Your Spirit and Its Measure: Rejoicing Even When the Seats Are Taken
I know a bad dad joke. I also know some bad theology that gets repeated like it's Scripture. And I’ve got a few blind spots too—more than I care to admit. But let me tell you a little story from this past Easter Sunday. It was early morning, the spring chill was still hanging in the air, but there was a warmth buzzing around our little church like a pre-game locker room before the big match. I pulled into the lot a little earlier than usual, and as I walked in, I bumped into a fellow believer who usually sits a few rows behind me and a little to the right.
You know what I mean—us Christians, we’ve got our seats. And woe to the visitor who unknowingly claims our sacred territory! It’s not written down anywhere, but it might as well be etched in stone. We smiled and exchanged greetings, the kind of Sunday-morning small talk that sits on the edge of spiritual and sarcastic. He chuckled and said, “I got here early—didn’t want to lose my seat.”
And I get that. Easter Sunday—resurrection day, the Super Bowl of Christianity—is packed. You can feel it in the air. You can see it in the parking lot. Every pew filled. Every handout gone. Every coffee cup drained twice. There’s a buzz. And then he dropped a comment that, if I’m honest, stuck with me in the wrong way.
“Yup,” he said. “Easter and Christmas—the two days of the year all the pretend Christians show up.”
Now, maybe he meant it as a joke. Maybe it was his way of breaking the tension or sharing in that “insider” chuckle we believers sometimes let slip when we feel a little too proud of our church attendance streak. But I’ve got to say: it didn’t sit right with me.
Because when the church is full—no matter the reason—it should be met with rejoicing, not ridicule.
We aren’t the gatekeepers. We’re not the ushers of who’s worthy or who’s sincere. That job is way above our pay grade. And if our hearts are right, we’d be celebrating that someone—anyone—found their way to church that day.
Measuring the Spirit: A Scale We Don’t Control
So how do you measure your spirit? What’s the yardstick? Is it attendance? Number of verses memorized? Tithing percentage? Bible app streak?
If we’re not careful, we can begin to view our spirituality like a gym membership—how often we show up, how much weight we lift, and whether our abs are showing.
But the spirit… it doesn’t flex the way our bodies do. It reveals itself in our humility, our mercy, our openness, our grace. Not our seats.
Jesus never once asked, “Did you sit in the same spot every week?” But He did ask if you fed the hungry, clothed the naked, welcomed the stranger, and loved your neighbor.
And just because someone shows up twice a year doesn’t mean God hasn’t been working in their hearts the other 363 days. What if that person was wrestling with belief all year? What if Easter is the one day their soul cracked open wide enough to let a bit of light in? And instead of welcoming that tender heart, we met them with sarcasm and suspicion?
If we were honest, we’d realize that the metric for measuring our spirit is usually not what we think it is. Jesus measured faith not by posture, but by position—of the heart.
The Blind Spot We All Carry
Hence the phrase “blind spot.” We can’t see it. We need mirrors. We need accountability. We need the Holy Spirit’s gentle nudge—and sometimes a loud smack—to help us see what we’re missing.
I know mine. I like to think I’ve got the discernment of Solomon, but sometimes I’ve got the sensitivity of a stone. I’ve said things that seemed harmless but cut deeper than I realized. I’ve assumed things about people’s hearts that I had no business judging.
And isn’t that the danger? When we start mistaking sarcasm for discernment and criticism for clarity?
Here’s the truth: we all need grace. The seasoned believer. The twice-a-year attender. The pastor. The prodigal. Grace is the great equalizer.
So let me ask you a serious question. When someone new walks into your church and takes your seat—literally or figuratively—what does your spirit measure?
Welcome or judgment? Joy or jealousy? Invitation or irritation?
If we really understood the weight of what it means to be the body of Christ, we’d treat every guest as sacred. Because every soul that walks through those doors is a soul that God is pursuing. And maybe—just maybe—He’s using you to show them what that pursuit looks like.
Old Testament Reminder: The Heart Above Ritual
Let’s not forget that even the Old Testament, often labeled as “law-heavy,” had a clear thread about the importance of the heart.
Micah 6:6-8 says:
“With what shall I come before the Lord and bow down before the exalted God? Shall I come before him with burnt offerings... Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams…? He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”
Act justly. Love mercy. Walk humbly.
Does that sound like seat-guarding? Or does that sound like heart-welcoming?
The spirit is not measured in ritual—it’s revealed in relationship. Not just our relationship with God, but how we treat those He loves. And spoiler alert: that’s everyone.
New Testament Shift: From Condemnation to Commission
Now flash forward to the New Testament. Jesus—our model—was a seat-disrupter. He didn’t stick to tradition. He didn’t cater to the comfortable.
In fact, some of His strongest words were for those who looked the part but missed the heart.
In Matthew 23:27, He says:
“Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs…”
Ouch.
Jesus wasn’t harsh toward the lost. He was direct with those who claimed to be found but couldn’t find compassion.
He broke bread with sinners. Welcomed children. Healed on the Sabbath. And when the church was full? He fed the five thousand—he didn’t turn them away.
If Jesus came to your church this Easter, would He have to wrestle a few believers out of their usual seats to make room for the “pretenders”? Or would He find His people rejoicing that the house is full?
Three Ways to Rejoice and Lead in a Full Church
So how do we rejoice when the church is bursting? How do we lead others well when the pews are packed with unfamiliar faces? Here are three practical ways we can reflect Christ and measure our spirits rightly:
1. Welcome Without Hesitation
Don’t assume. Embrace. That stranger next to you might be carrying the heaviest burden of their life. Don’t measure their spiritual worth by their church attendance history—measure it by their courage to show up.
Smile. Say hello. Offer your spot. You might just be the answer to their silent prayer: “Lord, show me You’re real.”
Hebrews 13:2 says:
“Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.”
And even if they’re not an angel, they’re someone’s child. Someone’s spouse. Someone’s lost sheep. And Jesus would leave the ninety-nine just to sit beside them.
2. Shift the Focus from Me to Mission
The purpose of the church is not to make me comfortable—it’s to make disciples.
If my seat, my preference, my parking spot, or my favorite coffee creamer becomes more important than the person walking through the door, I’ve missed the mission.
The church is not a country club. It’s a rescue center. And rescue centers are messy, chaotic, and full of people who don’t have it all figured out. Just like me.
Philippians 2:3 reminds us:
“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves…”
That includes the twice-a-year guest, the crying baby, and the guy who claps on the wrong beat.
3. Celebrate Every Soul Like Heaven Does
Luke 15:7 says:
“I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.”
That means Easter Sunday might be the most joyful day in heaven—if we play our part well. If we love well. If we welcome well. If we rejoice well.
So let’s stop making jokes about “those people” who only come on Easter or Christmas. Instead, let’s make room for them. Not just in the pews, but in our hearts.
Because when they show up, the measure of our spirit will be tested. Not by how loud we sing. But by how much we love.
Awesome again! Much rejoicing today.
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