I want to curse. Now, before you get hung up about cursing, let’s remember there are bigger problems in the universe—cursing is a minor one. Bloated bellies, female genital mutilation, the caste system in India … those are major ones. Oh, and 6-year-old girls forced into child prostitution in Thailand. That falls into the “major problem” category, too.

A few years ago, Tony Campolo did a good job of “tactfully cursing” to an audience of 20,000. He said there were three problems in the world. The first: millions of people in the world were suffering and going to hell. The second: most people didn’t care (he used another choice word). The third: that people in the audience were more upset by the choice word he used than the fact that millions were suffering and going to hell.

Ouch. Can’t land in the middle on that one.

Recently, I heard a local pastor make the statement that in third-world countries the Gospel is more important than food. He continued to say that to meet the physical needs of someone but not give the Gospel is something we shouldn’t waste our valuable time on. After all, time is short and Jesus is coming back any minute now. If their soul is going to burn in hell, giving them a little bit of food is just prolonging the inevitable, right?

May God forgive us (myself first and foremost) for not knowing or caring about the reality of the world; for being so ignorant and numb and detached from it that we have the audacity to say that it’s more important for people to agree with us than it is to meet their critical physical needs. May God forgive us for not knowing or caring to know the pain of hunger, the heartache of losing all of your children, the shame of rape and genital mutilation and the agony of being affected by an unprecedented AIDS epidemic.

If the roles were reversed and we were there and they were here, we’d be slightly ticked. We might even curse, just to see if anyone cared.

If you’re a good Christian, John 3:16 has been your mantra from birth. I’m pretty sure I came out of the womb reciting it. And, I’ll be honest, I dig it. I want the world to know that God so loved them. I agree with Jesus—I just think we’ve forgotten that “world” doesn’t mean “America.”

So, if we want the world to hear about Jesus, why isn’t the world hearing? Why are our buildings getting bigger (and more high-tech: cool lights, awesome stages and flashy stuff are apparently an extension of the Holy Spirit?) and our “World Need’s” budgets (also known as “missions”) shrinking?

Isn’t the point to extend your soul to the hungry and satisfy the afflicted soul? It is, according to Isaiah 58:10: “And if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday.”

If your point is to have better programs, bigger buildings and more numbers (and flat-screen TVs—those are pretty awesome), then it’s not. (By the way, please note that Isaiah 58 is not referring to some abstract spiritual hunger. We’re talking about empty bellies. The hungry kind.)

So who are the people who are going to change this? I was reminded today of what I’ve already been convinced of: it’s not going to be the “nice guy.”

Nice guys don’t stir up trouble.
Nice guys don’t get arrested.
Nice guys don’t break the rules.
Nice guys certainly don’t have the guts to risk losing their “nice status.”
Nice guys don’t change the world.
Nice guys don’t die on crosses.

If you’re nice, congratulations. You’ve become exactly what most churches are trying to make you. Grab your pew seat and fasten your seatbelt ‘cause you’re not going anywhere.

Where are the men and women who are willing to be revolutionaries (definition: radically new or innovative; outside or beyond established procedure, principles)? History cannot deny that it is those people who have changed the world, those who have risked all in order to experience and share the love and justice of a God who is enthralled with humanity.

Here’s the challenge: I look at the Church and the people who make her (which I am one of) and my natural instinct in my frustration is, “Forget the church.” However, I’m reminded of the words of St. Augustine: “The church is a whore, but she is my mother.”

Here’s my confession: I still have so far to go and realize I can’t do it alone. I am desperate to find other people who aren’t afraid to ask the hard questions and wrestle with the hard answers, to peer inside their souls and look at what is really there. I long for a community of people who will genuinely challenge me in a non-legalistic, agenda-free way to live my life with purpose, filled with sacrifice and overflowing with joy.

Here’s my fear: I’m terrified I’ll waste a lot of my life. I know I’m doing some good with my life. (Heck, compared to some people I could probably pat myself on the back and throw up a high-five.) But at the end of the day, when I’m left alone with my thoughts, I’m still afraid I won’t experience all that Jesus has for me personally and that I’ll miss what He wants to do through me corporately.

Here’s my hope: Deep down I’m an optimist (in case you couldn’t tell). I’m filled with hope that she (the Church) will become the beautiful, breathtaking bride she was intended to be. And instead of complaining or being critical, I’m going to love the people who make up my “church.” I’m going to continue to become the woman He wants me to be. We, together, are going to continue to become the people He wants us to become—a church that is glorious and beautiful and life-giving to the world.

“‘Come here, I’ll show you the Bride, the Wife of the Lamb.’ … resplendent in the bright glory of God.”—Revelation 21:9, 11

Author’s note: I want people to go to heaven. Really, really bad. And I’m committed to spending my life to see as many people get there as possible. But I’m also committed to loving the world around me, regardless of whether or not they ever believe.