2026.03.08 | I Didn’t Realize How Distracted I’d Become at Church

I walked into church this Sunday more tired than anything else. Time change, kids, a full week, all of it. I grabbed coffee, said the usual hellos, and found my seat. Honestly, I was mostly hoping to just make it through the morning.

Then we opened to Matthew 21, where Jesus walks into the temple and starts flipping tables.

At first it felt distant, something that happened “back then” in “their” temple. But as Jeff kept teaching, it slowly started to feel a lot closer to home. Because the more he talked, the more I realized: I’ve gotten pretty comfortable being distracted in God’s house.

I’ve made grocery lists in my head during worship.
I’ve mentally planned my week during prayer.
I’ve thought about lunch more than I’ve thought about the Lord.
None of it felt evil. Just normal. But normal and healthy aren’t always the same thing.

Jesus calls the temple “a house of prayer.” A place to be with Him. A place for people, especially the broken and the poor, to come and actually meet God without being used or pushed aside.

Meanwhile, I’ve often treated church like it’s a social stop, a habit I keep, background noise to my own thoughts.
 
And then comes the line that really got me: “The blind and the lame came to him in the temple, and he healed them.” The people everyone else kept at a distance are the ones Jesus draws close. The ones who didn’t “fit” the system are the ones He makes space for. I realized I often come to church trying to look fine, sound fine, be fine. All while Jesus is in the room healing people who are willing to admit they’re not.

Then the kids in the story start shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David,” and Jesus doesn’t shut them down. He receives their praise and says this is exactly the kind of worship God is looking for.

Simple. Honest. Undignified in the best way.

By the end of the message, I felt like Jesus had quietly flipped a few tables in me: my casual attitude toward gathered worship, my habit of hiding my real needs, and my tendency to drift through Sundays instead of arriving awake and present.

I left with a simple, uncomfortable, hopeful prayer: “Jesus, this is Your house. Start with me.”

If you’d like to sit with this passage more, you can watch the full sermon on our YouTube channel.