Why I Still Believe in the Church—Even When It’s Messy

By: Nicholas DeYoung

I’ve been part of the church long enough to know its beauty and its brokenness.

I’ve witnessed sacred moments that could only be described as holy—when forgiveness was extended, when reconciliation unfolded, when the Spirit moved among people with unexplainable power. I’ve also sat in elders’ meetings heavy with conflict, watched friendships fracture over theological disagreements, and seen leaders fall from grace.

And yet—I still believe in the Church.

I don’t mean belief in some idealized version of the Church, neatly packaged and scrubbed clean for public presentation. I believe in the Church as it really is: imperfect, unpredictable, and sometimes painfully disappointing. But I also believe in its potential. In its calling. In its resilience. I believe the Church, even when it’s messy, is still God’s chosen instrument to bring hope, healing, and truth to a hurting world.

Wrestling with Disappointment

Let’s be honest. Many of us have been wounded by the Church—or at least disillusioned. We’ve seen leaders misuse power, churches become echo chambers of political ideology, and fellow believers more quick to argue than to listen. In a season where it feels like partisan politics have infected our pulpits, and fear seems to be preached as frequently as faith, it’s tempting to throw our hands in the air and walk away.

But walking away isn’t the only option.

There’s another way. A slower, more painful, but ultimately redemptive way: staying. Lamenting. Hoping. Working for change.

That’s the way I’ve chosen. Not because I’m naive, but because I’ve seen glimpses—tastes—of what the Church can be when it truly reflects the heart of Christ.

A Better Witness Is Possible

The early Church wasn’t perfect either. Read Paul’s letters. There was division, immorality, legalism, and hypocrisy. And yet Paul doesn’t abandon them—he exhorts them to live differently, to be transformed, to become a witness to a watching world. That calling hasn’t changed.

We are still invited to be salt and light. Not culture warriors. Not empire-builders. Not fear-mongers. But peacemakers. Bridge-builders. Truth-tellers. Servants.

In a cultural moment where fear and anger dominate our discourse, the Church has the opportunity to offer an alternative: love that listens, truth that frees, grace that restores.

But let’s be clear. This isn’t about pretending the Church has no flaws. It’s about refusing to let those flaws be the end of the story.

Hope for a Church That Still Reaches

What if the Church reclaimed its mission—not as a political platform but as a lifeline?

Imagine churches known not for their social media statements or their voting guides, but for their generosity. Their care for the poor. Their boldness in proclaiming the full gospel. Their commitment to justice and mercy. Their willingness to sit with people in pain and walk with them toward healing.

That kind of Church exists. I’ve seen it.

In the volunteer who delivers groceries each week to a single mom she met through the church food pantry.
In the pastor who refuses to demonize those who disagree with him and instead teaches his people how to hold convictions with humility.
In the small group that shows up for each other through miscarriage, addiction, and job loss—not just with “thoughts and prayers” but with meals, rides, and tears.

These aren’t headlines. But they’re holy ground.

We Don’t Have to Be Driven by Fear

Too often, fear is the default motivator for the Church: fear of decline, fear of change, fear of “the other.” But Scripture tells a different story.

“Perfect love casts out fear” (1 John 4:18).

When love is our driving force—not fear—we stop seeing people as threats to our worldview and start seeing them as people God loves. When hope is our anchor—not anger—we stop reacting to culture with panic and start responding with peace.

This is not weakness. It’s radical faith. The kind that believes God is still working—even in the mess.

Unity Is Not Uniformity

Some people say the Church will never be united. They might be right if unity means we all vote the same or agree on every doctrine. But that’s not biblical unity. Unity, as Jesus prayed for in John 17, is about oneness of spirit, rooted in Him. It’s about being known by our love, not our positions.

Real unity makes room for difference. It’s patient. It’s kind. It’s costly. But it’s worth pursuing—because the world is watching.

When we choose unity over division, love over suspicion, relationship over tribalism—we bear witness to a different kingdom. One not built on power, but on peace.

The Church Has Work to Do

Let’s not sugarcoat it. We have work to do. The path we’re on—marked by enmeshment with political power, resistance to repentance, and fear of cultural irrelevance—will not lead to life.

But it’s not too late.

We can repent. We can change. We can reimagine what it means to be the Church in this generation.

We can teach our people to read Scripture with humility and depth.
We can cultivate emotionally healthy leadership.
We can build structures that elevate character over charisma.
We can focus less on branding and more on belonging.
We can speak truth—boldly—but always in love.

This is slow work. It’s frustrating work. But it’s sacred work. And it’s ours to do.