Many Members, One Body

 As it is, there are many members, yet one body.  (1 Corinthians 12:20)

Paul compares the church to a human body. Its organs and systems are connected by the central nervous system -- that is, Christ the head. No single member of the body loses its identity to another, but those individuals become one unit by surrendering independence to Christ.

Humans are not the only organisms in nature that share and work together. Scientists have found that there are certain fungi that connect the roots of trees in a forest, allowing those individual plants to move needed nutrients back and forth. Some trees that get more sun can share their excess photosynthesis chemicals with those in the shade, while others that get plenty of water can move that surplus around the network to plants in drier areas. These networks can take up acres of forest, even connecting plants of different species. (See video clip below.)

Tree networks aren't immediately visible to the casual observer -- they are only detected by scientists who, knowing what to look for, scratch the surface of the forest floor and dig into the root networks to find the fungi. Wouldn't it be great if we could say the same thing about our churches? A visitor might attend worship services or church programs, noticing at first how different everyone is. But after staying for a while -- that is, digging into the life of the congregation -- she notices that everyone is connected. Those who have an abundance of gifts in one area work together with those who are skilled in other ways. Wealthier individuals share with those who have less. Some who have more free time take care of things that others are too busy to attend to.

This kind of unity in diversity is not the same thing as a bunch of similar individuals hanging out together. Individuals who are grouped with others who are just like them have nothing to share -- more accurately, they have no one to share with. Some stands of trees are actually like this -- they are not a network of individuals but rather one giant tree. In Utah there are a bunch of trees that actually comprise one single organism, with the same genetic structure. Pando, as this cluster of aspen is named, is actually dying. Although Pando is very old, it isn't diverse enough to withstand the pressures of drought or disease. This is singularity, not unity.

Anyone who has played in or listened to a band or orchestra can appreciate this difference between unity and singularity. Unity in diversity can be beautiful. But no one wants to hear a group of musicians playing a singular part on the same instrument. Ask someone who has suffered through a kazoo band performance.

Watch Dr. Suzanne Simard describe the networking system of diverse trees:

Tertullian and the Power of Music

Tertullian, a Christian theologian who lived in Carthage in the 2nd and 3rd centuries, could be a bit of a prude. His most famous rhetorical question -- "What has Athens to do with Jerusalem?" -- was meant to set a clear boundary between the ways of the world and a proper Christian life. His call for Christians to life rigorously in set-apart ways was not altogether unique for that period of church history, but Tertullian took separation from the world to new levels. This especially applied to attendance at "spectacles" such as the circus and the theater:

The path to the theater is from the temples and the altars, from that miserable mess of incense and blood, to the tune of tibias and trumpets... Quite obviously Bacchus and Venus are the patrons of the arts of the stage...You, O Christian, will hate the things, when you cannot but hate the authors of them. -- On Spectacles, Chapter 10

Obviously, secular songs and their accompanying instruments were a distinctive feature of these theater productions. However, Tertullian did not throw out the musical baby with the proverbial bathwater. Indeed, he saw music as a powerful force, with great constructive -- as well as destructive -- potential. For instance, he wrote a beautiful passage about how groups of Christians should share meals, which should involve singing:

After water for the hands come the lights; and then each, from what he knows of the Holy Scriptures, or from his own heart, is called before the rest to sing to God. -- Apology, Chapter 39

And he even expected that Christian spouses would sing to each other, spurring one another on to deeper spiritual truths:

Between the two echo psalms and hymns; and they mutually challenge each other which shall better chant to their Lord. -- To His Wife, Book 2, Chapter 8

I'm not sure that the American church still believes that music has this kind of power. Sure, music production dominates our discourses about how churches worship, and nothing else in a typical evangelical service gets as much time as the music-making. But music is valued only for its attractional and expressive purposes -- specifically, it is a tool used to get people in the door and (sometimes) to provide them an emotional release. It seems to me that most church leaders don't expect music to transform anyone -- it only functions to keep people in the building long enough to hear the preaching, which is the "real" agent of discipleship.

Elsewhere in the world, Christian leaders think more like Tertullian. For example, during a trip to Mexico in the 1990s, I was walking down the street with a local pastor. He pointed to a loudspeaker playing music outside of a record store. Shaking his finger, he warned me of the danger of this popular song whose lyrics I could not understand. He assured me that the words, along with the beat, were responsible for driving people away from God. This man was consistent in his beliefs about music; later I saw how the worship at his church was genuinely transforming those in attendance. People were making commitments to Christian discipleship during the praise and worship time, well before anyone preached a sermon. This pastor understood the power of music to make faithful disciples of Jesus, just as he was wary of music's power to corrupt and drive one away from God. To him, if music is powerful, then it has the capacity for good or evil.

The American church instead talks about how well its music is utilized -- that is, how many worshipers appreciate it on an aesthetic level. But shouldn't we be thinking about the power of music to enrich one's love for God and other people? Consequently, if the American church was actually convinced that music had the power to change lives, then wouldn't we, ala Tertullian, be a bit more discerning about the kinds of music we listened to the rest of the week?

For a more thorough treatment of Tertullian on music, see chapter 6 of Calvin Stapert's A New Song from an Old World. That's where I got the translations of the quotes above.

How early American Methodists (never really) worshipped: Wesley's Sunday Service

When the Wesleyan revival spread to America in the 18th century, the colonists there did not yet have Methodist churches of their own. Methodists in Great Britain, where the movement started, attended small group meetings (known as classes) for spiritual renewal and accountability, but they still attended services in their own Anglican parishes on Sunday mornings. John Wesley founded the para-church Methodist movement by recruiting these Anglicans, as well as Presbyterians and Baptists and others, into his classes that met during the week -- he did not originally set up Methodism as a separate denomination with its own ecclesial structures. Going to class meetings was something one did in addition to worshipping on Sunday morning.

In the colonies, however, there were not so many Sunday morning options for Methodists. The American Revolution made it clear that the Church of England would struggle, mostly unsuccessfully, to retain a foothold in the colonies. Even though Wesley was an Anglican, his Methodists in the colonies had just fought a war to gain independence from the king, so they were not thrilled about worshiping in the monarch's church. Furthermore, there simply were not enough Anglican priests in America to shepherd the explosive growth of the Methodist revival. Imagine, there were only 600 Methodists in America in 1771, but that number grew to more than 200,000 in 1816! So, in order to provide leadership to this growing movement, Wesley (grudgingly) agreed to let the American Methodists form their own denomination and ordain their own pastors.

In addition to setting apart Methodist "superintendents" to lead the new church, he also created a manual that spelled out the nuts and bolts for how the American Methodists should worship. Ever the pragmatist, Wesley called this guide The Sunday Service of Methodists in North America. It was basically a revision of the 1662 edition of the Anglican Book of Common Prayer, with a few things left out. For better or worse, the Americans did not really take to Wesley's plan. Even if his instructions were not fully embraced in America, reading the Sunday Service can teach us quite a bit about Wesley's vision for worship in this new denomination.

Sacraments. In the three-page preface of the Sunday Service, Wesley laid out his (rapidly evolving) theology of ordination, justifying his decision to send Thomas Coke as a superintendent to America. Coke was charged with ordaining Francis Asbury so the two of them could jointly oversee the work there, eventually taking on the title of Bishop, ordaining other preachers in turn.

The setting apart of Francis Asbury for superintending work

Why was ordination so important to Wesley's view of the church's worship? Because without ordained elders, the Methodists could not practice the sacraments of baptism and the Lord's Supper. Even while Methodist meetings thrived under the leadership of non-ordained laity, Wesley did not believe that these lay preachers should preside over the sacraments. Simply put: Wesley held that there must be ordained pastors in order to have a church. Since the Anglican Church in America (or, what remained of it) was unwilling to ordain Methodist preachers into its own church, Wesley felt that he had no choice but to set apart his own pastors, thereby creating a new denomination.

Lectionary of Scripture Readings. Wesley's Sunday Service assumed that Methodist churches would continue the Anglican practice of reading a standard set of scripture passages that lined up with the seasons of the church year. In accord with the Book of Common Prayer (BCP), he expected there to be at least four readings each Sunday: Old Testament, New Testament epistle, Gospel, and one or more Psalms. There is little evidence that this lectionary was ever widely adopted by Methodists in America, as later worship guides indicate that the choice of scriptures was left up to the whim of the preachers. The adoption and use of the Revised Common Lectionary within United Methodism in the past couple of decades is a recovery of Wesley's original intention for guided corporate scripture reading.

Common Prayer. It is clear that prayer was a central part of Wesley's vision for corporate worship. As a good Anglican, he drew from the deeply theological and scriptural prayers of his church tradition. Wesley believed in a passionate faith, with one's heart and affections inflamed by the Holy Spirit. Thomas Cranmer's prayers in the BCP are indeed beautiful and emotional, but in America these written forms lost out to extemporaneous prayers of emotionally-charged preachers. This was part of a larger move in American spirituality in which worshipers became an audience and worship leaders became performers. The Sunday Service may have been too dull and rote for America, but at least it provided words that the laity could pray. Unfortunately, the camp-meeting and revival services that bloomed in the 19th century did not give the laity any words to pray on their own like the prayer books did. This lack of lay participation in corporate prayers is still a problem in most Protestant churches.

Singing. One of Wesley's most important innovations to Anglican worship was his emphasis on congregational singing of hymns. Elsewhere he wrote that the people should sing "lustily and with a good courage." Apparently hearty hymn-singing was not widespread in Church of England services in the 18th century. John and his brother Charles wrote a multitude of hymns for the Methodists, some of which are included in the Sunday Service. The Methodists were known as singing people, and this aspect of worship was taken up by the Americans.

Wesley knew that the political landscape would not allow for the American Methodists to remain in the Church of England. But he had no idea how much the American culture had changed -- how even the forms of worship would be rejected for new styles. In the end, the Sunday Service was probably too structured for the American frontier. It was very text-heavy, requiring worshipers to have books. This was not only impractical from a logistical standpoint, but it was unlikely that many of the early Methodists could read well enough to use this resource. So if Wesley's plan was ahead of its time, I think now is the moment to bring back some of these historically-grounded and participatory styles of worship. Just as the world-wide church is finding it's way back to the sacramental practices of the early church, so too should Methodists reclaim some of the spiritually potent services proposed by its founder.


For a more scholarly and in-depth treatment of Wesley's instructions for Methodist worship, check out Todd Stepp's Paper: "Authentic Christian Worship: Discovering Wesleyan Criteria." For more on how American Methodists actually worshipped, read Lester Ruth's book A Little Heaven Below.