The Church Beyond the Building

We’re living in the loneliest era of human history.
That may sound dramatic, but the numbers back it up. A Harvard study found that over a third of Americans feel chronically lonely. Among young adults, that number jumps to over 60%. Despite living in cities surrounded by people, and despite having more ways to connect than ever before, many still say, “I feel invisible.” “I reach out, but no one reaches back.”
It’s not just a feeling—it’s a health crisis. The U.S. Surgeon General reports that chronic loneliness can be as damaging as smoking 15 cigarettes a day. It’s affecting our bodies, our minds, our sense of purpose. It’s tearing at the fabric of our society.
But what if that ache for belonging is more than just a cultural consequence of technology or urbanization?
What if it’s a spiritual signal—an inner clue pointing us back to something deeper?

The deeper I look at this epidemic of loneliness, the more I see a hunger that gadgets and entertainment can’t satisfy. A hunger for real connection. For community. For meaning. For love that doesn’t need a filter or a perfect calendar.
Secular researchers are beginning to take notice, too. One study traced the decline of weekly religious gatherings—from over 50% of Americans a few decades ago down to just 21% today. And with that decline came a surge in loneliness.
The study’s author said something remarkable: “I’m not saying people need to become more religious. But we’ve got to figure out how to recreate what religion provides—intergenerational relationships, moral guidance, and a rhythm of connection.”
In other words, how do we get what the church offers… without the church?

You can't.

You can’t have what the church provides without the One who created it.
You can’t recreate God’s design without God.

This longing for connection isn’t new. It’s ancient. In fact, God’s answer to loneliness and fragmentation has always been the same: a people.
When Peter wrote to the early church—scattered, persecuted, and small—he reminded them of who they were:

“But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession… Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God.”
(1 Peter 2:9–10)

This isn’t just poetry. It’s identity. The church isn’t a building or a Sunday event. It’s not a brand or a podcast or a livestream. The church is a people.
And not just any people. A people saved by Jesus, shaped by grace, and sent with purpose.

Somewhere along the way, we started talking about church as a place we go.

“I’m going to church.”

“Want to go to church in Pasadena?”

But if you replace the word “church” with “family,” it starts to sound odd.

“I’m going to family.”

“Want to go family in Pasadena?”

You don’t go to family. You are family. And you show up for them.

That’s the shift we need. Because when we think of church as something we attend, we rob ourselves of the deeper purpose God intended. Church becomes a consumer experience—one more thing we try to fit into a busy week.
But the early church wasn’t built around a stage. It was built around a table. Around life shared. Around a Savior who invites us to not just believe in him, but belong to one another.

Sometimes we picture Jesus as only doing dramatic, public miracles. But most of his life wasn’t spent preaching or healing. For 30 of his 33 years, Jesus worked with his hands. Quiet. Hidden. Ordinary.
And yet, even then, he was faithful. He showed what it looked like to live with God at the center of everyday life.
In his teaching and in his death, Jesus didn’t just save us from sin. He saved us into a family. He created a new kind of people—a people who live together in such a way that the world can see what God is like.
This isn’t about better behavior. It’s about being reshaped by belonging.

I’ll be honest: the church hasn’t always lived up to this calling. We’ve too often reduced it to Sunday services, volunteer slots, and nice programs. But Jesus is inviting us to something deeper.
A place where your marriage can struggle and you won’t be shamed.
A place where you can lose a job and not be alone.
A place where you can doubt, confess, and still be loved.
This is what the world is aching for.
And this is what the church, at its best, can be.

So where do we begin?
This week, try a simple shift: stop saying, “I’m going to church.” Start saying, “I’m worshiping with my church.”
It may sound small. But the words we use shape the world we live in. They remind us that church isn’t an event we consume—it’s a people we commit to.
And if you’re ready to explore more of what it means to be the church in the everyday stuff of life, join us for the next eight weeks. We’re reading Saturate by Jeff Vanderstelt—a book about ordinary discipleship, shared mission, and Spirit-filled rhythms.
We’re hosting book clubs. We’ve got summaries if reading’s not your thing. Whatever your schedule or background, there’s space for you.

Let’s repent of the small vision we’ve had for church. The version that fits God into our calendar, instead of reordering our life around Him.
Let’s become a people who live and love in such a way that the world sees Jesus through us.
Because the ache for belonging in our culture? It’s real.
But so is the answer.
It’s Christ in us.
And the church is still here.
Still alive.
Still open.
Come be part of it.