What Will Visitors Encounter When They Walk Into Your Church This Easter?

Rev. Hannah Lovaglio

In the Gospel of John, Jesus begins his ministry with an invitation:Come & see.

As in: come, look around. Pay attention. Notice what’s here. Feel the difference. Abide.

Or, as my Granny might have said as she poured your sweet tea: Sit on down. Stay a while.

We know this invitation well. We extend it ourselves. We pray for people to come. We plan for visitors, especially on Easter. We prepare for fanfare come Easter morning, hoping many visitors will come & see, sit and stay a while.

But a deeper question lingers…

When they come, what will they find?

• An A+ sermon and their favorite hymns.
• The beauty of a flower-filled sanctuary.
• Fine dresses and pastel painted children.

Maybe the question I’m really asking is, what will they encounter?

A mission-driven people?

A community of care?

An extension of the neighborhood around it?

That kind of life is often more concrete than we imagine. Fresh paint where it was needed. Lights that work. Pews that are tidy. A bulletin that speaks welcome. Coffee wafting from the fellowship hall. People who notice you when you walk through the door.

Resurrection has a way of showing up in the small things, even as simple as a light that works, a doorway freshly painted, a repaired step made safe again.

Or will they find subtle signs of something else?

A congregation turned inward. Worn spaces and worn people. Yesterday’s momentum slowly fading. A life carried on by habit more than hope. The quiet accumulation of making do.

Likely, they’ll experience both. But with some effort, maybe we can bend the needle more towards life, resurrection, alleluias rising.

Visitors rarely know the full story of a congregation, but they can sense the spirit of a place almost immediately. And that spirit does a lot to determine whether or not they stick around long enough to learn the full story.

They notice the welcome at the door. They notice whether coffee hour is hospitality or obligation. They notice whether the building is cared for, if someone had them in mind before they ever arrived. They notice if our interest in them is really just interest in preserving ourselves.

And perhaps most of all, they notice the energy of the people gathered there. Not just the worship leaders, but the people in the pews.

Easter morning pronounces: he is risen, he is risen indeed! The tomb is empty, death and despair do not have the final word. It is the church’s boldest declaration of hope.

And that hope ought to be felt when you walk into the building.

The church is the empty tomb come Easter morning.

Not because it is perfect, but because something astonishing has happened. The stone has been rolled away. The place where death once lingered now whispers life.

The Gospel tells us that on that first Easter morning, Mary stood outside the tomb weeping:

As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb,

and she saw two angels in white

sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying,

one at the head and the other at the feet. (John 20:11-12)

So too, when they arrive on Easter morning and stand outside, peering in, what glimpse of resurrection might they see? How will we proclaim, with our presence, before even an alleluia is sung, that we believe in the resurrection?

Of course, this kind of witness doesn’t happen on a single Sunday morning. It’s built slowly over time—in the choices a congregation makes about its priorities, its stewardship, and its willingness to reckon with questions of sustainability and mission.

It shows up in decisions about buildings, ministries, and whether we invest in the future or simply maintain the past. It’s the work of accompanying one another over time, so that each person is known, loved, and celebrated.

The truth is that Easter readiness isn’t (only) about brass and lilies. Not about one single worship service. Easter is about preparing the life of the church for resurrection. It’s about signs of hope evident in a community that believes God is still at work, making all things new – bringing love out of hate, light out of dark, life out of even death.

When Jesus said, “Come & see,” he trusted that what people would encounter would reveal something true about the kingdom of God.

The same is true for our congregations today.

As Easter approaches, and we prepare for the visitors, I invite you to imagine them as Mary, standing just outside weeping. As they peek in, will they glimpse resurrection? As they turn to go, will we know their name to call it?

“Jesus said to her, ‘Mary!’

She turned and said to him in Hebrew, Rabbouni!’.

For it was in the calling of her name that she recognized the Risen Lord.