When We Gather

Let me begin with this: I love the body of Christ. It is truly part of Him—alive, sacred, and deeply loved by our Lord. I love Jesus, and my heart is devoted to serving Him and helping His body make the intended impact in our world, which He so loves.

I believe the body of Christ can gather in many places and in many ways, for any number of reasons—so long as Jesus remains at the center. Honoring Him, looking to Him, and experiencing His presence among us must always be the focus.

I grew up in church. My parents were evangelists, and later pastors, so fellowship was a constant rhythm of our lives—four nights a week, plus Sunday school and morning services. I often fell asleep on or under a pew while my parents ministered.

When I look back on those years, I remember both the exhaustion and the wonder. My childhood was filled with the faithfulness of God. What we lacked in material “necessities,” He miraculously provided. Needs disappeared, circumstances shifted, and impossibilities turned into testimonies. The supernatural was simply part of my daily life. The body of Christ, its gatherings, its people—these were my everyday reality.

I know the value of sermons, worship services, Bible studies, prayer meetings, and church potlucks. As a worshipper, I treasure hymnals filled with songs inspired by Scripture, the Psalms, personal testimonies, and the direct breath of the Holy Spirit. I have no question in my heart about their worth.

But I do want to remind us of something simple and profoundly scriptural: the body of Christ thrives when every member is encouraged and equipped to minister—not just the “professionals.” When we gather in a way that honors the early church model (see 1 Corinthians 14:26–33, Ephesians 5:17–22, Colossians 3:16–17), we strengthen one another and nurture a body capable of self-sustaining, Spirit-led ministry.

In many parts of the world, the Ekklesia—the true church—is flourishing. Salvations, miracles, and healings abound, often in places where Christianity is persecuted or outlawed. The church suffers, yet it grows.

Meanwhile, in the liberty of the Western world, with all its blessings and challenges, we must not forget to be deeply grateful. Our busy schedules—jobs, schools, family demands, recreation—often crowd out time for meaningful fellowship. For some, even one gathering per week feels burdensome. This isn’t a call for more services, but rather for a re-evaluation of how we spend our time and how we prioritize community life. The goal is more body life, more mutual ministry, more living out the priesthood of all believers.

I remember when the “mega-church” trend began. The idea was to reach more people by offering more programs—children’s ministries, youth groups, specialized classes—each requiring more staff, space, and structure. Growth became synonymous with expansion. But after years of building and growing, many found themselves yearning again for something smaller, more personal—home groups, intimate fellowships, spaces where life could be shared deeply.

Yet even that can drift toward specialization and segmentation: groups for young parents, for singles, for seniors. While well-intentioned, such compartmentalization can dilute the intergenerational richness of the body.

If I were to suggest a solution, it might sound unpopular. But perhaps we’ve believed, like the old movie line, “If we build it, they will come.” And they did. But now, maintaining what was built requires a shift—not just in structure, but in mindset.

As of this writing, in the autumn of 2023, nearly 2,000 years have passed since the ascension and enthronement of Christ Jesus. Over the centuries, the church has worn many faces: Rome, London, Wittenberg, Azusa Street. Reformers and revivalists—Luther, Calvin, Seymour, McPherson, Roberts, Hagin—have each left their mark. The Ekklesia of Christ has endured much: glorious triumphs and painful missteps alike.

In my 68 years, I’ve witnessed growth models and purpose-driven strategies shape how the gospel is expressed. My intent is not to reject these entirely but to reprioritize—to return our focus to the kingdom of God expressed through love. The church is not an empire built by human strength; it is a family conceived in divine love.

When eyes are opened to the nature of heaven, lives are transformed. As people are born into a new kingdom—a realm of Spirit and truth—they begin to serve one another, helping each other yield more fully to the Spirit’s work. He does the transforming; we nurture and guide each other along the way.

That is what happens when we truly gather.