By Clement Yung Wen

In my last column, I began by saying that I believe COVID-19 represents "the end of the world as we’ve known it," specifically "the end of the modern world." The way that I’m using the word ‘modern’ here has more to do with societal institutions and culture—our way of living and being in the world—than with the philosophical ideas that have been associated with what has been called "modernity." Along such lines, I alluded to how the political and economic orders that the modern world capitalized on are beginning to change, how the context and realities of work and education are beginning to be reshaped, and how things like the modern age of international travel and tourism as well as the modern move towards global citizenship are also tightening. While all of these above changes have been funded (and will continue to be funded) by technologies first given to us by the modern world, my honest guess is that COVID-19 marks the symbolic beginning of a new era in our world’s history. In other words, while vestiges of the modern world will of course remain, we won’t be going back to the modern world that we knew before COVID. What this means is that we are inevitably on course for a "new normal" for life. I don’t say this in a spirit of fearmongering, but in what I believe to be a spirit of both realism and, importantly, hope: realism because I’m calling things as I see them, and hope because there are opportunities latent within the "new normal" that the "old normal" didn’t afford us. (Plus, love "always hopes" and "always perseveres," says the Apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians 13.) 

Taking a Different Perspective

While I don’t mean to downplay the present difficulties that we’re facing right now regarding public health both domestically and globally as well as the many socio- and geo-political issues both nationally and internationally (those are all stories for another time and place), my column is meant to highlight one of the specific opportunities we have as we look ahead with hope. Specifically, my column (at least in this current season) has to do with assessing how much of our ideational and lived constructions of evangelical Christian faith had inadvertently been overly dependent on what we believed the world to be like when we—through no fault of our own—were perspectivally "stuck" within the confines of the modern world we lived in. The purpose of such assessment is to help us get "less stuck" so that we can envision a more faithful and genuinely Christian theology and way of living moving forward. In the first installment, then, I tried to give voice to how our tradition’s inherited understanding of the gospel had been truncated by a soteriological overemphasis on the theme of justification by faith alone and grace alone, as was given to us by the Protestant Reformers. I wasn’t trying to say that this theme of justification isn’t a necessary soteriological doctrine or reality, but that the oft-encountered reduction of salvation’s primary importance to the category of justification has had far-reaching consequences for Christology (as, for example, the positive events of Christ’s incarnation, resurrection, and ascension become overshadowed by the negative event of the cross), for Christian identity (as the reality of our adoption in Christ takes a backseat to sin management and its corresponding danger of an overscrupulous legalism and devotional piety), and for church life (as the definition of Christian mission unfortunately gets reduced only to the evangelistic task of saving souls—or put in the form of a popular slogan: "making disciples who make disciples").

In this regard, I proposed that a more holistic approach to salvation would place the positive category of "relationship" at center rather than the negative categories of "sin" and "law", so that salvation at heart was not simply the negating of the problem of "sin" and "broken laws" but was, more importantly, marked by a positive restoration of "relationship" in at least four ways: (a) restored relationship with God; (b) restored relationship between people; (c) restored relationship with one’s self; and (d) restored relationships within all of creation in a way that is under God (hence, the eschatological image of the wolf lying down with the lamb in Isaiah 11). Both the positive and negative sides of salvation are of course needed—but the question I’m raising has to do with which side ought to be salvation’s center of gravity and, thus, main stress and emphasis. That said, while I’m not the first to have proposed this four-fold scheme, I find it captures well the cosmic breadth of what a more full-orbed gospel entails than the individualistically reductionist and easily privatized one that became popularized in the modern West, especially in America and its evangelical off -shoots, through the theological gains and losses mediated to us by the Protestant Reformation of the 16th century, the German Pietism of the 17th, and the anti-intellectual revivalism and holiness movements in 18th and especially 19th century America and Britain that eventually helped pave way for the rise of Christian fundamentalism in the late 19th to early 20th centuries that we’re in many ways sadly still dealing with (e.g., should science really be seen as being in unmitigated conflict with our faith—especially if God is the Creator of all that exists in the world that the various disciplines of modern science are seeking to examine?). It is amidst these wider historical and theological currents, then, that we can finally now turn our attention from soteriology to a reconsideration of ecclesiology, and then in part 3, to anthropology. (As a quick note: I’ll try to more directly describe and address some of the aforementioned historical movements and fundamentalist tensions in future columns if I’m able to; for now, I simply mention them here to help move the discussion forward to the present column’s main task, which will rely on some of these details.)

Ecclesiology - Theology Related to What the Church Is

The late Stanley J. Grenz (1950-2005) once remarked that one of the shortcomings of evangelicalism was its lack of an ecclesiology. Compared with thick ecclesial traditions like Roman Catholicism, Eastern Orthodoxy, or even some of Mainline Protestantism, it’s easy to see why Grenz would say this. After all, just think of how easy it is to switch churches for any and all reasons within our tradition, or to "church hop" (even when it comes to the taking of communion). There are even some among our ranks who "love Jesus but not the church" and as such don’t go to church (cf. the research of the Barna Group on this). It seems an evangelical Christian’s choice of church, if they choose to go to church at all, truly comes down to one’s personal preference if not a personal rather than ecclesial sense of calling. Have you ever tried to figure out why formally being a church "member" as opposed to only an "attendee" is important? More importantly, do most of our evangelical churches have a good theological answer to this question other than the benefits of being able to vote on congregational budgets and issues or being "qualified" to serve as a deacon or elder? Further, how do the sacraments of baptism and communion fit into this picture?

Optional Church?

Part of the reason for our weak ecclesiology is because our tradition’s typical framing of the gospel prioritizes salvation (e.g., as justification by faith and grace alone) in a manner that the sacraments of baptism and communion as well as active membership and participation in a local church are usually relegated to secondary—in other words, ‘optional’—status. This ‘optional status’ of church is a relatively recent phenomenon in Christian history. We don’t find it in medieval times, nor do we find such a notion in the Reformation and Post-Reformation Europe of the 16th and 17th centuries, where state borders also served as religious borders—though, after the Thirty Years’ War (1618-1648), which is often seen as the era’s most bloody display of religious violence, those living in Europe were allowed to move to a different state if they didn’t like their original state’s choice of Christian confession (but this is quite different than the modern "anything-goes" "optional status" of church that we’re describing here).

“Anything-Goes”?

Where does our modern "anything-goes" mindset come from then? Much of it stems from the Puritan pilgrims who, in search for religious freedom, left Post-Reformation Europe to eventually found a new nation in the "New World" of America in the 18th century, in which a key experimental tenet of this new nation would be the separation of church and state—and, importantly, where the notion of both denominations and non-denominational free churches would become prominent (as similar impulses back "home" in Europe would have been shunned as "separatist"). Different from their European ecclesial counterparts that were thickly steeped in the historical baggage of liturgical tradition and hierarchy, the different denominations and free churches in the New World of America effectively reduced church membership to cultural and consumeristic preference. This coupled well with the Reformation’s displacement, especially via John Calvin (1509-1564), of the sacrament of communion from being the center of worship in favor of the sermon. As these impulses evolved through the 18th and especially 19th century revivalism and holiness movements on the American frontier, the revivalist mindset of "a passion for souls," and the revivalist methods that eventually would culminate in the 20th-century practice of the "altar call" (which came to be seen as the worship service’s climax), would—according to historian Russell E. Richey—carry its own "liturgical form" that found a way of "displacing all other ways of being the church." Fast forward to the second half of the 20th century, and we can see that it was this pragmatically-driven revivalist edifice which would serve to undergird the rise of the thoroughly pragmatic modern megachurch movement—a consumeristic movement which arose primarily within evangelical circles and that, for the better part of the last century, has methodologically often served as the unofficial "ledger" of whether one’s church was "good" or not. In other words, regardless of size, churches are often informally evaluated by whether their preaching, musical abilities, and leadership cultures live up to the modern sensibilities of church that have been idealistically accentuated by the flagship megachurches. As a vivid reminder of the modern church’s "optional status" (especially since many who go to megachurches do so anonymously), the megachurch model seems also to be what Richard Halverson was attacking in his famous quip that I opened with in my last column, where he pessimistically observed that "the church arrived on American soil and became an enterprise." Implicit in Halverson’s criticism is the idea that church shouldn’t be an enterprise. The fact that in the modern world, many churches (regardless of size) sought to run their churches like enterprises is indeed extremely problematic.

Seeing Church through the Lens of COVID-19

As brick-and-mortar churches were forced to shutter and go online during the COVID-19 pandemic, the "optional status" of the modern church, along with the seeming sudden increase in the number of options for virtually "attending" church, has undoubtedly become more pronounced. Yet, I suspect there are more than a few regular churchgoers who have been secretly delighted by the fact that many of their church activities have been suspended, while worship services, if they choose to watch them (or choose to log on to pretend to watch them), can now be more conveniently accessed—all in a way that they don’t need to get dressed or even get out of bed. While it’s easy to judge such impulses as unworshipful manifestations of sloth or laziness, one of the questions we maybe need to ask ourselves before we judge others is whether the "enterprise" element of church as we knew it pre-COVID was actually just an unnecessarily exhausting manifestation of the modern world that we didn’t know how to break out of. Specifically, a question that needs to be considered is this: were our modern pre-COVID evangelical churches places where we truly could find "rest for our souls" in Christ and the ‘easy yoke’ which he promised us (cf. Matt. 11:28-30)? If so, then why have there been so many who have been (quietly) thrilled to not have to meet physically at church in this past season due to COVID?

Centrifugal (Away from Center) or Centripetal (Towards Center) Enough?

More importantly, if the four-fold relational scheme of salvation spoken of above is indeed the broader goal of the gospel, have our churches been outwardly centrifugal enough? Or are we too inwardly centripetal in our priorities? On this, I find it fascinating that when Stephen and the other first deacons were called in Acts 6, their office was instituted by the apostles for the purpose of ensuring that food was distributed fairly to the widows who were in need. In Calvin’s Geneva, the ecclesial office of deacon was also outwardly focused on socially meeting the practical needs of the underprivileged persons living in the city. Yet, so often in our modern churches, the office of deacon has been primarily focused on insular concerns like "fellowship," "hospitality," or "administration" (not that these are unimportant, but that maybe we need to begin instituting a better centripetal-centrifugal balance). What if the ministries of our churches weren’t ultimately meant to be centripetal but centrifugal, so that the worship and edification experienced at church ultimately served to replenish us for sake of our broader callings in not only the church but also the world? In his 2000 book, The Continuing Conversion of the Church, Darrell L. Guder tells the story of an administratively gifted woman in his church named Margaret who he was always inviting to help with various church-related responsibilities and committees but who always politely but firmly declined. In his frustration, Guder one day asked her why she never said yes and her thoughtful answer is an example that I think we need to be affirmingly mindful of: “Darrell, my calling is to be a children’s librarian. It takes a great deal of work and study to be good at what I do. I want to represent Christ there, and that has to be my priority” (pp. 177-78). What if for many of us, church wasn’t one more of life’s venues sapping our finite energy for its own sake, but was instead a place that renewed our energy for sake of what we know God has tasked us to do elsewhere for sake of the relational redemption God is everywhere at work effecting? The short-circuiting of regular church activities by COVID-19 gives us an opportunity to revisit these questions in a way that I hope brings about lasting correctives, especially so that formal membership and participation in a local church is no longer secondarily perceived as being "optional" but is instead rightly seen as soteriologically being part and parcel of the gospel itself—a gospel that is most fully embodied not only by way of God’s preached Word but especially by way of the sacraments. 

Sacraments (Christian Rites of Particular Importance) & “Optional Status”

In this regard, it must be said that the modern "optional status" of the church has been illegitimately supported by our inadequate views of the sacraments. When baptism, for example, is interpreted more as a personal event that is mostly meant only to show forth and confirm a personal commitment to Christ rather than a church event that actually serves to incorporate, through visible and tangible symbol, a new member into the local and global family of God through one’s union with Christ in his death and resurrection (cf. Romans 6)—the tie between baptism and meaningful church membership is loosened. Likewise, insofar as many of our evangelical churches are mere memorialists when it comes to the sacrament of communion—and are so in a way that often detaches baptism from communion so that the former (which is a sign of church membership) is not seen as a necessary prerequisite to partake in the latter—our ecclesiologies also lose weight as, in the eucharistic sacrament, there is no "real presence" of Christ and thus no true encounter with and participation in Christ in a way that binds his people together in him. For the sake of clarification, please know that I’m not here advocating for the Roman Catholic view of transubstantiation; rather, both the Lutheran and Reformed views of communion more than efficaciously make room for Christ’s "real" or "spiritual presence" in ways that are much more meaningful and truthful than the Zwinglian memorialist view. Nevertheless, regardless of how we go about explaining the "real presence" of Christ in the eucharistic sacrament (I myself follow after Calvin’s and the Reformed tradition’s robustly trinitarian explanation of Christ’s "spiritual presence" on this one), what’s important to realize is that it is our true encounter with the crucified and risen Christ in the shared partaking of the elements as a local congregation that is in fact a mysteriously renewing and therefore transformative element of worship—especially when we realize that through Christ’s whole sacramental presence, his whole "body" (i.e., the worldwide historical church) is also mystically present every time we meet to break bread. Insofar as the worldwide historical church with which we are in communion is representative of every tongue, tribe, nation, race, ethnicity, walk of life, etc., the all-encompassing implications of this when it comes to discerning our role and place in the continuing story of salvation’s four-fold relational scheme for redemption, especially as concerns things like the contemporary pursuit of social justice, I leave for God to impress (as each of us as individuals, and perhaps each of our churches as particular local churches, will be called upon to proleptically embody his eschatological peace and shalom in the present differently, in accordance to his specific will for us and corresponding call to us; we should not on such issues fall into the "liberation theology" trap of a new social justice legalism by which we judge other brothers and sisters or other churches). Even so, it is the meaningful recovery of the sacraments that I think evangelical Christianity is called by the events of COVID-19 to seriously think through again. Not only is this because the question of whether "online communion" is possible or not became a subject of intense debate and discussion during the beginning of the pandemic, but also because in times of great distress (and especially in our era of "Zoom fatigue"), contrary to the hallmarks of our tradition, there aren’t always words that can or need to be said from the pulpit. But always, there is need in our lives for encounter with the living God in Christ by way of his Spirit, and what we need to rediscover as the church is that such encounter is best fostered within the eucharistic context—a eucharistic context within which God’s Word spoken through teaching and preaching in fact finds its proper place. In absence of the comforting certainties that were peppered throughout our experience of the modern world, my sense of things is that amidst the uncertainties of our "post-modern" COVID world, what will bring us the comfort and peace we need is the mysterious presence of Christ, especially as found in the sacraments. This element has been lost to us for too long, and sadly, our tradition’s uniquely idolatrous formation of a "Christian Hollywood" celebrity culture has been one of the unfortunate results.

Seeing Church Through the Lens of Megachurches

Admittedly, the modern megachurch movement’s promotion of a "Christian Hollywood" celebrity culture (especially as such is based around "good" preaching that often leads to book deals) is an easy scapegoat for many of the ailments of the evangelical tradition today. To be fair, it’s difficult to imagine what 20th-century evangelical church life would have been like without the Saddlebacks and Willow Creeks of the church landscape. Many people have been immensely blessed and strengthened in their faith through the God-ordained ministries of the megachurches. Along such lines, the megachurch has in many ways been an enormous gift to the church, even if not all its typical characteristics are necessarily wholesome. For one, the bigger a church gets, the less personal and more abstract its ministries (and its pastors) become. Instead of a pastor who knows each of his church’s sheep by name, through the modern notion of the division of labor, the more "important" pastors are the ones who have been tasked only with preaching and/or leadership functions that abstractly (rather than personally) involve developing policies, programs, and/or systems to provide discipleship and member care. Yet, as Skye Jethani has become famous for aptly observing, when the public ministry of teaching and preaching (and perhaps popular book writing) take precedence over the sacraments, it often happens that the central figure of the worship service is no longer the person of Christ but the person of the golden-tongued celebrity preacher instead. While there are of course exceptions, how many famous Roman Catholic or Eastern Orthodox priests have you heard of compared to the myriad of evangelical celebrities who are mainly famous for their preaching? Might this be because the sacramental mindset of these more ancient Christian traditions is more conducive to keeping Christ at the center of our worship through the breaking of bread and wine that symbolize his body and blood? Along with all of this comes a "mega" mentality to everything, where churches are overrun by programs, initiatives, and activities (hence the evangelical exhaustion that I alluded to earlier). Specifically though, one special feature of the megachurch is its regularly scheduled Christian conferences featuring big-name speakers (which, honestly, are often simply glorified book sales in disguise). The fall of so many "Christian Hollywood" pastors in recent years—whether it be to the uncovering of different forms of congregational or sexual abuse, or whether it be to public renunciations of Christian faith amidst other circumstances—has shown us the darker side of what’s often required to keep a "mega" operation running while also always needing to project a squeaky-clean image of success amidst impending personal collapse and a ministry culture of toxicity. And yet, while the #MeToo movement has certainly contributed to the megachurch’s collective loss of credibility, the later onset of COVID-19—with its social limitations (whether self- or government-imposed)—has the potential to move the evangelical church beyond its modern form of megachurch towards smaller communities of deep faith that, though more dispersed, carry greater potential for the non-enterprised, non-abstract, pastorally personal work of un-anonymous ministry. Such smaller arrangements are not only more flexibly conducive to the socio- and geo-politically unstable COVID-induced world that we seem to be entering, but they are also more able to help us grasp the fullness of the nature of our true humanity. In my next column, we will continue from here with a COVID-induced reconsideration of the theological theme of anthropology. In the meantime, however, I close with an allusion to the parables of God’s Kingdom as told by Jesus. Whereas our modern megachurch faith maintained an ecclesiological philosophy of "bigger is better," Jesus said that the Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed, which though the smallest seed when planted, grows to become the biggest tree in the garden; whereas our modern megachurch faith sought a public relations strategy of high visibility, Jesus said that the Kingdom of God is like yeast that, though small in amount and invisible, permeates its way through sixty pounds of dough (cf. Matthew 13:31-33). How might we, as the evangelical church, be smaller and less visible in this new COVID season, yet in a type of mustard tree growing and dough permeating way? Lord, lead us, we pray. Amen.

Rev. Dr. Clement Wen currently serves as Assistant Professor of Systematic Theology at China Evangelical Seminary in Taiwan. Prior to earning his PhD at the University of Edinburgh in Scotland (2015-2019), he was Youth Pastor at the Chinese Bible Church of Maryland in the USA from 2010-2015. He is the son of the late Dr. Yinkann Wen, former president of KRC board of directors. Clement and his wife, Tracy, have two boys, Ethan and Micah.