What If God ~ A Community Journal
Did You Hear the One About the Methodist Who Walks Into a Reformed Church?
He Realizes Calvinists Can Have Their TULIP — and Eat Cake Too
I wasn’t quite sure what to expect when my daughter and son-in-law invited me to their church. They had warned me: no projector screens, no cutesy children’s sermons, no contemporary worship music — just a highly liturgical service that ran longer than the typical mainline format. I have to admit, I went in with fear and trembling. I wondered how such a church could thrive in today’s frenetic world, especially with young families. Heck, I wondered how I would fare, since I was accustomed to an hour-long service with no songs written before the Obama administration.
On top of that, the church is Reformed Evangelical and I’m a diehard Wesleyan Arminian. Would they even let me darken their doors? Or would they trap me inside until I signed on to all five points of TULIP?
Family Ties and Potluck Bribes
My wife and I decided to go to support our family. It was also an excuse to see our grandkids, and I never want to pass up that opportunity. My daughter informed me that the church occasionally threw potlucks after services — being a Methodist, I’m a big fan of potlucks.
What I found at this church was something deeply profound, something I don’t always experience in traditional congregations. The building was packed — not just with older folks like me, as I might have anticipated — but with children, teens, and fresh-faced young parents. I saw babies being passed between moms, kids playing “Duck Duck Goose” in the narthex, toddlers fidgeting with hymnals— no children’s church to whisk them away. And it wasn’t just a sea of similar faces. The congregation had some diversity, including African and Asian members, all woven seamlessly into the fabric of this community.
Worship overflowed with tradition. The liturgy was formal, the hymns ancient, and the sermon grounded in deep theology. Communion was served with great reverence. The bread was homemade, and as for the juice — well, let’s just say it wasn’t Welch’s.
Wednesday Nights: Fellowship in Action
After attending many of their midweek meals, I began to grasp the essence of this church. On Wednesday evenings, the hall buzzes with fellowship — children’s laughter, the clinking of dishes, lively discussions. The air is always infused with the scent of brisket, tacos, or sometimes food that’s a little more exotic, like chicken shawarma.
When I sit down to eat, I usually catch snippets of spiritual conversations — various interpretations of scriptures and how the Bible applies to daily life. It’s clear these talks don’t start and end within the walls; they are the ongoing rhythm of this community’s life together. After the meal, the pastor teaches, followed by a hymn-sing that draws everyone closer in faith and fellowship.
I am struck by the deep connection among the members. They don’t just attend; they belong. Moms hold each other’s babies, teens quietly take notes during the message, voices harmonize with joy. There is no formal childcare; instead, adults distribute coloring pages and crayons to the kids, who happily doodle their way through the lesson. If an infant cries or a child needs to go to the bathroom, a parent quietly takes them away from the crowd. No one seems to mind. The preacher keeps on teaching, and the people keep on listening.
As the evening closes, the spirit of servanthood kicks into high gear. Men break down tables, teens sweep up, and women clean the kitchen. The entire church feels like one big family, embodying a genuine spirit of service that seems to be a natural part of who they are.
Koinonia, the Secret Sauce of Christian Community
In the midst of all this, I realized I was witnessing something rare — koinonia. It’s a biblical word that’s often translated as “fellowship,” but it means so much more. Koinonia is about sharing life in its deepest, most meaningful sense. It’s about being bound together by more than just official doctrine or Sunday routine. It’s about living as the Body of Christ, with all its parts working in harmony, supporting and loving one another as a natural extension of who we are in Christ. It’s no wonder that koinonia is related to the English words for community, communion, and communication.
This church had found the essence of koinonia, and they live it in a way that is both simple and profound. No flashy programs, no gimmicks, no seeker-friendly services — just a deep, abiding connection with God and each other. It‘s a picture of the early church in action, and it reminds me that true koinonia isn’t something that can be manufactured or scheduled. It’s something that grows naturally when people are committed to living out their faith together, day by day.
And it’s this very essence of koinonia that has influenced my grandkids. Once, as they played together, my granddaughter suggested to her brother that they sing the Doxology while raising their hands. Another time, my daughter overheard them loudly singing I Bind Myself Unto Thee (you haven’t really heard this song until a 5- and 3-year-old belt it at the top of their lungs.). These moments are a testament to how the congregational spirit of worship and community has touched them, shaping their faith and play.
As I left the church that Sunday, I couldn’t help but reflect on what I had witnessed. In a world that often feels disconnected and fragmented, this church had discovered something truly lovely and enduring. They had found koinonia. And in doing so, they had uncovered the heart of what it means to be the Church.
And maybe, just maybe, this Wesleyan Methodist found that being surrounded by Calvinists wasn’t so bad after all — especially when there’s fellowship this beautiful and a potluck just around the corner.
