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:
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