I once visited a church and sat next to an alcoholic called Phil.[1] I know Phil was an alcoholic because he told me quite soon after church finished. The whole gathering had been lively and emotional, with professional music and young happy faces on the stage. After it was over, Phil struck up a conversation with me. Phil told me he’d been coming to church for years, and he had been tremendously helped by their program for alcoholics. I was really encouraged by Phil’s simple yet significant ministry towards me. He welcomed me, and he took the time to talk to me. He told me about his faith in Jesus, and he told me what Jesus had done for him through the church. But then, Phil said something that made me feel very sad. He said, “Of course, I’m not a great Christian—like those people at the front of church. They have their lives together. I’m just an alcoholic.” We kept talking for a while after that (in fact, I shared with him something similar to what I’m writing about here) and we prayed with each other. I left church that day with both joy and sadness. I was joyful because of what Jesus had done in Phil’s life. But I was sad because of how Phil felt about his own Christian status.
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Church is a place of labels. Some are useful—for example, we wear name tags so we can more easily engage with others in fellowship, or sometimes we’re categorized into groups so we can be pastored more easily. But some labels are burdensome to the bearer and scary or embarrassing to the reader—unless you know what to do with them. Then these labels can become a signal for knowing how to love and care for that person.
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