“A House Is Not a Home… And Neither Is a Church Without Love”

When I was a young man, I used to listen to the late, great Luther Vandross sing that beautiful song, “A House Is Not a Home.” And back then, with my young mind and my childish understanding, I thought Luther was singing about a building. I thought he was talking about furniture, chairs, rooms, hallways, doors and windows. I thought he was singing about a place where somebody lived.

But somewhere along this journey called life, when I got a little older, when I experienced a few disappointments, survived a few heartbreaks, shed a few tears and learned that everything that looks good on the outside isn't necessarily good on the inside, I began to understand what Luther was really singing about.

You see, Luther wasn't talking about furniture. He wasn't talking about architecture. He wasn't talking about the size of the living room or the number of bedrooms. He was talking about the difference between a place where people live and a place where love lives. He was reminding us that you can have a beautiful house, expensive furniture, freshly painted walls, a manicured lawn and a driveway full of automobiles, and still have a home filled with loneliness.

Because a house is made of bricks and wood, but a home is built with love. A house can provide shelter from the rain, but only love can provide shelter from the storms of life. A house can have a fireplace that warms your body, but without love, it will never warm your soul. And somewhere along the way, I discovered that you can live under the same roof with somebody and still be a thousand miles apart.

But stay with me, because I'm not really talking about Luther Vandross this morning. I'm talking about the church! You see, many of us have been reading the 122nd Psalm with the same childish understanding that I once had when I listened to Luther.

David declared in Psalm 122:1: “I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the Lord.” And, oh, how we love to quote that Scripture! We shout it on Sunday mornings. We recite it during church anniversaries. We declare it when we dedicate new sanctuaries. We use it to encourage people to come through the church doors. And there's nothing wrong with any of that.

But I stopped by this morning to suggest that perhaps we have become so fascinated with the house that we have forgotten what makes it a home. Because a pew is still a pew. A pulpit is still a pulpit. A choir stand is still a choir stand. A sanctuary is still a sanctuary. And stained-glass windows are still nothing more than colored glass. And just like Luther reminded us that a house is not a home without love, I came to remind somebody that a  church is not truly functioning as God's house when the love of God cannot be found inside!

Can I preach for just a minute? You can have a hundred-member choir and still have no love. You can have a preacher with three theological degrees and still have no compassion. You can have deacons dressed in their finest suits, trustees counting thousands of dollars, ushers standing at every door and a congregation that knows every hymn in the book. But if you cannot love the person sitting beside you, what good is all that religion?

If you can shout on Sunday but refuse to speak to your neighbor on Monday, something is wrong! If you can lift holy hands in worship but use those same hands to point fingers of condemnation, something is wrong! If you can sing about amazing grace but refuse to extend grace to somebody who has fallen, something is wrong! And if you can preach about a Savior who forgave His enemies while you are sitting in the pew plotting revenge against yours, you may be attending church, but you have missed the Christ!

Somebody ought to say amen right there! Because the tragedy of the modern church is not that we don't have enough buildings. It's that too many of our buildings are filled with people who have forgotten how to love. We have perfected the order of worship but neglected the obligation to love. We know when to stand, when to sit, when to sing and when to give. But we don't always know when to forgive. We don't always know when to show mercy. We don't always know when to embrace somebody whose life has fallen apart.

We have learned how to have church without learning how to be the church! And that's a dangerous place to be. Because Jesus never said the world would recognize His disciples by the size of their sanctuaries. He never said they would know us by the length of our robes, the titles before our names or the amount of money in our offering plates. No, sir!

In John 13:35, Jesus declared: “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.” Did you hear that? Not by your denomination. Not by your church membership. Not by your position on the usher board. Not by how many Scriptures you can quote. But by your LOVE!

And I wonder this morning, if somebody walked into our churches without knowing anything about Christianity, would they recognize Jesus by the way we treat one another? Would they find acceptance or judgment? Would they find healing or hostility? Would they find forgiveness or a congregation keeping a record of everybody's mistakes? Would they find a family willing to embrace them, or a social club trying to determine whether they belong?

Because I've discovered something along this journey. Some people aren't staying away from church because they don't believe in God. They're staying away because they have been wounded by people who claim to represent Him. Somebody came looking for a word of encouragement and received a word of condemnation. Somebody came looking for a shoulder to cry on and became the subject of the next church gossip session. Somebody came looking for a family and discovered cliques. Somebody came looking for mercy and encountered judgment. And somebody came looking for Jesus but couldn't see Him through the behavior of the people sitting in His house.

You see, David's joy in Psalm 122 was rooted in something greater than the beauty of a building. Jerusalem was the place where God's people gathered in worship, thanksgiving and unity. And I believe that ought to challenge every one of us. Because when we say, "I was glad when they said unto me, let us go into the house of the Lord," we ought to be glad not simply because we're entering a building, but because we're entering a fellowship where the presence of God should be reflected in the love of His people.

A place where the broken can find healing. Where the lonely can find companionship. Where the hungry can find bread. Where the weary can find rest. Where the sinner can find grace. And where the person who has been rejected by the world can discover that God's love still has room for them.

That's what the church ought to be! Not a museum for displaying perfect saints, but a hospital for healing wounded souls. Not a country club for the religiously privileged, but a refuge for those who are struggling to survive. Not a courtroom where everybody is waiting to pronounce somebody guilty, but a place where grace and truth meet. And before somebody misunderstands me, let me make something clear. I'm not suggesting that we abandon our church buildings. I'm suggesting that we stop confusing the building with the body of Christ.

Because the church is not merely where we go. The church is who we are called to be. And when the benediction has been pronounced, when the choir has taken off its robes, when the preacher has closed his Bible and when the lights have been turned off in the sanctuary, the church ought to still be alive in the streets!

It ought to be alive in the way we treat the homeless. Alive in the way we care for our seniors. Alive in the way we mentor our children. Alive in the way we defend the oppressed. Alive in the way we stand up for those who have no voice. Alive in the way we love people who cannot do anything for us in return. Because the real test of our Christianity is not how loudly we worship inside the building, but how faithfully we live outside of it.

And here's where I want to leave you this morning. Luther taught me that a house without love is just a building. But Jesus taught me something even greater. In 1 Corinthians 13, the Apostle Paul reminds us that we can speak with the tongues of men and angels, possess extraordinary faith, give away everything we own and still amount to nothing if we do not have love.

Think about that. You can have the gift and still miss the Giver. You can know the Word and still fail to live it. You can occupy the front pew and still have a heart far removed from God. And you can be surrounded by religious activity while being spiritually empty.

So the next time you walk through those church doors, don't just ask whether the choir is going to sing your favorite song. Don't just ask whether the preacher is going to deliver a powerful sermon. Don't just ask whether the service is going to end on time. Ask yourself something far more important. Is there somebody in this building who needs to experience the love of God through me today? Is there somebody I need to forgive? Somebody I need to encourage? Somebody I need to embrace? Somebody I need to apologize to? Somebody who needs to know that no matter what they've done, where they've been or what they're going through, they are still worthy of love? Because when it's all said and done, God is not nearly as impressed with our buildings as we are. He is concerned about what is happening inside our hearts.  And perhaps that's the message we have been missing all these years. A chair is still a chair. A room is still a room. A pew is still a pew. And a church building is still just a building if the love of Christ is missing.

So, yes, David, I was glad when they said unto me, let us go into the house of the Lord. But I want to be even more glad when I get there and discover that love is waiting at the door. That mercy has a seat on the front row. That forgiveness is standing in the pulpit. That compassion is singing in the choir. That justice is walking down the aisle. And that Jesus is not simply a name on the church sign, but a living presence in the hearts of His people.

Because when love walks into the sanctuary, a building becomes a place of belonging. When grace walks through the doors, broken people can begin to heal. And when Jesus becomes the center of everything we do, the house of worship becomes a spiritual home. And maybe, just maybe, when people experience that kind of love, we won't have to spend so much time begging them to come to church. They'll come because they know that when they get there, somebody will love them. Because a house is not a home without love. And a church without love may have a congregation, but it has forgotten its calling.