My favorite quote is one I return to whenever faith becomes tangled in rules, traditions, buildings, and arguments:
“Jesus formed a community before Christianity built an institution.”
Those words remind me of something the church can too easily forget. Before there were denominations, doctrinal statements, governing bodies, stained-glass sanctuaries, or theological degrees, there was simply Jesus walking from village to village, inviting people to follow him.
He gathered a community.
Not a perfect community. Not a respectable community. Not even a particularly qualified one. Jesus brought together fishermen, tax collectors, political agitators, women whom society had dismissed, people carrying illnesses, people burdened by shame, people with difficult histories, and people still trying to understand who they were. They misunderstood him. They argued among themselves. They failed him repeatedly. Yet he continued to call them beloved.
That is what makes this quote so meaningful to me. It draws a distinction between the living way of Jesus and the institution that eventually grew around his name. Institutions are not necessarily wrong. Communities need structure. Churches need leadership, resources, accountability, and places to gather. But an institution must always remain the servant of the community. The moment protecting the institution becomes more important than loving people, something sacred has been lost.
I have spent much of my life inside the church. I have preached from its pulpits, attended its meetings, balanced its budgets, navigated its disagreements, and witnessed both its beauty and its brokenness. I have seen the church hold grieving families when they could no longer stand on their own. I have watched congregations feed hungry people, welcome strangers, celebrate children, comfort the dying, and speak courage into lives nearly emptied of hope.
I have also seen the church become preoccupied with its own survival. I have watched it protect traditions while people were being wounded, defend policies while people were being excluded, and argue about buildings while souls were starving. Sometimes Christianity becomes so busy maintaining the machinery of religion that it forgets the person standing directly in front of it.
Jesus never seemed to have that problem.
He saw people.
He saw the woman others wanted to condemn. He saw Zacchaeus hiding in a tree. He saw blind Bartimaeus shouting from the roadside while everyone else told him to be quiet. He saw children whom the disciples considered an interruption. He saw people others labeled unclean, sinful, dangerous, or unworthy. Again and again, Jesus crossed the boundaries religion had drawn and restored people to community.
That matters deeply to me because I know what it means to wonder whether there is still a place for me at the table. As a transgender woman and a pastor, I have experienced the painful difference between being tolerated and being welcomed. I have learned that people can proclaim unconditional love while quietly attaching conditions to belonging. They may love you—as long as you remain the version of yourself that makes them comfortable.
But the community Jesus formed was built around transformation, not conformity. He did not ask people to remain hidden so that everyone else could avoid discomfort. He called people into fuller life. He gave them names beyond the names society had placed upon them: beloved, forgiven, restored, daughter, son, friend.
This quote also shapes how I imagine the future of faith. I do not believe the way of Jesus is dying. I believe many people are still hungry for it. They hunger for compassion, justice, forgiveness, meaning, mercy, courage, and a love strong enough to tell the truth. What they may no longer trust is the institution’s claim that it alone possesses these things.
Perhaps the future of the church begins by returning to the beginning—not by abandoning congregations, but by remembering why they exist. The church was never meant merely to preserve itself. It was meant to become a living community where the lonely are known, the wounded are safe, the hungry are fed, and every person is reminded that they bear the image of God.
“Jesus formed a community before Christianity built an institution.”
That is my favorite quote because it is more than an observation. It is an invitation. It calls me back to the table where Jesus sits among ordinary, complicated, beloved people. It reminds me that faith is not primarily something we defend. It is a way of life we embody.
And if Christianity is ever to resemble Christ again, it will happen when we stop asking how to protect the institution and begin asking how to love the community Jesus is still gathering.
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