If you really want to understand American Christianity, you could spend years reading conservative theology books.

Or…

You could just take a slow walk through a church parking lot on a Sunday morning.

I’m serious.

Somewhere between the dented minivans, the oversized pickup trucks, and that one slightly confused Subaru with the coexist sticker that clearly took a wrong turn somewhere, you’ll find a whole lot of theology happening right there on the bumpers.

The church parking lot might be the most honest sermon some congregations preach all week.

And bless their hearts… it speaks volumes.

Now listen, I appreciate enthusiasm.

But if your theology requires strangers in traffic to honk their horn to prove they love Jesus, we may have wandered a little off the trail somewhere between Calvary and the Chick-fil-A drive-through.

Especially when the same car cuts three people off trying to get out of the parking lot after service.

Apparently, spiritual gifts now include road rage and spiritual growth through tailgating.

I’m just saying.

Before anyone gets their Sunday best in a twist, let me say this: I’m all for blessings.

Bless the teachers.
Bless the nurses working double shifts.
Bless the folks keeping the Waffle House running at 2 a.m. when the rest of the world has gone to bed.

But when “God Bless America” becomes the only prayer we know how to pray, something’s gotten a little sideways.

Because Jesus talked a whole lot more about loving your neighbor than blessing your nation.

And sometimes that neighbor lives across a border.
Or speaks a different language.
Or votes differently than you do.

Turns out Love doesn’t stop at the county line.

Now I don’t know about y’all, but if Jesus is my co-pilot, I’m probably pulling over and letting him drive.

Because based on how some folks leave church parking lots, it feels like Jesus is in the passenger seat quietly asking if we could maybe take it down a notch.

The Sermon on the Mount did not include instructions on passing three cars on the shoulder while shouting about freedom.

Somewhere between the benediction and the stop sign, we seem to forget the whole “love your neighbor” part.

Ah yes. The classic.

You’ll see this one on a bumper sticker right next to something that says “We Don’t Call 911.”

Which raises a few interesting theological questions.

Because the family values Jesus talked about looked a lot like feeding hungry people, welcoming strangers, and making room at the table for folks society had already shoved outside.

The table Jesus talked about was big.

Real big.

Big enough for tax collectors, fishermen, skeptics, and the folks everybody else said didn’t belong.

And nobody was standing at the door checking credentials.

This one always makes me pause.

Because the same folks who love putting “In God We Trust” on their license plates sometimes seem to trust guns, money, power, and political parties a whole lot more.

Funny how that works.

Jesus talked about trusting Love.

Not trusting wealth.
Not trusting violence.
Not trusting empire.

Just Love.

Which, if we’re being honest, doesn’t always fit neatly on a bumper sticker.

Church parking lots are interesting places. Because bumper stickers tell you what people believe.

But the way we treat each other pulling in and out of those spaces? That tells you what we practice.

And if the Gospel is supposed to be good news, maybe the best place to start living it isn’t the sanctuary.

Maybe it’s the parking lot.

Let someone merge.
Wave someone ahead.
Smile at the visitor who parked in the wrong spot.

Because if the Spirit can move through bread and wine, I’m pretty sure it can work through a four-way stop too.

And who knows.

Maybe one day the most powerful message in the church parking lot won’t be printed on a bumper sticker at all. Maybe it’ll just be written in how we treat each other when nobody’s watching.

Now that
…That would preach.