What Is the Church?

There is a way to ask the question, “What is the church?” that is safe.

We can answer it with definitions. We can talk about the gathered people of God. We can speak of elders and deacons, preaching and ordinances, membership and discipline, worship and fellowship. All of those things matter. They matter deeply.

But there is another way to ask the question.

Not merely, “What is the church?”

But, “What does the church’s existence expose about me?”

Because if the church is what Scripture says it is, then the church is not a religious event I attend. It is not a building I enter. It is not a weekly service I consume. It is not a spiritual accessory attached to my otherwise private life.

The church is the household of God.

The church is the body of Christ.

The church is the bride Christ loves.

And if that is true, then the Christian life cannot be lived as an isolated, autonomous existence with occasional religious participation. The existence of the church imposes something upon us. It presses obligation onto the Christian life.

But not the kind of obligation that earns salvation.

That must be said clearly from the beginning.

This is not a guide on how to be saved.

No one becomes a Christian by being a better church member. No one is adopted by learning more names, serving more people, bearing more burdens, confessing more sin, or becoming more involved. Salvation is not self-improvement. Salvation is not moral renovation. Salvation is not the religious version of pulling yourself up by your bootstraps.

Salvation is supernatural.

The dead must be raised. The slave must be freed. The orphan must be adopted. The sinner must be made new. Only God can do that.

So if what follows exposes you, do not run first to your calendar, your discipline, your personality, or your guilt. Run to Christ. Throw yourself at the foot of the cross. He is the only hope. He is the head of the body. He is the husband of the bride. He is the love we are commanded to show. He is the One who rescues the bruised, scraped, imperfect bride and nourishes her with a supernatural embrace.

Only Christ can make the church what she is.

And only Christ can make us love her rightly.

The Church Is a Family God Adopts Us Into

Paul tells the Ephesians:

“So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God.”

That is not sentimental language. It is not decorative. It is not merely a sweet metaphor.

It is a declaration of what God has done.

In Christ, we are no longer strangers. We are no longer aliens. We are not spiritual consumers standing at the edge of a religious product. We are members of a household.

The church is family.

But not family in the shallow way we often use the word. Not family as a slogan. Not family as a marketing phrase. Not family as “we are friendly when we happen to see each other.”

Family means belonging.

Family means obligation.

Family means nearness.

Family means names.

Family means children.

Family means burdens.

Family means wounds.

Family means inconvenience.

Family means you cannot pretend the person beside you has nothing to do with you.

And this is where the American church is often exposed. We can sit beside people for years and not know them. We can worship beside parents and not know the names of their children. We can shake hands, smile, sing, listen, leave, and call it fellowship.

But if we do not know what the people beside us are carrying, how can we claim to be bearing one another’s burdens?

If we do not know where they are weak, where they are grieving, where they are tempted, where they are afraid, where their faith is trembling, what exactly do we mean when we say we love them?

Jesus did not say, “By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you attend the same services.”

He said, “By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

That is the standard.

Not attendance.

Not branding.

Not programs.

Not doctrinal statements alone.

Love.

And if we judged the health of the American church by that standard, we would have to admit that much of it is poor and sick.

A church may be busy and unhealthy.

A church may be doctrinally precise and relationally cold.

A church may be full of people and empty of family life.

A church may be impressive to visitors and unknown to itself.

But Scripture does not allow us to reduce the church to proximity. Sitting near one another is not the same as belonging to one another. Recognizing faces is not the same as loving the saints. Sharing a room is not the same as sharing life.

The church is the household of God.

And if God has adopted us into His family, then autonomy is no longer an option.

Warning One: Beware of calling attendance fellowship when love is absent.

It is possible to attend church faithfully and still avoid the life of the church. It is possible to be present in the room and absent from the body. It is possible to know the order of service, the songs, the schedule, and the sermon series, while not knowing the burdens of the people beside you.

Do not comfort yourself merely because you are around Christians.

Ask whether you are loving them.

Ask whether you are known by them.

Ask whether their burdens ever interrupt your life.

Ask whether your burdens are ever revealed enough for them to obey Christ toward you.

If no one knows you, and you know no one, do not call that fellowship too quickly.

Warning Two: Beware of treating the church as optional when Christ calls it His household.

If the church is God’s household, then it is not a side room in the Christian life. It is not an elective. It is not something to be added when convenient and neglected when difficult.

To treat the church as optional is to treat lightly what God has built.

And often, beneath that neglect is the old lie of autonomy.

The lie that I can belong to God while belonging to no one.

The lie that I can be spiritually healthy while remaining relationally hidden.

The lie that I can follow Christ while avoiding His family.

But autonomy was the original lie in the garden. The serpent held out the promise of life apart from humble dependence on God. And every time we cling to independent, self-protected, self-directed Christianity, that old lie echoes again.

You were not designed to be independent.

You were designed to belong.

Application:

Start with names.

That may sound too small, but love often begins where pride is too impatient to begin.

Learn the names of the people near you. Learn the names of their children. Ask what they are carrying. Ask what has been heavy. Ask how you can pray. Stay long enough after worship to be available. Invite someone into your home. Take interest in the ordinary details of their life.

And do not only ask to appear loving. Ask enough questions that you begin to feel what they are carrying.

The burden may not seem heavy to you. It may seem small, exaggerated, emotional, or even built on a lie they are believing. But if they are bent beneath it, love does not stand at a distance and critique the shape of their weakness. Love helps lift the weight until they can look up and see hope again.

That leads us to the next movement.

Because the household of God is not merely a family that knows names.

It is a body that bears burdens.

The Church Is a Body Where Burdens Are Carried

Paul tells the Galatians:

“Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.”

That verse leaves no room for theoretical love.

A burden is not carried by good intentions. A burden is not carried by vague concern. A burden is not carried by saying, “Let me know if you need anything,” while hoping they never do.

To bear a burden, you must get close enough to feel its weight.

You must know something.

You must ask something.

You must listen long enough for the rehearsed answer to give way to the honest one.

You must be willing to be interrupted.

And this command has two edges.

The first edge is this: I must be willing to reveal my burdens.

I cannot demand a burden-bearing church while refusing to be known. I cannot complain that no one carries what I have carefully hidden. I cannot wrap my life in image, privacy, pride, fear, and control, then accuse the body of failing to lift what I never allowed it to see.

The second edge is this: I must be willing to enter the burdens of others.

I cannot claim to love the body while refusing involvement. I cannot say I am part of a family while remaining untouched by the suffering of the family. I cannot say I obey Christ while avoiding the very people Christ commands me to love.

Burden-bearing requires both humility and sacrifice.

It requires the humility to say, “I need help.”

And it requires the sacrifice to say, “I will help.”

This is where the church exposes whether we believe the gospel as deeply as we say we do.

Because the gospel does not merely save us from guilt. It rescues us from the illusion that our lives belong to us.

Paul says elsewhere that we are slaves either to sin or to righteousness. There is no such thing as absolute autonomy. We are not choosing between slavery and freedom in the abstract. We are choosing between slavery to sin and slavery to Christ.

That means service becomes a privilege only when we understand what we were rescued from.

If I still believe my life is mine, then your burden feels like an intrusion.

If I know I belong to Christ, then your burden becomes a providential path of obedience.

This does not mean every need belongs to me in the same way. It does not mean wisdom disappears. It does not mean boundaries are never needed. It does not mean one person can carry the whole church.

But it does mean that a Christian cannot look at the suffering of the body and say, “That has nothing to do with me.”

The hand cannot say to the foot, “I do not need you.”

The eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no responsibility toward you.”

The body of Christ is not a pile of disconnected parts. It is one body. And when one member suffers, all suffer together.

Warning Three: Beware of calling privacy wisdom when it is really isolation.

There is such a thing as proper privacy. Not every sin needs to be announced to the whole congregation. Not every wound belongs in every conversation. Not every person is mature enough to hold every confession.

But privacy can become a respectable name for sinful isolation.

Sometimes we say, “I am private,” when what we mean is, “I do not want to be known.”

Sometimes we say, “I do not want to burden anyone,” when what we mean is, “I do not want to lose control.”

Sometimes we say, “I am careful,” when what we mean is, “I am afraid of being corrected.”

Sometimes we say, “It is between me and God,” when God Himself has placed us in a body and commanded us to confess, pray, restore, encourage, admonish, and bear.

If no one knows where you are weak, where you are tempted, where you are grieving, or where your faith is struggling, you may not be protecting your peace.

You may be protecting your autonomy.

Warning Four: Beware of a church that has activity but not burden-bearing love.

A church can have events without fellowship.

It can have ministries without mutual care.

It can have sermons without restoration.

It can have small groups where no one is actually known.

It can have prayer lists without shared life.

It can have theological accuracy without the visible love by which Christ said His disciples would be known.

If Jesus says the world will know His disciples by their love for one another, then lovelessness is not a minor weakness. It is a contradiction of our witness.

The church does not become healthy because everyone is busy.

The church becomes healthy as each part works properly, as the body builds itself up in love.

Application:

Ask better questions.

Not invasive questions for curiosity’s sake. Not questions that treat people like projects. Not questions that gather information so you can feel important.

Ask questions that love.

How are you really doing?

What has felt heavy lately?

Where are you struggling to believe what God says?

What has been discouraging your faith?

How can I pray in a way that is not vague?

Who is walking with you through this?

What would help you lift your eyes back to Christ?

And then be willing to answer those questions yourself.

Let someone know you. Let someone pray for you. Let someone see where you are not strong. Let someone speak truth when your feelings are loud. Let someone help you carry what pride wants to keep hidden.

This is not weakness. This is body life.

And once the church begins to live this way, another question appears.

What happens when the burden is not merely sorrow, but sin?

The Church Is a Place Where Exposed Sinners Are Restored

Paul says:

“Brothers, if anyone is caught in any transgression, you who are spiritual should restore him in a spirit of gentleness.”

Notice what Paul does not say.

He does not say, “If anyone is caught in transgression, act shocked.”

He does not say, “Distance yourself immediately so no one associates you with them.”

He does not say, “Whisper about it.”

He does not say, “Treat exposure as the end of their usefulness.”

He says, “Restore him.”

And he says to do it with gentleness.

This does not mean sin is minimized. It does not mean consequences disappear. It does not mean repentance is optional. It does not mean restoration is careless, rushed, or sentimental.

But it does mean that the exposure of sin in a repentant believer should summon the church to sober, loving fortification.

If we truly believe the doctrine of adoption, why are we so shocked when adopted children still need discipline, correction, healing, and growth?

If we truly believe sanctification, why are we surprised that sin must be brought into the light?

If we truly believe that God finishes the work He begins, why do we abandon people at the very moment when God may be exposing sin in order to heal them?

The church should be the safest place in the world to repent.

Not the safest place to hide sin.

Not the safest place to excuse sin.

Not the safest place to rename sin.

But the safest place to bring sin into the light and find brothers and sisters ready to pray, correct, protect, and walk patiently through repentance.

James says:

“Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.”

That passage is often ripped from its relational context. But there is a real healing that takes place in the body when sin is confessed, prayer is offered, relationships are restored, and the church surrounds the wounded with truth and grace.

Again, this is not an invitation for everyone to air out every sin publicly before the whole church. Wisdom matters. Maturity matters. Pastoral care matters. The nature of the sin matters. The people affected matter.

But it is a call to reject a culture where no one is known well enough to be restored.

Everyone needs someone who can speak into their life.

Everyone needs to be mentored.

And in time, everyone should be helping mentor someone else.

The church is not a showroom for the already polished. It is a rescue mission among those being raised from the dead.

Warning Five: Beware of treating exposed sin as scandal rather than a summons to restoration.

There is something terribly wrong when sinners are more afraid of church people than they are eager to run into the light.

Again, not because the church should be soft on sin.

But because the church should be serious about grace.

When sin is exposed, the body should not become a mob. It should become a fortress.

A fortress of truth.

A fortress of prayer.

A fortress of accountability.

A fortress of patience.

A fortress of protection against despair, deception, gossip, and the enemy’s accusations.

If someone is hardened, unrepentant, and defiant, Scripture gives the church a path for that too. Love does not pretend rebellion is repentance.

But when a brother or sister is broken, confessing, grieving, and turning, the church should know how to surround them.

If we do not fortify around repentant sinners, why should anyone trust us enough to confess?

Warning Six: Beware of wanting repentance for relief but not transformation.

Many people want the pain of sin to go away.

They want the anxiety to stop.

They want the consequences to ease.

They want the shame to lift.

They want the relationship to feel normal again.

They want relief.

But repentance is not merely the search for relief. Repentance is a turning from sin to God. It is not simply wanting the burden removed. It is wanting Christ more than the sin that created the burden.

This is where much of the American church has substituted comfort for transformation.

We want Christianity to make life easier.

We want Jesus to give us less pain.

We want the church to provide support without intrusion, encouragement without correction, and grace without change.

But Christ does not merely comfort us in our old life.

He raises us into a new one.

And resurrection is not painless.

The Christian walk does not remove pain. It gives us Christ in the pain. It teaches us to walk through suffering, correction, confession, and sanctification in a way that never leaves us the same.

Because Christ is love.

And His love does not leave His bride bruised, scraped, enslaved, and unchanged. He washes her. He nourishes her. He cherishes her. He makes her holy.

Application:

Become the kind of person around whom confession can live.

That means you must be serious about sin and serious about grace.

Do not gossip.

Do not act shocked that sinners sin.

Do not confuse gentleness with compromise.

Do not confuse firmness with harshness.

Do not make someone’s repentance about your curiosity.

Do not abandon the wounded because walking with them is inconvenient.

If someone confesses sin to you, pray. Ask what repentance requires. Ask who else needs to be involved. Encourage them toward wise pastoral help when needed. Protect what should be protected. Expose what must be exposed. Walk patiently. Tell the truth. Keep pointing them to Christ.

And if you are the one hiding sin, bring it into the light with wisdom.

Find a mature believer. Find an elder. Find someone who will not flatter you, use you, gossip about you, or excuse you. Find someone who will help you look to Christ and walk in repentance.

The church must become a people who know how to fortify around the repentant.

But this kind of fortification is costly.

And that leads to the final movement.

The Church Is the Bride Christ Loved With His Life

Paul tells husbands to love their wives “as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.”

Christ loved the church by laying down His life.

That means love is not mere friendliness.

Love is not politeness.

Love is not vague warmth.

Love is not sentimental language.

Love is costly self-giving for the good of another in obedience to the Father.

Christ is the head of the body, and He does not despise His body.

Christ is the husband of the bride, and He does not abandon His bride.

She is often bruised.

She is often scraped.

She is often immature.

She is often weak.

She often needs correction.

She often needs cleansing.

But Christ does not stand far off in disgust from the bride He purchased with His blood.

He moves toward her.

He gives Himself for her.

He washes her with the Word.

He nourishes and cherishes her.

He will present her in splendor.

So if Christ loves the church that way, what right do we have to treat her casually?

What right do we have to despise what He loves?

What right do we have to keep ourselves from the body He calls His own?

What right do we have to demand comfort while refusing cruciform love?

The Christian life is not the preservation of your plans. It is the joyful surrender of your life to Christ.

And often, the path Christ gives you will look like interruption.

A brother’s need interrupts your evening.

A sister’s grief interrupts your schedule.

A family’s crisis interrupts your budget.

A confession interrupts your comfort.

A burden interrupts your plans.

But what if those interruptions are not obstacles to the Christian life?

What if they are the providential path of the Christian life?

We have been taught to preserve our independent existence. Pull yourself up. Handle your business. Do not need anyone. Do not let anyone need too much from you. Protect your time. Protect your comfort. Protect your control.

There may be a kind of work ethic there that is not all wrong.

But it cannot produce the body of Christ.

The body grows as each part works properly.

Sanctification requires the fortification of the church and the participation of the body.

So pick up a shovel.

Dig into the Word.

Help your brother.

Sit with your sister.

Be patient.

Be kind.

Endure.

Pray.

Carry.

Be carried.

And you may find, after walking through enough valleys with the people of God, that the burden you thought would crush you became a blessing in your life. You may look back and say, “How did I ever function without this family?”

That is not because the church is perfect.

It is because Christ is faithful.

Warning Seven: Beware of wanting comfort without transformation.

If you came to Christianity because you wanted a better life in the shallow sense, beware of being deeply disappointed.

Christ does not promise a life without pain.

He does not promise uninterrupted plans.

He does not promise comfort as the world defines comfort.

He does not promise that following Him will protect your autonomy.

In fact, He destroys your autonomy.

He calls you to deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow Him.

But He gives something far better than worldly comfort. He gives Himself. He gives His Spirit. He gives His Word. He gives His people. He gives the ability to walk through pain in a way that does not leave you the same.

The Christian life does not remove the valley.

It gives you Christ in the valley.

And often, it gives you Christ’s people walking with you there.

Warning Eight: Beware of claiming to love the Head while refusing His body.

This may be the sharpest question the church forces us to answer:

Can I honestly claim to love Christ while despising, neglecting, or avoiding the body Christ loves?

If Christ is the head, the body is not optional.

If Christ is the husband, the bride is not disposable.

If Christ has made us family, isolation is not maturity.

If Christ has commanded love, indifference is not neutrality.

If Christ has borne our infinite burden at the cross, then bearing one another’s finite burdens is not an extraordinary calling for a few unusually compassionate Christians. It is the family resemblance of those who have been loved by Him.

Do not misunderstand.

We do not love the church in order to make Christ love us.

We love because He first loved us.

We do not bear burdens to become adopted.

We bear burdens because we have been adopted.

We do not serve to earn a place in the household.

We serve because the Father has brought us home.

Application:

Lay down your life in ordinary ways.

Learn names.

Ask questions.

Stay longer.

Show up.

Invite.

Listen.

Confess.

Pray.

Forgive.

Mentor.

Be mentored.

Carry burdens.

Let others carry yours.

Do not wait for a program to make you obedient.

Do not wait until you feel gifted enough to love.

Do not wait until the church becomes perfect before you become faithful.

Start with the person beside you.

Start with the burden you already know about.

Start with the confession you have been hiding.

Start with the brother you have avoided.

Start with the sister whose pain feels inconvenient.

Start with the family you have never taken time to know.

And as you do, testify to one another.

Tell the stories of God’s faithfulness. Tell how He carried you. Tell how He provided. Tell how He restored. Tell how He used the body. Tell how you thought someone else’s burden would be too heavy, only to find joy in helping carry it.

The church needs those testimonies.

They strengthen faith.

They teach the body to hope.

They remind us that Christ is still at work among His people.

Come to Christ

The church is not where autonomous people gather to receive religious comfort.

The church is the household of God, the body of Christ, and the bride Christ loves.

It is where rescued sinners learn to die to themselves.

It is where burdens are carried.

It is where sin is confessed.

It is where the wounded are restored.

It is where love becomes visible.

It is where the lie of autonomy is exposed.

It is where the resurrection of the dead begins to show up in ordinary relationships.

But none of this can be manufactured by the flesh.

You cannot shame yourself into this kind of life.

You cannot discipline a dead heart into resurrection.

You cannot adopt yourself.

You cannot make yourself love what Christ loves.

You need Christ.

If this exposes you, do not hide. Do not pretend. Do not resolve merely to become more involved so you can feel better about yourself.

Throw yourself at the foot of the cross.

Christ is the only hope for sinners.

Christ is the head of the body.

Christ is the husband of the bride.

Christ is the One who loved the church and gave Himself up for her.

Christ is the One who raises the dead.

And if He has made you alive, then do not despise the family into which He has brought you.

Do not run from the body to which He has joined you.

Do not treat His bride as optional.

Look around.

Learn their names.

Carry their burdens.

Reveal your own.

Fortify the weak.

Restore the repentant.

Love one another.

And by this, the world will know you are His!

-Justin Reed

Brushwood Press