I have travelled to 69 countries during 46 years of evangelistic ministry. I have encountered a considerable number of airports, immigration officers, baggage carousels and people holding signs with my name on them. I have experienced all kinds of welcomes – warm welcomes, formal welcomes, and a few where I wondered whether the people meeting me had been told I was actually coming.
But recently, in Kuching, Malaysia, Killy and I experienced something quite extraordinary.
When we arrived the senior pastor was waiting for us at the airport with around thirty members of his congregation. They hadn’t simply come to collect us, they had come to welcome us. And what a welcome! They applauded. They cheered. They shouted with exuberant joy. For a moment I wondered whether someone famous was arriving behind us.
Then I realised it was for us! It took our breath away. After 69 countries, I can genuinely say it was the most extraordinary welcome we have ever received.
And it made me think. Welcome. Such a small word. Such a big ministry. To welcome someone is to say: We see you. We value you. We’re glad you’re here. There’s room for you.
Perhaps that is why welcome lies so close to the heart of the Christian gospel. Paul writes, ‘Welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God’ (Romans 15:7 ESV).
Notice the standard.
Not: Welcome people when they agree with you.
Not: Welcome people when they behave like you.
Not: Welcome people when they vote like you, worship like you, dress like you or share all your opinions.
Welcome one another as Christ welcomed you.
That raises the bar considerably because Christ welcomed us before we had sorted ourselves out. Thankfully. If Jesus waited until we were perfect before welcoming us, the church would be the emptiest building in town.
When Welcome Becomes a Wall
The warmth of Kuching made me reflect on some very different experiences closer to home.
In recent years I have accepted invitations to conduct evangelistic events in three English towns. In each case the invitation came from a significant majority of local Christian leaders. Yet subsequently, a small number of clergy attempted to obstruct the invitation because they perceived me as associating with people they regarded as ‘sinners’.
I confess, I find that accusation strangely encouraging. After all, Jesus was accused of precisely the same thing. His critics said, ‘Here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners’ (Matthew 11:19 NIV). They meant it as an accusation. History remembers it as an accolade: Jesus, friend of sinners. I’m rather pleased to be associated with that company, especially because I qualify as a sinner myself. Actually, every church is full of sinners. Some are saved by grace. Some are being transformed by grace. And some are on committees!
The danger is that Christians can become so determined to avoid contamination that we avoid contact. But how can we reach people we refuse to meet? How can we love people we refuse to know? How can we share good news with people we have already written off?
Evangelists are not called to guard the drawbridge. We are called to lower it.
The gospel is not: Keep out.
The gospel is: Come in.
Have We Become a Culture of Critics?
What particularly intrigues me is the timing. I have been doing the work of an evangelist for 46 years, yet this particular kind of opposition has become noticeably apparent only during the last couple of years. Why? Perhaps it reflects something of our present culture. We seem to be living through an epidemic of judgement.
Everybody has an opinion.
Everybody has a platform.
Everybody has a verdict.
And thanks to social media, everybody can deliver all three before breakfast.
We can Google someone’s name, inspect a photograph, notice who they once stood beside and construct an entire theology of their life before we’ve even met them.
We have become remarkably good at guilt by association. Yet if association implied approval, Jesus would have been in serious trouble. He ate with tax collectors. He spoke with Samaritans. He allowed a sinful woman to anoint his feet. He touched lepers. He welcomed children. He spent time with society’s outsiders.
Jesus never confused loving people with endorsing everything about them. Neither should we. This is a distinction our culture – and sometimes the church – desperately needs to rediscover: welcome is not endorsement.
I can welcome you without agreeing with everything you believe.
I can listen to you without adopting all your opinions.
I can sit at your table without signing my name beneath everything you have ever said.
I can love you even when we disagree.
Christians ought to be exceptionally good at this. Grace does not require agreement before it offers kindness. You don’t have to agree with someone to treat them like they are made in the image of God. Hospitality isn’t just making tea, it’s making room – room at our table, room in our conversation, room in our church and room in our heart.
The church must be careful that in defending truth we don’t forget grace. Jesus was ‘full of grace and truth’. Not 50 per cent grace and 50 per cent truth. He was full of both. Truth without grace can become brutality. Grace without truth can become sentimentality. Jesus embodied both perfectly.
And here’s the challenge. The holiest person who ever lived was also the person sinners wanted to be near.
Children came to him.
Outcasts came to him.
Tax collectors came to him.
The broken came.
The curious came.
The ashamed came.
The religious came.
Somehow, they knew, ‘I can approach him.’
If our holiness makes sinners want to run away from us, perhaps we need to examine our holiness. The church should never make it harder to come to Jesus than Jesus did.
The God Who Runs to Welcome Us
Ultimately, Christianity is a story of welcome. In Luke 15 Jesus tells perhaps the greatest welcome-home story ever told. A son rejects his father. Takes his inheritance. Leaves home. Wastes everything. Breaks his father’s heart. Eventually, with nothing left, he begins the long journey home. He rehearses his speech. He expects shame. He expects demotion. He hopes, perhaps, merely to be tolerated.
But Jesus says, ‘While he was still a long way off, his father saw him coming’ (Luke 15:20 NLT).
And the father runs.
That is one of the most beautiful pictures of God in the Bible. He runs. He embraces him. He kisses him. He puts a robe around him, a ring on his finger, sandals on his feet, and then throws a party.
The son comes home expecting a lecture but gets a hug. He expects probation but gets restoration. He expects servants’ quarters but gets his place at the family table. He expects judgement but encounters grace.
That’s the gospel.
And notice: the father doesn’t pretend the son’s behaviour didn’t matter. He doesn’t call the pigsty a lifestyle choice. He doesn’t redefine rebellion as self-expression. He simply refuses to allow the son’s failure to have the final word.
Grace does not say sin doesn’t matter. Grace says sin doesn’t have to be the end of the story.
That is Christian welcome. We are not welcomed because we are worthy. We are welcomed because God is gracious.
Who Would Feel Welcome with Us?
Perhaps every Christian should occasionally ask, ‘What do people experience when they encounter me?’
And every church should ask, ‘What do people experience when they encounter us?’
Do they meet folded arms or open arms? Suspicion or hospitality? Coldness or kindness? An examination or an invitation? A barrier or a bridge?
Would the lonely feel welcome?
Would the successful feel welcome?
Would the struggling feel welcome?
Would the person with complicated questions feel welcome?
Would the person with a complicated life feel welcome?
Would the person who disagrees with us feel welcome?
Would a sinner feel welcome?
I hope so. Because if sinners aren’t welcome, none of us can come in. The church doesn’t have a VIP entrance, because the ground is level at the cross.
The gospel contains one of the greatest words in the English language: ‘Come.
Jesus says, ‘Come to me . . . Come and see . . . If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me . . .’ And on almost the final page of the Bible, ‘The Spirit and the bride say, “Come”’ (Revelation 22:17 NLT).
The Bible begins with humanity hiding from God. It ends with God inviting humanity home.
Come. What a word.
Come with your questions.
Come with your doubts.
Come with your failures.
Come with your wounds.
Come with your history.
Come with your hopes.
Come with your mess.
Come to Jesus.
Because Jesus says, ‘Whoever comes to me I will never drive away’ (John 6:37 NIV).
Never. Not reluctantly, not suspiciously, not after you’ve passed an examination. ‘I will never drive away.’ What a Saviour. What a gospel. What a welcome.
Thirty People at an Airport
Which takes me back to Kuching. Thirty Christians stood waiting for us. They smiled. They applauded. They cheered. They celebrated. They probably thought they were simply welcoming two visitors to Malaysia but they were doing something much more profound. They preached us a sermon before I had preached them one. They reminded me that welcome is ministry.
A handshake can be ministry.
A smile can be ministry.
Remembering someone’s name can be ministry.
Making space at your table can be ministry.
Walking across a church foyer to speak to the person standing alone can be ministry.
Inviting the outsider in can be ministry.
Sometimes the sermon people remember most is the one we preach without words. After 69 countries and 46 years of ministry, Kuching reminded me of something I never want to forget: a welcome can open a heart before a sermon ever opens a Bible.
Perhaps our churches don’t merely need better preaching, better programmes and better publicity. Perhaps sometimes we simply need a better welcome, because in a world increasingly divided into us and them, the church has an opportunity to demonstrate something radically different.
A table with another chair.
A door held open.
A hand extended.
A smile freely given.
A sinner embraced.
A stranger becoming a friend.
And over the doorway, one word: WELCOME!
Because that is what God has done for us.
We were outsiders. He brought us in.
We were strangers. He made us family.
We were sinners. He called us friends.
We were far away. He brought us near.
Those who have been welcomed by grace should become specialists in welcoming others.
‘Welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God’ (Romans 15:7 ESV).
No theological degree required. No microphone necessary. No special training course needed. Just an open heart, an open hand and an open door. After all, we are not the hosts at God’s table. We are guests who have been asked to welcome the other guests.
Maybe that’s the test of Christian welcome. Not simply, ‘Do you belong here?’ but, ‘How can I help you discover that there is room for you here?’
Thirty people at an airport in Kuching reminded me of that. They didn’t just say welcome. They made us feel welcomed. There is a difference.
In a world with plenty of walls, perhaps the church could become known again for its doors. Open doors. Open hearts. Open arms. And one wonderful word: Welcome.
Come in. There’s room for you.
J.John
