Jesus Didn’t Say, “See You Sunday”

Sunday matters. But Sunday was never the whole point.

I’ve been thinking a lot about church lately.

Not because I think Christians don’t need the Church.

We do.

Not because I think gathering with other believers is optional.

I don’t.

And I’m certainly not suggesting there’s something wrong with gathering on Sunday morning. I’ve spent most of my life doing exactly that, and some incredibly meaningful moments in my walk with Jesus have happened inside church buildings.

What I’m questioning is something different.

When did following Jesus become so closely tied to attending a Sunday service?

Somewhere along the way, especially in Western Christianity, those two things became almost inseparable.

If someone is doing well spiritually, we say, “They’re really involved in church.”

If someone is struggling, we say, “They need to get back in church.”

If someone stops attending regularly, we start worrying about their relationship with God.

And sometimes those concerns may be completely justified.

But are they always?

Because I’m beginning to wonder whether we’ve taken something Scripture says about the Church as a people and turned it into something Scripture never specifically says about attending a weekly event.

And Hebrews 10:25 might be one of the clearest examples.

“Don’t Forsake the Gathering”

If you grew up around church, you probably know this one.

Hebrews 10:25:

“Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together…”

For years, I knew exactly what that meant.

Go to church.

More specifically:

Be in church on Sunday.

Miss enough Sundays and sooner or later somebody might quote Hebrews 10:25.

But there’s a problem.

That’s not actually everything the passage says.

And when we pull one sentence out of the larger thought, we can make the verse carry assumptions that aren't actually in the text.

So let's put verse 25 back where it belongs.

Hebrews 10:24–25 says:

“And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together…but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.”

Read that slowly.

The author isn't giving instructions about what time Christians should gather.

He doesn't mention Sunday morning.

He doesn't mention a sanctuary.

He doesn't describe a worship service.

He doesn't prescribe rows of chairs, a sermon, a worship team, a church building, or a particular program.

None of those things are necessarily wrong.

They're simply not what this passage is defining.

What does the passage actually emphasize?

One another.

Love.

Good works.

Meeting together.

Encouragement.

Perseverance.

That's important.

So What Does “Forsaking the Gathering” Actually Mean?

The word translated “assembling” or “meeting together” comes from the Greek word episynagōgē.

At its most basic level, it refers to a gathering together or assembly.

And the context tells us what kind of gathering the writer has in mind.

These believers were not supposed to withdraw from Christian community.

They needed each other.

Hebrews was written to Christians facing pressure and needing perseverance. Throughout the letter, the writer repeatedly warns them not to drift away, turn back, or abandon their confidence.

So when we arrive at Hebrews 10, the concern isn't:

“Make sure your Sunday attendance numbers stay up.”

The concern is much deeper:

Don't disconnect yourself from the community of believers who are helping you remain faithful to Jesus.

Keep gathering.

Keep encouraging each other.

Keep pushing one another toward love.

Keep doing good.

Keep reminding each other of your hope.

Keep following Jesus together.

That's very different from simply saying:

“You weren't in the building Sunday.”

The passage absolutely challenges isolated Christianity.

But it doesn't establish Sunday-service attendance as the biblical definition of Christian faithfulness.

That's a distinction I think we've blurred.

The Gathering Wasn't the Finish Line

This might be the biggest thing I've missed about Hebrews 10.

We tend to put the emphasis here:

Don't stop gathering.

But the passage also tells us why we're gathering.

“Consider how to stir up one another…”

That's incredibly relational language.

It assumes I know something about you.

It assumes you know something about me.

How exactly do I stir you toward love and good works if I don't know what's happening in your life?

How do I encourage you if we've never had a meaningful conversation?

How do I recognize when you're struggling?

How do I carry your burdens?

How do you challenge me?

The gathering isn't simply something I'm supposed to attend.

It's something I'm supposed to participate in.

That's a much more demanding understanding of Hebrews 10:25.

Because showing up somewhere for an hour is relatively easy.

Actually knowing people and allowing them to know me?

That's harder.

Somewhere Along the Way, “Church” Became Somewhere We Go

Listen to the language we use.

“Where do you go to church?”

“I missed church.”

“They left church.”

“They need to get back in church.”

“We're looking for a church.”

I say these things too.

We all know what we mean.

But I wonder whether our language reveals how deeply our understanding has been shaped by our culture.

Because biblically, the Church isn't primarily somewhere Christians go.

The Church is who Christians are together.

The New Testament word ekklēsia refers to the assembly or congregation—the gathered people.

That's why the earliest Christians could gather in homes.

Paul talks about churches meeting in people's houses.

Acts describes believers eating together, praying together, learning together, sharing possessions, worshiping, serving, and living in relationship with one another.

There wasn't a church sign outside Priscilla and Aquila's house that made their gathering legitimate.

The people were the Church.

The location simply gave the Church somewhere to gather.

That's a distinction worth recovering.

Imagine This for a Minute

Six followers of Jesus meet around someone's kitchen table every week.

They eat together.

Open Scripture.

Pray.

Talk honestly about their marriages, children, work, doubts, failures, and victories.

When someone is struggling financially, they help.

When someone starts drifting, somebody notices.

When someone is wrong, they're challenged.

When someone is hurting, they're prayed for.

They serve people in their neighborhood.

They encourage one another.

They help each other follow Jesus.

Now imagine another Christian.

They attend a large church every Sunday.

They arrive just before service.

Sit down.

Sing.

Listen to a sermon.

Leave.

Nobody knows what's happening in their life.

They don't really know what's happening in anyone else's.

They return the following Sunday and repeat the process.

Which person is practicing Hebrews 10:24–25?

Maybe both.

Maybe one more fully than the other.

But here's what I don't think we can honestly say:

The person sitting in the church building automatically satisfies Hebrews 10:25 simply because they were physically present.

And the six Christians around the kitchen table automatically violate Hebrews 10:25 because they weren't inside what we traditionally call “church.”

The text doesn't allow us to make location the determining factor.

Community is the point.

That Doesn't Make Sunday Church Wrong

This is where I want to be really clear.

I'm not arguing against Sunday gatherings.

There's something beautiful about a large group of believers worshiping together.

Preaching matters.

Teaching matters.

Corporate worship matters.

Pastors matter.

Church buildings can be incredibly useful.

Organization isn't inherently unspiritual.

The early Church itself developed leadership and structure as it grew.

The problem isn't that we've developed structures.

The problem comes when our structures become our definition of faithfulness.

We've taken one expression of Christian gathering and sometimes treated it as though it is the only legitimate expression.

That's where I think we need to rethink some things.

Because Our Western Structure Has Shaped How We Think

Most Western churches operate around a centralized weekly gathering.

We drive somewhere.

Sit facing a stage.

A worship team leads.

A pastor speaks.

Staff organizes everything.

The congregation participates primarily by singing, listening, giving, and volunteering.

Again, none of that is necessarily bad.

But structure teaches us things.

And one unintended lesson can be:

Church is something a few people produce and everyone else attends.

Yet Paul's picture of the Church is a body.

Different people.

Different gifts.

Different functions.

Every part contributing.

Ephesians 4 says leaders are supposed to equip God's people for the work of ministry.

That's a very different picture from professional Christians doing ministry while everyone else watches.

Maybe we have unintentionally created spectators and then wondered why we're struggling to make disciples.

Attendance Is Easier to Measure Than Discipleship

This is another uncomfortable part.

We can count attendance.

We can count giving.

We can count baptisms.

We can count volunteers.

We can count memberships.

Those numbers aren't meaningless.

But they're much easier to measure than the things Jesus seems deeply concerned about.

Are people becoming more loving?

More patient?

More generous?

More gracious?

More forgiving?

More truthful?

More humble?

Are broken relationships being restored?

Are Christians caring for people who cannot repay them?

Are believers actually carrying one another's burdens?

Are people becoming more like Jesus?

That's much harder to put on an annual report.

And maybe sometimes we've confused the things we can count with the things that actually count.

Then There Are Christians Who Don't Fit the Mold

This is where the conversation gets even more personal.

What happens when someone genuinely loves Jesus but doesn't fit comfortably into the Christian culture surrounding them?

I'm talking specifically about believers.

Two people can both sincerely follow Jesus and still be very different.

One asks more questions.

One doesn't respond emotionally during worship.

One questions leadership decisions.

One sees a secondary theological issue differently.

One doesn't use all the expected Christian vocabulary.

One simply doesn't fit the culture.

And sometimes different slowly becomes:

spiritually suspicious.

Suddenly conversations feel different.

Everything gets spiritualized.

Questions sound like rebellion.

Disagreement becomes a spiritual problem.

You begin feeling like you have to perform a particular version of Christianity to convince other Christians that you love Jesus too.

That's concerning to me.

Because becoming more like Jesus should absolutely change us.

It should produce conviction.

Holiness matters.

Obedience matters.

Truth matters.

But shouldn't following Jesus also make us more gracious?

More humble?

More patient?

More willing to listen?

More capable of sitting across the table from another follower of Jesus who doesn't see everything exactly like we do?

Maybe we've sometimes confused becoming like our Christian culture with becoming like Christ.

Maybe That's Why Some People Start Asking Hard Questions

We often call that “deconstruction.”

And yes, sometimes people deconstruct their beliefs and eventually abandon Christianity.

That's real.

But that isn't everyone's story.

Sometimes people aren't trying to get rid of Jesus.

They're trying to figure out what actually came from Him.

They're asking:

Was this actually biblical, or was this just what I was taught?

Did Jesus require this, or did my church culture require it?

Is questioning this system the same thing as questioning God?

Sometimes people aren't walking away from Jesus.

They're trying to separate Jesus from everything we've attached to Him.

And perhaps the Church should be one of the safest places to ask those questions.

But “Me and Jesus” Isn't the Answer Either

There's an opposite mistake we can make.

“I don't need church. It's just me and Jesus.”

Hebrews 10 doesn't really leave room for that either.

You can't encourage one another alone.

You can't bear one another's burdens alone.

You can't serve one another alone.

You can't forgive one another alone.

You can't practice Christian community by yourself.

We need each other.

So I'm not arguing for less Church.

Honestly?

I wonder if we need more Church.

Maybe fewer assumptions about what Church has to look like.

But more:

relationships,

tables,

meals,

prayer,

Scripture,

hospitality,

accountability,

service,

honest conversations,

shared life,

and people actually following Jesus together.

Maybe Our Thinking Has to Change Before Our Structures Do

I'm not suggesting we tear down church buildings and move everybody into living rooms.

That wouldn't magically fix anything.

We could build house churches tomorrow and bring every unhealthy thing from institutional Christianity with us.

We could sit in circles instead of rows and still be judgmental.

We could eliminate stages and still create celebrities.

We could remove denominations and immediately create new tribes.

Changing the room doesn't necessarily change the heart.

Maybe the deeper shift looks something like this:

From going to church to being the Church.

From attendance to participation.

From spectators to disciples.

From pastors doing ministry to pastors equipping people for ministry.

From platforms to servant leadership.

From uniformity to unity.

From programs to relationships.

From counting crowds to looking for fruit.

And maybe most importantly:

From asking whether people are faithful to our church structures, to asking whether our church structures are faithfully helping people follow Jesus.

So What Does “Don't Forsake the Gathering” Mean?

Maybe it's actually more challenging than we've made it.

It isn't simply:

Make sure you're sitting in church Sunday morning.

It's closer to:

Don't disappear from the lives of other followers of Jesus.

Don't try to follow Christ completely alone.

Gather.

Know people.

Let yourself be known.

Encourage someone.

Allow someone to challenge you.

Carry somebody's burden.

Let somebody carry yours.

Push one another toward love and good works.

Pray together.

Learn together.

Serve together.

Keep reminding each other of Jesus.

And keep doing it because following Jesus was never meant to be a solo journey.

That's considerably harder than perfect Sunday attendance.

And maybe that's the point we've been missing.

Jesus didn't say:

“See you Sunday.”

He said:

“Follow me.”

And when we follow Him, we discover pretty quickly that we're going to need other people following Him beside us.

That's the Church.

So maybe the question isn't only:

“Where do you go to church?”

Maybe we should start asking:

“Who are you following Jesus with?”

Who knows the real you?

Who can challenge you?

Who are you encouraging?

Whose burdens are you carrying?

Who are you praying with?

Who are you serving?

Who are you helping become more like Jesus?

And who is helping you become more like Him?

Because maybe we've spent years worrying about whether Christians are forsaking our gatherings.

Perhaps we should also ask whether our gatherings have forsaken the purpose for which Christians were supposed to gather in the first place.

That’s the question I can’t seem to shake.

And I’d genuinely like to know how you answer it.