The Church Has Legs

Finding God's Family Beyond Church Walls

May 29, 2025

I stood at the perimeter of the gathering, watching. Laughter floated across the fellowship hall as people greeted each other with easy familiarity. On the surface, they seemed connected, but I knew that not all connection is spiritual, and not all presence means belonging. I smiled when eyes met mine, stepped forward when someone gestured, but a gnawing feeling remained. I was on the outside looking in, wondering, “Is this my faith family?”

It reminded me of a little bird from a childhood tale who hatches while his mother is away. Not knowing what she looks like, the little bird hops down from his nest and begins asking everything he encounters, from a kitten to a cow to a steam shovel—“Are you my mother?” Something about that baby bird's journey resonated with me. He knew he had a mama, but he didn’t know what she looked like or where to find her. His search for his mother mirrored my own quest to find my faith family.

I became a follower of Christ outside the constructs of institutional church, and my faith family wasn’t in the room when my spiritual rebirth occurred. So, like that little bird, I began searching. The Holy Spirit nudged me to buy a Bible and read. Between those pages, I discovered my place in Christ’s body, one flesh with believers I had yet to meet. That journey eventually led me to a local church, where for a time, I settled into that long-sought sense of belonging.

But life brought changes and moves, and with each transition, I found myself once again standing at the edge of a gathering, heart silently asking, “Are you my faith family?” I would settle in, stay as long as God led, and then follow when He made it clear it was time to go. It wasn’t until I left my last church—one that had grown deeply unhealthy—that I found myself asking that little bird’s question all over again.

How the Spirit Gathers the Church

When I tell people I became a Christian outside the constructs of an institutional church, their assumptions often fill in the blanks. Some imagine I whispered a prayer while watching a televangelist. Others picture a retreat moment, set to soft music and dim lights. But the truth is less scripted and far more sacred. My journey into faith was messy, fragmented on the surface, but undeniably guided by the Spirit of God.

He gathered seeds of faith scattered throughout my life—planted by teachers, coworkers, neighbors, and friends. Most of them had no idea the role they played. They didn’t walk beside me or offer deep discipleship. They simply shared glimpses of what they believed as they passed through my days. Somehow, God wove all those fragments together by His Spirit.

God knit all those together into a beautiful whole. Every seed planted, every truth spoken, every tug I had ignored or dismissed finally came together. Jesus was not just someone I had heard about—He was real. He had come for me.

While God certainly works through traditional methods (the ministry of Billy Graham stands as a powerful testimony to this), research from organizations like the Barna Group consistently shows that many people come to faith through relationships and personal encounters rather than formal church programs.1

If I’ve learned anything, it’s that salvation is not a formula we can follow or a result we can manufacture. We can explain God’s love and Christ’s sacrifice and present the clearest gospel message, but ultimately, the Spirit must awaken and call. Conversion is always His work. Ours is to be faithful witnesses—planters, waterers, listeners, and friends.

After my salvation experience, I began seeking community. My first inroads came through an interdenominational women’s Bible study and a nudge from God to get baptized. Finding a church willing to baptize me without requiring membership proved challenging. Eventually, a local Baptist church lived up to its name. I then found a healthy church home where my children and I remained until we moved to a new town.

Little did I know that this pattern of finding community, then being led elsewhere by God, would repeat throughout my life. Each move brought anticipation and that familiar feeling of standing at the edge, wondering if I would find my place. I didn’t realize then that these transitions would challenge my understanding of what “church” meant. The journey that began outside church walls would lead me to question whether I had ever truly been outside the Church at all.

A Church with Feet

To understand what church truly means, we must turn to Scripture. The original Greek word translated as “church” in our Bibles is “ekklesia”, which simply means “assembly” or “called-out ones.” It never referred to a building but always to people gathered around Christ.

The origins of God's people gathering together go back much further than the New Testament. From the very beginning, God designed us for community. In Genesis 1:26, God says, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness” (ESV). This plural language reveals something important about God. He exists in community as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Being made in His image means we too are designed for relationship and community.

God's kingdom, His reign and rule, has been unfolding since creation. When God gave humanity dominion over the earth (Genesis 1:28), He was establishing His kingdom rule through His image-bearers. Though sin disrupted this plan, it never derailed God's purpose to fill the earth with His presence.

Throughout the Old Testament, God continued forming a people through whom His kingdom would come. But it was in Jesus that the kingdom was decisively inaugurated. His entire life—from birth as king, through His ministry proclaiming "The kingdom of God is at hand," to His death, resurrection and ascension—ushered in the long-awaited reign of God. The kingdom that had been unfolding since creation broke through in power, though its full consummation awaits His return.

In the garden of Eden, God walked with Adam and Eve in the cool of the day (Genesis 3:8). The first sanctuary wasn't a building but a garden where God and humans enjoyed direct communion. Even after sin fractured this relationship, God continued to form a people for Himself.

Throughout the Old Testament, God gathered His people, from the family of Abraham to the nation of Israel. At Mount Sinai, He formed a "kingdom of priests and a holy nation" (Exodus 19:6, ESV). The tabernacle and later the temple were places where God's presence dwelled among His people, but they pointed to something greater to come.

Jesus fulfilled and transformed this pattern. He declared, "Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up" (John 2:19, ESV), speaking about the temple of His body. In Christ, God's presence now dwells not in tents or buildings made by human hands, but in people.

When Jesus spoke of building His church in Matthew 16:18, He was talking about building a people, not a physical structure. The presence of Christ with His people, not a particular location, is what constitutes true church.

The early believers understood this. Acts 2:42-47 shows them devoted to teaching, fellowship, breaking bread, and prayer. They met in homes, shared possessions, and lived out their faith in community centered on Christ, not buildings.

Paul and Peter develop this understanding further in their letters. Paul describes the church as a body with Christ as the head (Ephesians 4:15-16), while Peter calls believers living stones being built into a spiritual house (1 Peter 2:4-5). Together they paint a vivid picture. We are living building blocks, connected to Christ the Cornerstone and to one another, forming a dwelling place for God's Spirit

From Genesis to Revelation, we see that the Church was never meant to be confined to buildings or institutions. It has always been about God's people connected to Christ and to each other—a spiritual family that transcends time, geography, and denominational boundaries.

Standing on Level Ground

Stepping away from a local congregation was disorienting. Yet, alongside this disorientation came a sense of freedom that felt right but unfamiliar. I have experienced two major shifts from unhealthy church situations, and only once did God not immediately make clear where to go next. This new uncertainty drew me closer to Him.

Sometimes God removes the familiar scaffolding of the local church to reveal whether we've been leaning on structures or standing on the Cornerstone.

This in-between space can create confusion about identity. "Who am I without this affiliation?" It can also expose unhealthy attachments, when relationships become idols or when the church community itself becomes our god.

Scripture provides a powerful answer to this identity question. When God established His covenant with Israel at Mount Sinai, He declared, "You will be for me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation" (Exodus 19:6, NIV). This vision wasn't for a few select leaders but for the entire covenant community. Every Israelite was called to be part of a priestly nation—reflecting God's character to the world and serving as a light to the nations, though only the Levites served as actual priests.

Under the Old Covenant, this universal priesthood was partially veiled. The tabernacle and temple systems established barriers—only priests could enter certain areas, and only the high priest could enter God's most holy presence, and even then just once a year (Hebrews 9:7). These limitations pointed to humanity's separation from God through sin.

But Christ's death changed everything. At the moment He died, "the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom" (Matthew 27:51, NIV). This dramatic act signified the end of separation and limited access. As Hebrews explains, "We have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus... since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near to God with a sincere heart" (Hebrews 10:19-22, NIV).

Peter explicitly connects God's original declaration at Sinai with the church: "But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God's special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light" (1 Peter 2:9, NIV) What was declared at Sinai reaches its fulfillment in Christ's church—not a select clergy class, but all believers.

I witnessed a beautiful picture of this priesthood during a retreat held in a castle tucked into the mountains. Women from various denominations gathered with one primary thing in common. It wasn't what they believed about baptism, communion, or end times prophecy. They all craved closeness with their Savior and the fellowship with one another that comes from it.

The premise of the retreat was that we were daughters first. Before any denominational label or theological position, this was our fundamental identity.

My favorite moment came during worship. All in our various ways, bowing our hearts to the Father—whether bowed down or hands raised in awe—it reminded me of Revelation's vision of worship before God's throne. We all stood on the level ground of His mercy. There was no hierarchy of access, no spiritual elite—just priests approaching God directly through the blood of the spotless Lamb, Jesus.

This priesthood grants access to God but it carries responsibility, too. In 2 Corinthians 5:18-20, Paul declares, "All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation... We are therefore Christ's ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. (NIV)" The ministry of reconciliation isn't a third-party game reserved for professionals. It's our calling whether we're firmly attached to a local body or navigating transitions.

Yet, we've slid into believing that we can outsource this ministry instead of understanding that we are the ministers as much as the one in the pulpit. The collaborative dance of the priesthood of believers is humble and often irresistible. The irresistible part is His love reaching through His members into the lives of those longing for hope and restoration.

When we outsource our ministry responsibility to professionals, we fundamentally misunderstand God's design for His church. Paul explains in Ephesians 4:11-16 that leaders are given "to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up"—not to do the ministry for them but with them. Every member functions as part of Christ's body, "as each part does its work."

This biblical understanding means that even in the in-between spaces, we remain ministering priests. Our identity, calling and sense of belonging aren't determined by church membership but by unity in Christ.

Faith in Motion

This season of church discovery has been slow and gentle, a season of observation both internal and external. I live with eyes wide open, asking God to show me where He is working so that I can join Him there. This doesn't require a specific church building. Every day we have need of His grace, and every day we have opportunities to let it overflow as we receive it for ourselves from Him.

The church was never meant to be a static institution but a dynamic movement—faith with legs.

Scripture shows this clearly in Acts 8:1-4, where persecution scattered the Jerusalem believers. Did they cease being the church when scattered? On the contrary, "those who had been scattered preached the word wherever they went." They became the church in motion, carrying Christ's presence and message into new territories.

The scattered believers fulfilled Christ's commission to “go and make disciples of all nations” through their mobility. (Matthew 28:19-20, NIV). The church was designed to move, flow, and permeate society like leaven through dough.

Paul's body metaphor in 1 Corinthians 12:12-27 reinforces this dynamic nature. A body isn't a stationary monument but a living organism with each part contributing uniquely to the whole. "Now you are the body of Christ," Paul declares, "and each one of you is a part of it” (NIV). This means that wherever believers go, the church goes—because we are the church.

We think most people get saved from the pulpit message, but it is the people of God, His true church, who embody this message and carry it everywhere—behind closed doors, in the home, in business meetings, at the grocery store checkout. It was the people being the church outside the walls of their Christian community that ever caused me to want to enter into a brick-and-mortar expression of it.

Our present culture is harsh, and it isn't just the people of other faiths or lack thereof. It's particularly heinous among people who say they are followers of Christ. You hear things like "if you vote for X, you cannot be a Christian"—plug in either political party. It could be any of many secondary issues that end up the focal point instead of Jesus and His finished work of forgiveness of sins on the cross.

These secondary issues are not what unites us. The blood of Christ unites us across all our differences, and this diversity strengthens the body. As Paul reminds us in Ephesians 4:3-6, we are to "keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit... one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all” (NIV).

When church walls fall away, what remains reveals where your faith truly stands. For some, the loss of institutional structure reveals a faith built on sand. For others, it reveals a faith anchored in the Cornerstone that cannot be moved.

That little bird eventually found his mother, and I discovered that my faith family isn't confined to any one place. The church exists wherever believers gather, connected by Christ rather than buildings.

Like that little bird, I can still be the church, spend time with the church, do church together with others all while not "fixed" in one institutional church. I do desire another committed relationship with a local church body, but I am in no rush, and neither is God, I found out. I have eternity with Him. I keep showing up and so does God.

Where you sit on Sunday doesn't determine your place in God's kingdom—whose you are every day does.

This understanding brings such patience. As Paul assures us in Ephesians 2:19-22, "You are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God's people and also members of his household, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone" (NIV).

The little bird's question finally has an answer. Not in a nest or a building, but in the One who calls us His own and the family He's gathering from every tribe and tongue. We are the church with feet—faith in motion wherever we go. Whether you're standing at the perimeter of a gathering or settled in a pew, you carry Christ's presence with you. You belong to something far greater than any institution could contain.

Where have you found unexpected moments of true Christian community? I'd love to hear your story.