For the Love of All Things Holy—Connection Is The Way

An (un)heretical Offering for the High Holy Season

©Himsan via Canva

I’m on someone’s “Naughty” “Needs Saving” list. Well, actually, a couple. I know this because my inbox tells me so. Every few weeks, like clockwork, I receive a forwarded meme or reel—a preacher shouting about sin, a bold-font Scripture slapped on a sunrise, or the classic ‘God can work even your foolishness for good' message. No personal note. No context. Just... sent.

Who decided passive-aggressiveness was the Lord’s work and added it to the Sunday School curriculum? And has anyone in the history of ever been truly saved by a cryptic “You’ve fallen short—like really short—but lucky for you, Jesus loves a project. Get your ass to church.” DM?

My most recent spiritual care package came from someone I haven’t interacted with in over a year—a season that, for the record, included going out on the proverbial limb and quitting my soul-sucking corporate job, moving, sending my firstborn out into the world to start her next chapter, and now teetering on the edge of sitting in my beautifully architectured nest all by my lonesome and wondering if I should be less more less more excited—all as a single parent. But sure, tell me more about how I’ve “fallen short.”

All this, of course, is news to my self-appointed strangers saviors, who are blissfully unaware that I grew up a faithful Presbyterian, hold a BA in Religious Studies, and could probably out-Jesus them in a game of Bible trivia. I’ve studied Jesus’ life—his radical inclusivity, his quiet humility, his habit of showing up for people. I’ve served Him and His children. So, if I’ve somehow—unknowingly—wandered off the path, it wasn’t for lack of a good map.

And then there’s my youngest, who has her own self-appointed “angel”—a woman who has taken it upon herself to guide my kid toward the light for the last couple of years. As if my daughter lives alone in a cave somewhere, utterly unsupervised, without an adult in her life who can (and is) guiding her in matters of faith. Just last month, this rep from The Lord’s PR Department sent a real-time DM during a sermon—as the preacher was preaching—urging my daughter to get herself to church because she was certain my kid needed to hear the message. Apparently, when God calls these days, it’s not through a burning bush—it’s through Instagram DMs from people who don’t even know you well enough to have your number.

It would almost be funny—if it weren’t so ironically tragic.

Jesus, the embodiment of connection, arrived quietly and humbly in the mess of a manger, surrounded by those who traveled to honor Him by being with Him.

He Himself never posted proclamations on temple walls or sent a guy on a donkey with a scroll. Can you imagine? ‘Good morning! Just a reminder that you’re failing me.’ – said literally never by Jesus.

Instead, He showed up.

He lived alongside people.

He sat. He listened. He asked questions.

He saw their soul and recognized their worth.

And then reflected it back to them.

And yet, somewhere along the way, the church seems to have lost sight of what matters—trading connection for conversion tactics, relationship for performance, and communion for control.

Without connection—real, human connection—we have no Jesus.

The people who make me feel seen and loved—who embody what I believe to be true about Jesus—don’t send me sermons they think I need. They lean in. They ask how I’m doing and then hold space for my honest answer. They speak kindly of me—especially when I’m not around. They support me without agenda. They’re curious about my story, my path, and my faith—not to correct it but to understand it, to understand me. And I try my damnedest to do the same for them.

Jesus met people precisely as they were, without pretense or pressure—not to change them in a day or “win” them over like some heavenly multi-level marketing scheme. He showed up as an equal, a human, a friend. The people who were changed by Him were changed by how He made them feel.

Seen.

Valued.

Loved.

If I’m honest, I have my own 'Needs Saving' list—names scribbled in invisible ink, people I’ve quietly sized up or tried to change. But what if I let go of those expectations and held out my hand instead?

The next couple of weeks will offer multiple opportunities to do exactly that. To slow down and sit across from beside one another. To ask questions and dig deeper. To listen and actually hear what’s being said and what isn’t. To meet people where they are and see them—really see them—for who they are.

What if that’s the most meaningful way to honor this season? To show up, humbly and humanly, for the people in front of us.

Maybe that’s where we’ll find Jesus waiting—in the quiet, in the mess, and in each other.