When Francis Chan spoke to Facebook employees in 2017, he recalled a former gang member he’d baptized who later left his church. Asked why, the man replied, “I just didn’t understand church. I thought that when I got baptized, it was going to be like getting jumped into a gang. . . . I didn’t realize that it was just showing up to a service on Sundays.” Chan responded, “That makes me sick, that the gangs are a better picture of family than the church of Jesus Christ.”
I wish this new Christian had found value in the Sunday gathering, in the privilege it is to unite and express our worship to God in songs, prayer, and confession. I wish more people knew that “showing up” can itself be a formative practice that defies our temptation to isolate. But on the other hand, this convert’s longing for something more than Sunday worship is legitimate. Isn’t the church supposed to be like family?
The Bible is clear that our mothers, brothers, and sisters are those who do God’s will (Mark 3:33–35). Those who follow Jesus inherit not only salvation but also a family in this age and in the age to come (Luke 18:29–30). We see this promise fulfilled when the early church lived sacrificially, referred to their communities as households, and related to one another as family despite their cultural diversity.
Why is this far from what many experience in their local churches? Leaders teach that the church is a family. Churches host weekly meals, and yet many still fail to live as one. I grew up in an Indian-American immigrant church context, was a pastor of a majority-culture American church, and currently am pastor of a multicultural church. Given my experience, I believe “church as family” is an area of corporate church life where immigrant churches (who often prioritize community obligation) and majority-culture American churches (who often prioritize authenticity and vulnerability) can learn from one another.
Obligated but Not Always Honest
“They won’t be there when you need help.”
Every Indian American who left an immigrant church for a culturally American one heard this warning: the majority-culture congregation may have better technology, professional musicians, and dynamic preaching, but only the Indian community would help amid crises.
The early church lived sacrificially, referred to their communities as households, and related to one another as family despite their cultural diversity.
When someone was in the hospital, members from our immigrant church crowded the waiting room. When a loved one died, the entire community wept together in the family’s home. You couldn’t even travel to India without members of the church visiting before the flight to pray for safe travel (and perhaps to sneak in a suitcase for you to take with you). There was a profound sense of obligation to one another in that immigrant culture.
Perhaps it’s because first-generation Americans know that in a true community, people rely on each other. They know interdependence is how they survive life in a new country. Majority-culture churches in America have much to learn from these values. But immigrant churches often have weaknesses as well.
People from close-knit, honor-shame-based societies can struggle to share openly about their challenges in marriage, raising children, and singleness; their addictions to food, sex, and alcohol; or their struggles with doubt and depression. The resulting shame could threaten a person’s place in the community.
While I’m grateful many immigrant churches have created avenues for vulnerability, second-generation Indian Americans who left the immigrant church 20 years ago often cite the church’s aversion to vulnerability as one of the reasons why. They wanted to be part of church communities where they could find direction for life’s challenges without judgment. This is where majority-culture churches have helped immigrant church communities.
Honest but Not Obligated
I was shocked by my first experience in a majority-culture American church. People talked openly about their temptations and had accountability partners. Couples talked about the argument they had on the way to the gathering. Prayer requests were rarely unspoken. I’d never seen Christians live so honestly and vulnerably. But in many majority-culture churches, this is vulnerability without obligation.
When someone was in the hospital, members from our immigrant church crowded the waiting room. When a loved one died, the entire community wept together in the family’s home.
In one of the churches I pastored, a couple admitted to leaving when, after not attending a church gathering for several weeks, no one reached out to see if they were OK. A woman who shared deep family wounds was hurt when no one followed up. Prayer requests shared in group chats were sometimes met with silence. Though people could be honest about their burdens, no one felt obligated to shoulder them.
I understand this is anecdotal, but read cultural analysis on secular Western societies like the U.S. and you’ll discover an explanation for what I’ve observed. cultural analysis on secular Western societies like the U.S. and you’ll discover an explanation for what I’ve observed. Authenticity and individual autonomy are two of our highest values. We find it easier to be honest than obligated because honesty aligns with our desires for authenticity but obligation defies our desire for autonomy. Obligation impinges on our independence; it requires us to embrace vulnerability of another kind, the vulnerability we feel when our time, homes, and resources are opened to the demands of love and the needs of others.
Learn from One Another
James says the purity of the Christian religion, and the closeness of our community, is measured by our care for widows and orphans—that is, in our ability to be a family for those who have none (James 1:27). Like culturally American churches, we need communities where vulnerable people feel safe enough to be honest about their needs. Like immigrant churches, we also need communities that love them with a greater obligation than a gang.
By learning from one another, we can help the next generation to experience what it means to be loved. Loved when we’re vulnerable. Loved faithfully even when that requires great sacrifice. We can love in this way because this is how Christ our brother first loved us.
The Gospel Coalition