Last week, I stood in a room filled with people who spend their evenings tutoring English, helping families navigate school systems, driving neighbors to doctor’s appointments, and sitting at kitchen tables listening to stories of home. CBFVA had the privilege of helping sponsor RAIVS, a gathering for volunteers in immigrant and refugee communities hosted by ReEstablish Richmond — a partner whose work quietly changes lives every day.
There was laughter in the room. There were name tags and hugs and the easy camaraderie of people who share a calling. But beneath it all was a question that kept surfacing, in small groups and large discussions alike:
How do we become more welcoming spaces?
Most congregations I know really want to be welcoming spaces. We train greeters. We update signage. We create welcome centers and visitor cards. Those things matter. They communicate intention.
But as I listened to the stories shared at RAIVS, I realized again that welcome begins long before someone reaches for the door of the church. Entering a new church is hard for anyone. Whether you are an immigrant from a far away land or someone two blocks away that hasn’t been inside a church for years, walking into worship on Sunday morning is not an easy thing,
So what does welcome look like then?
I think welcome comes in many ways. It looks like a sermon preached with awareness — explaining instead of assuming, inviting instead of insider-speaking. It looks like prayers that remember the global church and the displaced, not as abstract ideas but as beloved siblings. It looks like conversations after worship where curiosity replaces quick conclusions.
It looks like making church a space where folks feel seen, heard and valued.
At RAIVS, I heard volunteers describe sitting with refugees as they told stories of leaving home — stories of hurried goodbyes, closed borders, long journeys. One volunteer said, “Sometimes I don’t know what to say. So I just listen.”
That’s holy ground.
Listening to an immigrant mother talk about her children balancing two cultures is sacred work. Listening to someone who has been hurt by church before is an act of repentance. It requires humility. It requires patience. It requires us to admit that we do not know everything about someone else’s story.
A welcoming church makes room for those stories.
It happens in small groups where testimonies are shared. It happens over meals where recipes travel across continents. It happens in quiet conversations in fellowship halls long after most people have gone home. And slowly, something shifts. “They” becomes “we.”
The church begins to realize that welcome is not a one-way gift we offer to others. It is a mutual transformation. As new stories enter the community, the community itself changes. In Scripture, belonging so often happens at a table. But the table is more than food.
It is the leadership meeting where a new voice is invited — and truly heard. It is worship planning that makes room for different languages and expressions of praise. It is classrooms where questions are safe and doubt is not shamed.When newcomers see that they are not permanent guests but future contributors, belonging deepens. Ownership grows. The church becomes richer.
Of course, welcome stretches us. Music preferences may change. Schedules may shift. Languages may multiply. Long-held assumptions may be gently — or not so gently — challenged. And in those moments, every congregation must decide: are we trying to preserve what has been, or participate in what God is doing now?
To be a welcoming church is not about getting everything right. It is about posture. It is about repentance when we fail. It is about courage when fear whispers that change is too costly. It is about love that keeps widening the circle.
There is room here.
By: Mark Snipes
CBFVA Coordinator