God’s Unread Messages
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This isn't to accuse the Church I love—but to awaken it.
“If one part suffers, all the parts suffer with it…” – 1 Corinthians 12:26
I’ve sat in pews filled with people—and still felt invisible.
I’ve bowed my head in prayer surrounded by voices—and walked away more unheard than before.
I’ve offered a smile at the Sign of Peace—and returned home to a silence that echoed for hours.
And I know I’m not the only one.
We don’t talk about this often, but it’s real: There’s a loneliness inside our churches that no sermon or song alone can fix.
People show up with brave faces and broken hearts, quietly hoping that someone might notice. Most leave the same way they came—invisible.
Jesus Didn’t Just Preach—He Saw.
He saw the woman who bled for twelve years, the one no one would touch.
He saw Zacchaeus hiding in a tree, the tax collector people had written off.
He saw the Samaritan woman at the well, the one society avoided.
He noticed the lonely, the rejected, the ashamed—and He moved toward them.
If we’re truly the Body of Christ, then we’re called to do the same.
The Church Has the Power to Heal—But We Must Be Willing to See.
We host retreats, organize events, run ministries. And yet sometimes, the woman sitting in the back pew every Sunday goes months without anyone remembering her name.
Sometimes, the single man lighting candles feels more connected to the flicker of flame than the people around him.
Sometimes, the teenager who shows up late and slips out early is doing so because he’s afraid no one wants him there.
And sometimes, the person holding the mic feels lonelier than the people in the crowd.
What Are We Rushing For?
We rush to begin Mass.
We rush to clear the hall.
We rush to our groups and our plans and our meetings.
But in our holy busyness, have we lost the art of noticing the soul beside us?
Have we become so focused on the liturgy that we’ve forgotten the lonely?
This Isn't a Criticism. It's a Call.
This is a call from someone who believes in the Church—because I’ve also seen it become a lifeline.
I’ve seen strangers become family, prayers whispered over coffee, and embraces that felt like resurrection.
But that kind of healing only happens when we choose to see each other.
To stay back a little longer.
To ask someone how they’re really doing—and be ready to stay for the answer.
If we can't be the place where the lonely feel seen, then we’ve missed the point of the Gospel.
The Church isn’t four walls. It’s open arms.
A poet, author, and faith writer who believes words can heal what silence hides. My poetry collections — Inked Emotions, Scattered Feelings Stitched in Ink, and Love Beyond Loss — were born out of seasons of grief, solitude, and deep reflection.
Here on Catholic365, I’ve been humbled to share reflections that have reached hundreds of readers. I write not from a place of perfection, but from a longing to make sense of love, loss, and the quiet ways God speaks into our lives.
Whether it’s a poem, a story, or a small reflection, my hope is that you feel seen, encouraged, and gently reminded that faith isn’t always loud — sometimes it’s found in the waiting, the falling, the starting again.
You can find more of my work at https://about.me/anniedcosta
