*Someday I’ll write a book.  When I do, some of what follows will be in it.

I sat there that night knuckles white, choking back the tears, holding back the anger.  I was at church.  A place I loved.  In a meeting.  With people I loved.  And a group of them had just called me the Anti-Christ.  Truthfully, on the way out that night, I loved the church and the people there a little less.

The church.  I owe so much of who I am to it.  I grew up there.  It raised me. It taught me to think.  It taught me to rejoice.  It taught me to speak to crowds.  It taught me to hurt.  I was convinced that the church is the best thing going.  I was convinced that the church can change the planet.  Really, I thought that.

I was a pastor.  A pastor of teenagers - a LOT of teenagers - white teenagers, brown teenagers, black teenagers, poor teenagers, rich teenagers, you get the point.  Man, did those kids have problems.  Gangs, sex, cutting, hate, you name it, they did it.  And I loved it.  I loved every minute of it.  I loved watching the power of God change life after life.  I loved having weeks where kids would give their hearts to the Lord in en masse.  I loved seeing kids leave church laughing with tracks of tear stains tattooed on their faces.  I loved the loud thumping music, with songs that I’d never heard.  I loved watching gang leaders invite people there … to church.  It was one of the best times of my life. 

But the people who called me the Anti-Christ that night saw things differently.  “We don’t need to let those types into our church.  You’re leading us down a path of darkness” they said.   What they were really saying is that, “Your kids aren’t good enough for our club.  They’re too broken; they’ve got too many issues.”  Funny, I didn’t know that issues, that sin stopped when we turn 18.

And that’s when they called me the Anti-Christ.  Against Christ.  Opposing Christ.  I never really understood how just loving kids is contrary to the message of Jesus.  I mean we are talking about the same Jesus who called burping, farting, cussing fishermen to follow him.  We are talking about the same Jesus who ate chicken with tax collectors.  We are talking about the same Jesus, who if he were alive today, would, I’m convinced, spend most of his time at night clubs and gay bars … just to reach them, just to love them.  We are talking about the same Jesus, aren’t we?  Aren’t we?

When they called me the Anti-Christ that night, something changed.  For the first time in my life, I didn’t know if the church and I were talking about the same Jesus anymore.  For the first time in my life, I had lost my faith in the place that had raised me …