I’ve been to a lot of churches, my friends. If you name a denomination, I’ve probably been to one of their services. Baptist, Lutheran, Catholic, Wesleyan, Methodist and so many others.

The church I was baptized by was a community church based out of Little Theatre in Jamestown. There was a praise band, my pastor did a Top 10 count down much like David Letterman at the beginning of the service and I was baptized at an annual picnic at Midway Park in the lake.

A few years later, we attended a Lutheran Church that became very dear to my heart.

But can you imagine my surprise that first Sunday when there was no praise band? No raising of hands during worship? Organ music?

“What is going on here?” my young mind wondered. “It’s so different.”

But I came to appreciate the liturgy, which a friend of mine recently explained means “the people’s work.” What I once saw as “boring” and “repetitive” became beautiful and delicate to me — a comforting, peaceful way to come to God and join the Body in worship of Him.

Since that time, I’ve had the opportunity to see so many services and so many different ways that people approach God in reverence and worship within the Body of Christ. It swells my heart tonight, as I write this, to think of all of God’s people lifting songs, prayers and words to their Savior – often at the same time on the same day. Maybe the music is a little different. Maybe people are dressed a little different. Maybe some folks have a common book to follow and maybe others are reading off a screen. Perhaps there’s a kneeling pad near the altar — or maybe you’re looking at a stage that the pastor is standing on. Or, maybe, you’re in a friend’s home, grasping hands and reading the Word in a little group.

I don’t think it matters much what building your in or who you’re with or what music you’re using. I think the diversity of the Body of Christ is what makes it so beautiful. God put together a patchwork quilt and sewed it together with love and forgiveness.

For this quilt — he didn’t pick the most perfect pieces. He didn’t look for brand new, never used material. He picked the ratty-edged pieces, the dirty pieces, the less-than pieces. He picked them up and washed them clean, like a two-year old picks up dirty pebbles and turns them into gemstones in his hand. He put us together and put us out for all to see, calling us to show the world what can be done with a big hope, a big love and an unimaginable grace.

This radical Jesus — who sat with sinners and dined with the dirty and broken; this intense and unexplainable Savior who came quietly into a desperate world and ransomed his people – he loves his people. He told us that wherever “two or three gather in my name, there am I with them,” as it says in Matthew 18:20. My friends, we’re all a part of the quilt – and our job is to cover the broken, the tired, the scared and the fallen with the same hope and love we were offered so freely. I don’t think they’ll be hung up on what that looks like – rather, I think they’ll be glad they’re not alone and don’t have to carry their burdens anymore. Let’s be whatever square God called us to be and leave the rest up to him.