged skin from desperately chasing false hope and thrashing within themselves against temptation.

They don’t care about our movie night.

The late night worker.

The one gathering her clothing. Clothing that took last ounces of dignity with it as it hit the floor next to forsaken empty tears.

Smeared mascara across a face that once exuded the lost art of joy.

They don’t care about our small group.

The one contemplating ending it all.

The one grasping for hope and only finding emptiness.

The one contemplating forever silencing a mouth that once proclaimed the gospel. Church hurt soul.

They don’t care about our Christmas cantata.

They don’t need our new sign or our member count.

They need the Holy Spirit.

They need chains to break.

They need altar intercessors that aren’t afraid to mess up their makeup.

They need week day warriors that work beyond Sunday unafraid to reach into the depths of darkness.

They need Peters that will say...

“Silver or gold have I none , but what I do have I give you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk.”

They need us to be who you claim to be.

Not to our friends on Facebook.

In and out of the churches we’re so proud of.

They need real. They need raw.

They need a leader.

One that will take off their expensive suit, roll their sleeve back and show them the healed scars that resemble their own.

Despite what their fellow leaders will think.

They need the woman that will strip herself of pride, toss what her friends think to the side and crawl into the crevices of poverty to whisper her testimony to the one in the place she used to be.

They don’t need our reputation.

They don’t need our new Easter outfit.

They need the anointing that breaks the yoke.

Don’t get me wrong.

Church is so good. Movie nights are so good. Christmas Cantatas are so good.

Those things are so needed…

But they aren’t enough without the Holy Spirit and people unafraid to carry it.

It’s time we move beyond cleaning up our testimony and polishing our shelf ridden purpose.

It’s time we moved beyond the Hymn on page 47 and went to the dilapidated house on 47th street.

Broken people don’t care about our fake, our shallow or our new church logo.

So remember that during every Cantata this year...

There’s an addict that perhaps no one is interceding for.

Remember that during our movie nights...

There’s a bullet and someone grasping for hope.

Just remember we can celebrate our member count.

We can promote our church.

We can buy a new sign for a new year.

But they don’t care.

And it’s not what they need.

They need the fire of the Holy Ghost.

Can you bring it?