Recently I was walking from one end of town to the other. It was the kind of long walk that clears your head and makes you grateful for good shoes. Halfway across a bridge over the interstate, I spotted a friend talking with someone I didn’t recognize.
My friend introduced us, and we dove into small talk. Then, quickly — with barely a blink — this new acquaintance looked me in the eye and asked, “Do you have a church?”
“I do,” I said. “I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“That’s great,” he said with a kind smile. “I know it well. I’d love to invite you to my church anyway.”
There was no awkward pause. No qualifying statement. No strategic softening of the ask. Just an invitation.
I thanked him and took a card for his church located a few small towns away in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.
Then I walked on, pondering how rarely we do that. But why?
Perhaps part of the answer is that the world feels unsettled. The news is a blur of war, division and tragedy. Conversations feel tense. Social media is loud. When everything around us feels fragile, we convince ourselves that an invitation to church might feel intrusive. Or worse, naive.
But what if this is precisely the moment people are thirsting for one?
In the New Testament, when two men begin following Jesus, he turns and asks what they’re seeking. They respond, “Rabbi, where dwellest thou?”
He answers plainly, “Come and see.” That’s it.
Christ didn’t wait until they were fully convinced. He didn’t survey their spiritual résumé. He didn’t schedule a follow-up once conditions were ideal.
He invited.
Again and again throughout his ministry, Christ extended invitations without sticking his finger in the spiritual wind. He invited fishermen mid-shift, tax collectors at their tables, and imperfect men and women in complicated circumstances.
“Follow me.”
“Come unto me.”
“Come and see.”
At some point in the 2,000 years since the master inviter showed the way, many of us decided we should only invite someone to church when the timing is flawless. We wait until the person has openly expressed interest, until the conversation feels perfectly aligned, until the potluck or talent show or children’s program is just right.
We wait until the person has openly expressed interest, until the conversation feels perfectly aligned, until the potluck or talent show or children’s program is just right.
And then, when the Spirit has practically delivered a notarized letter, we extend the invitation.
What if that hesitation says more about our fear than about someone else’s readiness?
The man on the bridge didn’t appear worried that I already belonged to a church. He wasn’t calculating conversion odds. He simply shared something that mattered to him. And I admired that.
Perhaps you’ve considered inviting a friend, neighbor or colleague to church, but paused after wondering: “What if they already have a church?”
Yes. They might.
Invite anyway.
An invitation is not an insult. It’s not a critique of someone else’s faith. It is not a declaration that what they have is insufficient.
It’s an act of friendship. You’re saying, “This matters to me. I’d love to share it with you.”
I’ve invited many acquaintances to church over the years. Some have come. Some have kindly declined. Not once — not ever — have I lost a friendship because I extended an invitation with love.
What I have lost, more often than I’d like to admit, is the courage to ask. And that’s the real risk.
Christians of all stripes speak often about sharing our faith. We discuss methods and timing and messaging. But sometimes sharing begins with something far less complicated.
It begins with a question: “Would you like to come to church with me?”
Christ’s model was not complicated. He did not pressure. He did not coerce. He did not manipulate outcomes. He invited: “Come and see.”
And in a world that feels unsettled, where headlines blur together and hearts carry more than they admit, this may be exactly the time to extend a simple invitation.
Not because everything is calm. But because it isn’t.
Don’t wait for peace to arrive before you point someone toward it. Whether you’re Catholic or Methodist, Baptist or Lutheran, Latter-day Saint or something else entirely, invite away.
Even here in this digital space of columns and comments, I wonder: Would you like to come to church with me?