In countless churches today, there’s an unwritten rulebook that might as well be chiseled into the church walls: Who’s in, who’s out. It’s a modern-day Pharisee checklist that Jesus never signed off on.

“Divorced? Sorry, pal, find another place to serve.” And if your résumé includes a stint in the slammer? “You’ve been in jail; maybe try knitting instead of ministry.” It’s as if churches have forgotten that one of Christianity’s top influencers, Paul, was a jailbird and a Christian hunter before his road-trip revelation.

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature; old things have passed away; behold, new things have come” (2 Corinthians 5:17). This should be a billboard in every church lobby, yet some folks act like it’s written in invisible ink.

Let’s talk about the smoker with a heart for God or the tattooed mom who can out-pray the deacon board. “You smoke? Hope you like the back pew.” “Tattoos? What’s next, a motorcycle gang in the sanctuary?” Last I checked, the Bible said, “man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7). Seems we’re more interested in appearances than actual spiritual health.

And let’s not start on the single parents. “Had a kid out of wedlock? Hope you don’t mind being a second-class servant.” Or how about those who’ve battled addiction? “Oh, you struggled with drugs? Maybe lead a prayer in another decade.” If Jesus met these folks, He’d probably throw an arm around them, invite them to lead the next Bible study, and ask them to share their testimony, not cast them out to the church lawn. Jesus wasn’t in the business of shaming the struggling; He was all about writing comeback stories on hearts that society had scribbled out.

Now, let me get personal for a minute. Years back, I was sporting the orange jumpsuit, not as a fashion statement, but as a guest of the state. Today, I’m in jail ministry. Think about it—would these guys listen to a word I say if all I had was a theology degree and a spotless record? Fat chance. They listen because I’ve been in their shoes. I’ve messed up just as big, and yet here I am, living proof that change is possible.

“My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9). That’s not a gentle suggestion; it’s a divine megaphone blasting, “I use the broken to break chains.” In the trenches of ministry, a seminary diploma doesn’t glow as bright as a life transformed by grace.

So why do we keep treating the church like a country club where only the ‘right kind’ of sinners are welcome? Last time I checked, the Gospel was about flinging doors wide open, not installing turnstiles.

Here’s the bottom line: It’s time for church leaders to quit the membership policing and start acting like Christ. That means embracing everyone—the broken, the tattooed, the smokers, the single parents—because if we’re all honest, we’re just a bunch of messed-up folks saved by a really generous God.

Let’s not complicate what Jesus made simple. The church isn’t an elite club for the flawless; it’s a hospital for the broken, and buddy, we’re all in need of some healing.