Going Up? — Christian Meets a Churchgoer: She Believes in God, But Not the Gospel
She Never Has Known God, Though She's Heard About Him Every Week
Welcome to “Going Up?”, a lighthearted series of elevator conversations between Christians and various people from the broad cultural spectrum of American life. Today, he meets a member of his church. He doesn’t know her name. She’s in and out every Sunday.
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Gathering Fragments
Christian was still buzzing as he left the church service, heart lit with joy. He walked out into the sunshine, dodging families juggling toddlers and tote bags, retirees folding bulletins, and college students hunched over phones.
The sermon had landed hard—and beautifully. John 6. The Feeding of the Five Thousand.
“Gather up the fragments, that nothing may be lost.” — John 6:12
He couldn’t shake it. That line from John’s Gospel! Oh my! It felt like it had been written just for him. Not just for bread on a hillside but for lives that had fallen apart and swept aside. For people.
Christian noticed her in the crowd—a woman he’d seen before. A familiar face at church. Mid-fifties, maybe. Always alone. Not unfriendly, just… guarded.
She carried herself like someone determined not to be noticed.
Today was no different. She nodded to the greeters, gave a thin smile, and headed straight for the parking lot—maybe the grocery store—or home to an empty kitchen and a list of things to do.
Christian watched her go. Then turned back toward the sanctuary. He wasn’t ready to let the morning go. Not yet.
Later that afternoon, he sat on his couch, football game on, snacks nearby—but his mind was still spinning. That verse. That feeling. He couldn’t shake it.
Too restless to sit still, he grabbed his keys and headed downtown to the department store. Tall building. Lots of floors. Plenty of elevators.
Sometimes, you go where the Spirit nudges you.
Worldview Note: 🧬 The “Biological Christian”
This woman represents a distinct and often overlooked category of belief: the Biological Christian.
She was born into a Christian family.
Church, God, and morality were all part of her upbringing.
She’s not hostile to Christianity—it’s in her vocabulary, even her habits.
But it’s never been personal. Never felt like a gift.
Her Christianity is inherited, not chosen.
It’s more like a genetic trait than a spiritual identity.
She believes in God the way someone believes in their ancestry:
“It’s where I came from, but I’m not sure what it means.”
To her, faith is a category—not a relationship. God is not near. Not warm. Just… there.
⬆️ The Elevator
Christian stepped into the lobby and smiled at the clerk near the escalators.
“Going up,” he said, heading for the elevators.
A ding. The doors opened. She was already inside. The same woman from church.
She looked up, surprised. “Oh… hi.”
“Hi,” he said, smiling.
She reached to press a button. “Fourteen,” she said.
He tapped seventeen. “Quiet afternoon?” he asked.
“Running errands,” she said. “You know. Church, then groceries. Then home. Now shopping. Same as always.”
He nodded. “It was a great service this morning.”
She looked away. “Yeah. I guess.”
Christian chuckled softly. “That verse got me. ‘Gather up the fragments, that nothing may be lost.’ I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”
She glanced at him sideways. “You get something out of those sermons, huh?”
He nodded. “Yeah. A lot, actually.”
She continued, “I’ve seen you at that church. You and others. It’s like you all have some kind of connection that I don’t. I don’t get it.”
She looked down at her hands. “I believe in God. I do. But it’s all so… impersonal. Like a force, not a person. Not someone I can talk to. Certainly not someone who’d want to talk to me.”
She exhaled quietly. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “I don’t know how to get back out of the hole. Or if I can.”
Christian said nothing. He just turned slightly toward her, giving her space to keep going.
“You’re right about it being personal,” he said gently. “It is very personal. I feel almost like a friend of God.”
She turned to him, eyes searching. “That’s what I mean. I can’t imagine ever saying that. ‘Friend’ and ‘God’ in the same sentence?”
She shook her head. “No. There’s a point in life—especially in the life of a woman—when you say to yourself, What I have is all I get. And what I got isn’t much. And it’s my own damn fault.”
Christian’s voice softened. “I know that feeling.”
She looked at him, slightly skeptical.
“I was eighteen,” he said. “My family was falling apart. My biological dad had walked out when I was a baby. My stepfather was not easy—no need to go further into that. My mom was trying to survive in a dinky little border town in southern Arizona. I thought I was a leftover. Just a crumb on the floor.”
He looked ahead. “Then I read that verse in a Bible study. ‘Gather up the fragments, that nothing may be lost.’ And I thought, That’s me. I’m a fragment. And somehow, it felt like God was saying, ‘Yes. You. I want you. I’m not done with you.’”
She blinked quickly.
Christian smiled. “He hasn’t stopped with me since. And He’s still gathering people. He hasn’t missed a single one.”
He looked at her with a wry smile and said emphatically, “Not. One. Crumb. Do you get it?”
The elevator dinged.
She hesitated. “You think He’s gathering… me?”
“I do. I know He wants to,” Christian said. “I think He’s been doing it for a while.”
She stepped out and then turned before the doors closed.
“Maybe next Sunday,” she said, “I’ll stay for coffee.”
Christian smiled. “I’d like that. And don’t forget Easter. It’s going to be a zoo! I’ll save you a seat if you tell me you’re coming. I’ve invited a few more friends I’ve met here in this Schindler 7200.”
She looked puzzled. “I’m sorry—this what 7200?”
“Inside joke. Sorry. The elevator. It’s got a name: The Schindler 7200.”
The doors closed.
Christian never got her name, which was unusual. But he had a good feeling he’d see her again—in church, on Easter.
🍼 Conclusion: The Second Birth
One of the most distinctive features of the Christian faith is this: No one is born a Christian.
A Jewish child is born into the covenant.
A Muslim child is raised in submission to God’s law.
But a Christian child? Jesus explained to Nicodemus in John 3: “You must be born again.” That means Christianity isn’t genetic. It’s generative.
You don’t inherit the faith through bloodlines or Sunday school attendance. It’s not a cultural feature—it’s a spiritual rebirth.
The woman in the elevator may not know it yet, but what she’s aching for—that sense of closeness, of friendship with God—isn’t found by trying harder. It’s received by being born anew.
When someone experiences this second birth, everything changes:
God is no longer distant. He is Father.
Jesus is no longer just a moral teacher. He is the Savior, Brother, and Friend.
The Holy Spirit no longer feels like a doctrine. He becomes an indwelling presence.
This woman already knows about Jesus—she grew up around His name, His story, His people. But she’s looking for more. And the Gospel says: there is more.
Not just knowledge, but new life. Not just a past, but a future. Not just a feature of her identity, but a defining relationship.
“To all who did receive Him, who believed in His name, He gave the right to become children of God—who were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.”
— John 1:12–13
The Christ Church Stories
This coming week, I will start a series of posts about the three decades of ministry Fran and I enjoyed at Christ Church. The congregation is celebrating its 40th Anniversary, and I was the founding Rector in 1985 and served until 2016. It was a blessing for my wife and me at every level, and The Christ Church Stories are written to celebrate decades of God’s Incredible Faithfulness. Be sure to become a paid subscriber so you don’t miss a thing.
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