Is This Church?

It’s winter in the Texas Hill Country, and I’m sitting at my favorite table at a McDonald’s.

It’s frigidly cold outside. The scalding hot coffee in a medium-sized cup warms my hands.

As always, my Bible and journal are open in front of me. God’s Word feels like a lighthouse shining in the darkness, waiting to be seen by a lost—or found—soul under the Golden Arches.

I take a careful sip of black coffee and begin to write when a man approaches. With a smile, he says, “Studying the Book of Romans, huh? What church do you go to?”

I respond, “You must be a fellow brother in Christ. Have a seat.”

Truth be told, I deflect the question at first. I’ve been “ambushed” too many times over the years. People are often listening for the right answer, and when they don’t hear it, assumptions follow—usually denominational ones.

“Bob” sits across from me and asks again, politely, “So… where’s your home church?”

I say, “This is it—at least one of them.”

His face goes blank for a moment. Then he grins, as if I’ve told a joke that needs a second to land. “No, really,” he says.

For the next hour, we talk about the question: Is this church? Some believe the church has a name—and that it is definitely not a McDonald’s.

When we eventually part ways, an unspoken question lingers between us:

Are we really brothers?