Forget About Me, I Love You: The Prison Poster That Redefined ‘Going to Church’
Isaiah 2:3
"Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord…that He may teach us His ways and that we may walk in His paths."
Why do you "go to church"?
What does that even mean, "go to" church?
The prophet Isaiah seems to suggest that it's to be taught the ways of the Lord and how to walk in His ways. And it's notable that he's not even talking about a building. He’s talking about ascending into God’s presence with God’s people to be re-oriented around God’s reality.
So let’s be brutally honest with the phrase we all use: "I’m going to church."
Grammatically, it’s kinda weird.
You don’t "go to" the family, you are the family, and you gather with the family. Likewise, you don’t "go to" the body of Christ, you are a member of the body, and you assemble so the body can function.
The New Testament never says "go to church." It says things like:
Hebrews 10:25
"Not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some" → active assembling.
1 Corinthians 11:18
"When you come together as a church" → the verb is "come together as church," not "go to church."
So from a biblical perspective, if I'm gathering together the bits and pieces of what the prophets and apostles described, "going to church" really means:
"I am deliberately ascending into the presence of the living God together with my covenant family so that the Word of Christ can dwell in us richly, the Spirit can knit us together in love, and we can stir one another up to love and good works until we all reach maturity in Christ."
(see Colossians 3:16, Ephesians 4:15-16, Hebrews 10:24-25)
That’s a far cry from sliding into a seat, sipping coffee, and hoping the music vibe is on point. Hoping the greeters are friendly and attentive. And hoping they have a children's church so you can get your worship on.
Isaiah’s invitation is still ringing:
Come up. Leave the lowlands of your personal preferences, your busyness, your self-centeredness. And climb the mountain where God speaks. Let Him teach you His ways (not your ways). Let Him re-align your feet to His paths (not the paths that feel easiest). Let Him feed you the spiritual food you need (not coffee and donut-holes).
I want to pause here for a moment and share a little something I experienced during our recent "2 Day" Kairos prison ministry session. I was serving this time has the head CHA and guiding the inside Kairos graduates who had signed up to serve as "CHA's" (Christ's Hands in Action).
Right from the start there was this huge sense of relief, belonging, and immediate connection. Like we've know each other since forever.
Now the thing you've got to know is, we've been locked down from the prison ministry for almost two years. And on top of that there's been a lot of shake-up going on within the prison system. Many inside Kairos graduates have been moved to other prisons and buildings have been repurposed for various new levels of security. In another word, CHAOS!
No community. No communication. No idea who's who and what's what.
But the opportunity came to start up our Kairos program again and we took it. We jumped in like nothing has changed.
The day of the meeting came, we finally arrived, and the CHA's filtered in. Thankfully there were a few familiar faces. And even more thankfully there were MANY new faces.
But here's the thing I wanted to share. We all came together as a family. Like we'd never been apart. And you could sense this feeling of family throughout the entire time we were together. Everyone did his part, whatever that part was. No one came for themselves first. Oh sure...everyone came for personal needs to be met, but first and foremost these CHA's came to serve their brothers and "teach us His ways that we may walk in His paths" expressed in the context of "family".
This was the common theme. "Family".
So much so, that when I asked the CHA's to make up a poster that we can share with the community. The theme for their poster was focused on exactly that, F.A.M.I.L.Y:
Forget
About
Me
I
Love
You
Those men, many of them with decades still ahead behind bars, drew wings, a halo, and a cross, then spelled out the secret they’ve discovered on the inside. That’s the sound of Isaiah 2:3 being lived, not just quoted. Because when you really "go up the mountain of the Lord," something dies on the way up:
your ego.
your preferences.
your need to be noticed, applauded, or even comfortable.
And something amazing rises up in its place:
a family that looks like Jesus.
No two-year gap.
No "who are these new guys?"
Just instant recognition: "There’s my brother. There's my family. There’s my Father’s house."
That’s what the New Testament keeps calling "koinonia", the shared life of people who’ve died to self and risen together in Christ. It’s why Paul can say to a bunch of prisoners in Rome, "You’re my joy and my crown" (Philippians 4:1), and mean it. It’s why men who’ve lost everything on the outside suddenly gain everything on the inside when they gain each other.
And look...those wings on the poster aren’t coming out of the cross.
The cross is in the middle of the wings. The only reason we can fly like family is because He was first nailed down. The only reason we can forget about "me" is because Jesus never forgot about "you", all the way to death.
So "church", here’s the quiet, thunderous truth my CHA brothers just handed the rest of us on a crayon-colored poster:
The fastest way up the mountain of the Lord is to stop climbing for yourself and start carrying someone else.
When you do that, the air gets thinner for pride.
The view gets clearer for Jesus.
And suddenly you realize you’re not climbing alone, you’re flying in formation, locked wingtip to wingtip with brothers who’ve decided the same thing:
Forget about me. I love you.
That’s what "going to church" actually is.
That’s what Isaiah heard echoing from the future.
That’s what the gates of hell still can’t figure out how to stop.
So Sunday morning, when you walk into your own gathering; whether it’s a cathedral, a living room, or a prison chapel, look for the men and women who’ve already drawn the same poster on their hearts. You’ll recognize them.
They’ll be the ones with wings.
And zero interest in themselves.
Prayer
Father, do it again.
Turn our "I’m going to church" into "I’m ascending the hill with my family."
Kill whatever still screams "me" and resurrect whatever whispers "you."
Give us prison-poster hearts, crayon-bright and cross-centered, until the world looks up and sees a whole flock of winged ex-egos spelling out the same five words that shook the bars on our 2 Day:
Forget about me.
I love you.
In the name of the One who first forgot about Himself for us,
Amen.