My name is Mike Nye, and if there’s one word that captures what I love about Crossroads, it’s community. Patti and I have made this church our home — not just because of the worship or the programs, but because of the people. We love the leadership, the energy, and the heartbeat of this place. Over the years, we’ve found that real community doesn’t happen by accident. It’s something you build, one shared moment at a time.

A few years ago, I was talking with Andy about music and had this idea: what if we opened the door for musicians from outside the church — even people who don’t attend anywhere, or who don’t believe at all? I advertised at my workplace, where I’m surrounded by band directors and music teachers. Before long, we had a small horn section joining the praise team every other Sunday.

For a while, we could even pay them a little — but when finances tightened, something beautiful happened. One after another, these players came to me and said, “Hey, I’ll play for free. I just love being here. I love your church.”

Some of them weren’t church people at all. One was an atheist. But they came because they felt welcomed. They came because something about Crossroads felt different. Every time we play, I think about what it means for someone to walk into a sanctuary, horn in hand, and hear the gospel maybe for the very first time. That’s thrilling to me. It’s not just about music — it’s about planting seeds.

When Christmas rolls around, our little group grows to more than twenty musicians. It’s loud, chaotic, and glorious. To watch those faces — believers, skeptics, seekers — blending together in one song of praise… that’s community in its purest form.

Another experiment started when CR Sports began running programs for kids. I thought, We’re already reaching the children — why not reach the parents too? So we launched an open-gym volleyball league for parents and coaches.

It sputtered at first, then grew, then fizzled again — the kind of start-stop story that’s familiar to anyone who’s ever tried to build something new. But even in that, we saw glimpses of what could be. People laughed together, shared stories after games, lingered longer than they needed to. Some of them had never stepped foot in a church before.

This coming year, we’re refocusing — doing it more intentionally, hoping to connect with parents and coaches in a way that draws them closer not only to each other, but to God. It’s slow work, but worth every serve, spike, and missed ball.

Every now and then I read about how lonely people are these days — especially in big cities like ours. So many feel disconnected, unseen, uninvited. If I could talk to them directly, I’d say, Come try us out. Crossroads isn’t perfect, but it’s real. Sometimes people have skewed ideas of what church folks are like — and sometimes, honestly, we’ve earned that reputation. But we have a chance every Sunday to show something different: love without judgment, welcome without conditions, forgiveness that feels like home.

Church should be a place where people are loved as they are. Not polished up. Not pretending. Just as they are, and I think Crossroads is doing a pretty good job of that. Could we do better? Sure. We always can.

Patti and I make it our mission to close the gap between “friendly” and “friend.” That might mean showing up at odd hours to grab coffee before the rush, meeting someone new in the courtyard, and saying, Hey, want to grab lunch? We’ve invited people to our home — just ordinary folks who walked through the doors for the first time and didn’t know anyone yet.

It’s one thing to shake a hand on Sunday morning. It’s another thing to open your life and your living room. That’s where the magic happens — around tables, in backyards, over laughter and stories.

Community is built on what we share — sometimes a common past, sometimes a shared interest, sometimes just a willingness to say, “Come on over.”

Maybe that’s the truest translation of community after all.