by Steve | Jul 22, 2025 | Home Page Hero Slider, In the News, May/June 2025
An Anglican Reflection on the Nicene Creed for Fellow Wesleyans —
By W. Brian Shelton –
Among the many types of Wesleyans who commemorate the 1700th anniversary of Nicaea this year, those in the Anglican Church may be easy to overlook. The emergence of Methodism within the eighteenth-century Church of England led to a swelling of its ranks and a separation from its original church. However, their common roots meant that these two branches would share theological similarities and ensured that they could always be closely connected.
Methodism was a renewal movement within Anglicanism, bringing a new energy centered on personal repentance, salvation, and sanctification to the established church. As a Methodist in my youth and my middle age, I now find myself Anglican, having here experienced a form of personal renewal that reverberates with the energy of the eighteenth century. Central to this experience has been worship steeped in theology, including the Nicene Creed. While it is not surprising that a theology professor at worship would appreciate this quality, the creed offers a theological experience that can remind Wesleyans everywhere of our core beliefs, such as the Trinity, incarnation, salvation, church, and an eternal hope. These common beliefs orient us, inspire us, and unite us, and when they are appropriated to the heart, they can renew us. As a Wesleyan in the Anglican Church of North America, an Anglican appreciation of the Nicene Creed in the life of the church is offered here.
Article 8 of the Thirty-Nine Articles states that the Nicene Creed is one of three creeds that “ought thoroughly to be received and believed: for they may be proved by most certain warrants of Holy Scripture.” The phrase “received and believed” embodies how all Christians treat this ancient creed — accepting it from a historic church (received) and professing it for our generation (believed). This very act of saying the creed together is akin to the Wesleys’ vision to practice faith in community. Before striking out into good works, we begin with this foundation for belief that motivates and justifies our own spiritual formation, as well as the ministries to one another and to the world. Three reasons strike me for why an Anglican view of the Nicene Creed has been valuable to me and can be to Wesleyans everywhere.
First, it is said. I have been a member of Methodist churches that say no creed. My own formative years as a teenage Christian saw me thrive spiritually without any creedal element. I have been a member of one Methodist church that regularly said the Apostles Creed. This habit grew on me as a congregational member, as I joined fellow-believers in worship to confess what we all believed. However, the Nicene Creed is rare in Methodist circles. Now, I am a member of an Anglican Church that faithfully says this confession every Sunday. Like saying other parts of the liturgy with regularity, such as the Lord’s Prayer and “the peace of Christ to you,” one can become immune to its significance by uttering the same words, time after time. However, for the one who thinks on the words, internalizes them and lifts them up in a confession of praise, the Nicene Creed remains powerfully inspirational. By stating out loud, “I believe” in the person and work of God, one joins a profession of believers throughout time that uttered this same profession. By stating out loud, “I believe” in the qualities and accomplishments of God, one gets refamiliarized and reoriented to the One we worship. We can become amazed when spoken words make a claim about something more wonderful and epic than ourselves.
Second, it is profound. The words of the Nicene Creed describe the nature of God and the work, summarizing the narrative of the biblical story that makes application across all sectors of worship practices. It tells of the Father creating “all things visible and invisible.” It tells of the Son being sent by the Father, “God from God.” It tells of the purpose of this wonderful work for sinners, “For us and for our salvation, he came down to earth.” It tells of “the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the Giver of life,” reminding us of our created status and our reliance on the Creator for life itself. Finally, it tells of our place on this great timeline, participating in “one holy, catholic and apostolic church,” a place in which we “look forward to the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.” The Nicene Creed captures the dynamics of the Trinity who delivered for us the promise of a new life. It offers an intellectual dimension that accompanies the affectual experience so common to contemporary evangelical churches. In saying the creed, one is confronted with the profound story of a limitless God who accepted limits to free a sinful people from their limits—those very people saying the creed. The profundity of this reality is almost too hard to believe.
Third, it is renewing. This element may be the most surprising, as the same words are professed in Anglican churches week after week until they engrain habitually into the mind. In fact, the same words have been professed, over and over, leading up to the 1700th anniversary of the Council of Nicaea this year. Just as the wonder of God continues to bless us in life, the profound reality of the creedal words continues to inspire us to realize and hope for such blessings. The creed holds a promise that the God of the bible, with all the miracle stories, all the stories of changed lives, and all the stories of hope are available to us. A reminder of that biblical promise gets delivered in the saying of the Nicene Creed, where we recite words that can be renewing to us. This is no truer than in the prayers of the people in the Anglican service: “For the peace of the world, for the welfare of the Holy Church of God, and for the unity of all peoples, let us pray to the Lord.” The God of the Nicene Creed can unite his people in common belief, renewing them individually even as they say together, “I believe in one…Church.” After all, spiritual renewal is an important component of worshipping on the Lord’s day.
An Anglican perspective on the Nicene Creed offers still more. This confession is a boundary to human teaching. It is no surprise that in our worship service, the Nicene Creed and the reading of scripture surround the homily. The scripture and its creed bracket the sermon—the only part of the worship service that risks being humanly manufactured. This confession is also a contemporary profession of faith, stated in the present but also grounded in a historical reality. It offers a connection to the past, reorienting our generationally-centered “us” and “now” to a historic participation with believers who went before us. In turn, this invites us to join something bigger than just our church in our present lives. This confession also invites all to believe its contents, welcoming a diversity of denominations without allowing any diversity of unorthodox beliefs to corrode its foundation. This confession thus allows Wesleyans to find a synthesis with their own distinctives on universal salvation, the pursuit of holy living, and a focus on community service in a context of a deeper, precise, and historic Christianity.
However, all this optimism around an Anglican appreciation for the Nicene Creed along Wesleyan lines does not come without two concessions. First, in guiding American Methodists along the Anglican-Methodist way, John Wesley omitted Article 8 of Thirty-Nine Articles cited above and he removed the Nicene Creed in his condensed service for communion. Scholars often speak of his unsystematic writings and his propensity for a lived faith. In Methodists in Dialog, Geoffrey Wainwright describes how Wesley had “no quarrel with the substance of the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed” (191) and that orthodox doctrine was “not so much unnecessary as insufficient — if it was not believed, experienced, and lived” (195). Second, saying the creed weekly can take some conditioning for Wesleyans who may not be used to consistent liturgical patterns of worship. Appreciating both its contents and the power of a united confessions can require some exposure. As Anglicans live in such a worship culture, that conditioning is developed to appreciate the value of the Nicene Creed in worship.
With such a confessional commitment comes a chance for personal and corporate renewal. Perhaps one of the best ways to discover and anchor a renewal movement like Methodism — whether in the eighteenth century or as its renewal is underway these days — is in the profession of the Nicene Creed. After all, the God worshipped there is the one who enables us to live as “one, holy” church of God, renewed by “the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life.”
W. Brian Shelton, PhD is Dean of the School of Christian Studies, Professor of Theology, and Wesley Scholar in Residence at Asbury University in Wilmore, Kentucky.
by Steve | Jul 22, 2025 | Home Page Hero Slider, In the News, May/June 2025
Faith, Love, and Praise: The Nicene Creed and Liturgical Formation —
By Jonathan A. Powers –
Words matter. Think of the old saying: “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” We may want that to be true, but deep down we know it isn’t. Words do hurt. They also heal. They shape how we see the world, how we understand ourselves, and how we relate to others. Words have power. They can tear down or build up, distort or clarify, wound or bring peace.
Words matter when it comes to the Christian faith, too. The words we use as Christians aren’t just filler. They guide us, encourage us, and form us. When words are placed on the lips of the church, they help shape identity, anchor faith, and express devotion to God. The prayers we pray, the songs we sing, the Scripture we hear, and the creeds we confess all aid in forming what we believe about God and how we live in response.
God-given revelation recognizes that the Bible is our final authority in all matters of faith and practice as the inspired word of God. Though Methodists draw on the Wesleyan heritage of discerning truth through the lenses of Scripture, tradition, reason, and experience, we keep Scripture primary. Rooted in the early church’s response to heretical teachings, the creed clarifies orthodox belief and provides a theological foundation for Christian discipleship. In addition to its importance as a doctrinal statement, the Nicene Creed functions as a foundational liturgical act. When practiced faithfully, saying the words of the creed together as the church can be a means for forming hearts, grounding worship, and uniting the church in the shared story of God’s redeeming love.
Across the centuries of the church, the Nicene Creed has remained an indispensable component of its liturgical worship. As a liturgical act, the Nicene Creed embodies the church’s living memory and theological inheritance. When recited in the liturgy, the creed serves not merely as a reminder of past controversies or as a dogmatic exercise, but also as a formative practice through which the church proclaims its faith anew. Rooted in the trinitarian grammar of Scripture, the creed reflects the church’s understanding of God’s nature and work — Father, Son, and Holy Spirit — in creation, redemption, and sanctification. It safeguards the central confession that Jesus Christ is both fully divine and fully human, upholding the mystery of the Incarnation and the unity of the Godhead. In affirming these truths, the words of the creed invite the church to rehearse the gospel story and to participate in the church’s mission as it bears witness to the God who has made Himself known in Jesus Christ and who continues to dwell with His people by the power of the Holy Spirit. Through the creed, the church enters a divine mystery, aligning heart, mind, and voice in shared confession and praise.
It is important, therefore, to understand the value of the creed as a liturgical act that gives voice to the church’s faith in the context of gathered worship. Spoken as prayer, the creed does more than communicate theological content — it forms the hearts and minds of those who confess it. The words of the creed, repeated in worship across generations, become a shaping force in the life of the church, binding belief and practice together in a rhythm of faithful devotion.
A proper appreciation of the creed as a liturgical act must begin with a clear understanding of what liturgy is and why it holds significance in the life of the church. The word liturgy comes from a Greek term meaning “public work” or “the work of the people,” reminding us that worship is not a private activity but a communal offering, something we do together as the body of Christ. Liturgical theologians often point to an ancient Latin phrase to highlight the deep connection between worship and belief: lex orandi, lex credendi, or “the law of prayer is the law of belief.” This well-used axiom captures the idea that how the church prays is inseparable from what it believes. Theology is not developed in a vacuum but is shaped and reinforced through the regular practices of prayer and worship. Put simply, what the church prays, it ultimately believes, and what it believes must be faithfully reflected in its worship.
The language of worship is not incidental. As mentioned earlier, words form the very contours of Christian faith and practice. The repeated prayers, hymns, and creeds of the liturgy train the church’s spiritual imagination and inform the church’s understanding of God. Consequently, if worship is incoherent or theologically shallow, it does more than reflect doctrinal weakness — it actively cultivates and perpetuates it. N.T. Wright underscores this point in his book For All God’s Worth, observing that the way we worship directly impacts our understanding of who God is. Poor liturgy can distort divine truth, while robust, theologically grounded worship enables the church to know and love God rightly.
It is therefore essential that liturgy faithfully portray the character and nature of God. This conviction lies at the heart of the church’s historic commitment to creedal worship. The recitation of the Nicene Creed is not a mere intellectual exercise but a spiritual discipline, one that forms the faithful by engaging both heart and mind in worship. Through it, the church rehearses the truths of the gospel, nurtures theological clarity, and fosters a collective identity rooted in God’s self-revelation.
Within the context of Christian worship, therefore, the Nicene Creed occupies a vital role as both a theological anchor and a doxological witness. As an act of proclamation, it gives voice to the church’s shared confession and invites the gathered community to publicly affirm the core truths of the faith. As a liturgical act, it points to the redemptive work of God in history and anchors the present worship of the church in the eternal reality of the Triune God. As a doctrinal standard, it safeguards the church from theological drift, ensuring that its worship remains centered on the apostolic faith. In an age when worship can become overly emotive, individualistic, or culturally captive, the creed offers a necessary corrective. It prevents the church from slipping into self-referential spirituality by continually directing its gaze toward the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Similarly, because the reading and preaching of Scripture stand at the heart of Christian worship, the creed serves as a theological lens that guides and shapes faithful interpretation. Without such a framework, preaching risks becoming fragmented or driven by contemporary trends rather than rooted in the historic faith. The creed thus offers continuity and clarity amid the ever-shifting landscape of ecclesial discourse. Its enduring formulations resist distortion and novelty, keeping the church grounded in the apostolic message. In this way, the Nicene Creed is not only a statement of what the church believes but a guide for how it speaks and lives out that belief in the world.
The creed also protects against theological fads that may arise in different historical moments of the church. As new movements, ideologies, or interpretations emerge, the Nicene Creed remains a steadfast witness to the apostolic faith. As a safeguard, it prevents the church from being swayed by novel teachings that stray from the gospel. In this sense, the creed functions as both an anchor and a compass, keeping the church grounded in the core of the faith while guiding proclamation toward the eternal truths of God.
One further key liturgical strength of the creed is its role as a communal declaration of the church’s steadfast faith and allegiance to the Triune God. In a time marked by theological pluralism, denominational division, and doctrinal confusion, the Nicene Creed offers a unifying center. Despite differences in ecclesiology or sacramental theology, the creed is a common heritage embraced by Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant traditions alike. Its continued use across these diverse communities testifies to the enduring power of shared confession in binding the church together.
This unity is not superficial or abstract. It is grounded in a robust theological vision of the Triune God and the redemptive work of Christ. When the creed is confessed in worship, it transcends individual preferences and cultural differences, reminding the church that its foundation is not novelty or personal interpretation, but the unchanging truth of the gospel. Such unity is vital in an era when subjective experience often trumps theological fidelity. The Nicene Creed orients the church around truths that do not shift with the cultural tide.
Finally, the creed serves as a living act of worship that draws the church into the ongoing story of God’s saving work. It provides a theological grammar for the church’s worship and witness, rooting the gathered church’s praise and proclamation in the truths revealed through Scripture and affirmed by the historic church. Reciting the creed is thus both a formative and performative liturgical act: it not only communicates belief but actively shapes it, embedding the faith in the lived practices and participation of the community.
Notably, the creed is not something the church simply reads but something it prays. The act is a moment of participatory proclamation where believers collectively remember and re-enter God’s redemptive narrative. Lines such as “For us and for our salvation he came down from heaven” are not abstract propositions but confessions of praise, saturated with the drama of divine love. The creed thus becomes what Robert Webber describes as a way for the church to “do God’s story” in worship, mutually rehearsing the gospel narrative and inhabiting its truth with awe and gratitude. This act of remembrance is deeply formational, calling to mind the story of God’s redeeming love while drawing the church into deeper affection and trust.
Remembering is at the heart of worship. It is through remembering God’s saving work that the affections are stirred and faith is deepened. The words of the liturgy help us remember. The Nicene Creed, when regularly prayed and internalized, thus plays a crucial role in shaping the affections of worshipers. It cultivates reverence, love, and assurance, orienting the hearts of believers toward the living God.
By rehearsing the truths of the creed, worshipers are invited into the story of redemption. The confession of God as “Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth” evokes trust and wonder in the Creator’s providence. The proclamation of Jesus Christ, “true God from true God… who for us and for our salvation came down from heaven,” draws the congregation into the mystery of divine incarnation and the profound love it reveals. The affirmation of the Holy Spirit as “the Lord, the giver of life” reminds the church of God’s continual presence and work in the world.
The creed offers not only cognitive affirmation but also emotional stability. In moments of doubt, suffering, or confusion, it provides a constant reminder of the enduring truth and faithfulness of God. Its repetition embeds these truths in the heart, reinforcing the gospel’s power to comfort, sustain, and transform.
In this way, the creed nurtures rightly ordered love — orthodoxy (right belief) while fostering orthopathy (right affections). It reinforces that the purpose of right doctrine is not to win arguments but to love God more deeply and worship Him more fully.
Certainly, the Nicene Creed is far more than a theological relic or liturgical formality; it is a living confession that continues to shape the church’s identity, worship, and mission. It forms faithful Christians through repetition, anchoring doctrine in the liturgical life of the community, uniting believers across time and space, and stirring the affections toward deeper love and devotion. In praying the creed, the church not only remembers what it believes but becomes what it confesses: a people rooted in the truth of the gospel and oriented toward the glory of the Triune God. As the church continues to proclaim the words “We believe” in its worship, it does so as an act of ongoing formation — faith seeking understanding, worship expressing truth, and belief embodying love.
Jonathan A. Powers is the Associate Professor of Worship and Interim Dean of the School of Mission and Ministry at Asbury Theological Seminary in Wilmore, Kentucky.
by Steve | Jul 22, 2025 | Home Page Hero Slider, In the News, May/June 2025
The Nicene Creed —
By Ryan Danker –
The Nicene Creed, as it is commonly called, is much more than a basic outline of the Christian faith, although it is that. In fact, it is the universal outline of the faith used by Christians everywhere. It can rightly be called the outline of the orthodox faith.
The council that put together the first major sections of our creed met in the year 325 in Asia Minor in a town called Nicaea during the months of May and June. This year, 2025, marks the 1700th anniversary of this lasting statement of Christian belief and so this issue of Good News is dedicated to the creed. Our hope is that faithful believers everywhere not only know the creed, but the Triune God it describes. To know him is everything.
How we acquired the creed is a fascinating story with wonderful twists and turns. At times, the story reads like a novel. In Dan Brown’s blockbuster, The DaVinci Code, Brown uses some of the story correctly because it’s so good, but one thing he got fundamentally wrong was the idea that the Nicene council declared Christ divine at the council. The reality of the situation was that the council affirmed what the church had always taught, but clarified it due to new challenges. Once you know the actual story, though, the creed is much more than an outline. The remains of the battles that necessitated the calling of the council can still be seen in it. The bishops who gathered there 1700 years ago were not only affirming Christian belief, but also guarding it against false claims.
We have to go back into the first centuries of the Christian faith to understand the need for the Nicene Creed. The life, death, and resurrection of Jesus changed everything. It was a revolution with cosmic effect that can also be described as an explosion. No one expected the Messiah to rise from the dead in the middle of history. And, in fact, many expected the Messiah to establish a temporal kingdom. Jesus, while fulfilling the prophecies in every respect, blew this away. Not only was his kingdom not of this world, but after he died a sacrificial death, he rose again on the third day, launching the new creation in the middle of history itself. Much of the early church’s discourse is an attempt to grasp this reality.
In the pages of the New Testament, we can see the earliest Christians grappling with the reality of what had taken place in Jesus. There are misunderstandings that needed to be addressed and we can see them in Paul’s letters and in the letters of John, Peter, and Jude, among others. So as the faith continued to expand beyond the earliest followers of Jesus to the far reaches of the Roman Empire and beyond, it needed to continually clarify its message. Once it had become both tolerated and preferred within the Roman Empire under Constantine, the clarity of the church’s message took on even greater importance. This is why Constantine asked the bishops to convene at Nicaea.
But the debate that ignited this meeting didn’t start in Nicaea or with the emperor, but with a popular and charismatic figure named Arius who was a priest in Alexandria, Egypt. The church in Egypt traces its inception to the preaching of Mark, the same who wrote the gospel that bears his name. And so a Christian community had existed in Egypt for many centuries before this time. The church there was intellectually rich, having produced one of the church’s greatest early theological minds in Origen. Egypt was also one of the early birthplaces of monasticism, often linked to the demon-fighting recluse Antony. The church was strong in Egypt and the gospel heard very clearly.
Heresy, the name that the church give false teaching on foundational matters, was first named by the church father Irenaeus. He fought against the Gnostics, a movement that claimed that salvation was given by secret knowledge, often denying the tangible nature of the faith. Heresy is rarely malevolent, though, at least at the beginning. It usually sets in when attempts to describe the mysteries of the faith are taken too far. The description rather than the reveal truth of God takes center stage. And this is what happened with Arius.
Without getting too far into the weeds, Arius accepted the idea that God is immutable (i.e. unchanging) and transcendent. And this is true! God in his nature, his character, his fundamental qualities, does not change. Also, God is beyond comprehension. But Arius took this truth and denied the reality of who Jesus is. If we are to understand the need for the Nicene Creed, to clarify the faith, we must understand that at the center of the entire conversation was the question, “who is Jesus?”
For Arius, if God cannot change and is beyond all things, then God cannot become man. In other words, the incarnation was not “God with us,” but something else. At the same time that Arius wanted to demote Jesus, he didn’t want to claim that Jesus was simply a man. So while God the Father was God, Jesus for Arius was something between God and man, what was called a “demiurge.” In Arius’ teachings, Jesus — or to be accurate to the argument, the Word — was a created being even if God used him to create everything else.
I hope at this point that you have the first chapter of John’s gospel in your mind because it refutes Arius clearly: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” But there are other passages that Arius used to support his argument such as Luke’s mention that Jesus grew in favor with God and with others. Or when Paul calls Jesus the “firstborn of creation.” It’s easy to misinterpret scripture.
Arius, though, was not only a great preacher but he put his teachings to music including a line referring to the Word that still has a ring to it in English “there was a time when he was not.” Arius combined scripture, philosophy, and song to spread his message. And it was hugely popular. In fact, had the church held a poll to see which way its members wanted the council to go, it would have supported Arius.
The bishop of Alexandria, a man named Alexander, opposed the teachings of Arius. But it took another man, Athanasius, to stand up against this popular heresy. His story is fascinating in and of itself. He has sometimes been thought to be short in stature and darker skinned, but it is known that he came from what we might call “the wrong side of the tracks.” He was not of the elite. But he became an educated and forceful figure in the debates. Most of his writings, though, came after the council. He was the council’s great defender.
For Athanasius, following scripture and the teachings of the church, only Christ, fully divine and fully human, could have brought about the salvation of the world by dying on the cross. Only one who is fully God, and therefore capable of such a thing, and fully human, redeeming us as one of us, could have made such an eternal impact.
But let’s get back to the council. The bishops had initially intended to meet in the city of Ankara both to celebrate Constantine’s victory over Licinius and to come to agreement on the date of Easter. But Constantine wanted to be part of the proceedings, so he ordered the bishops to meet in Nicaea, not far from his palace. He also wanted them to clarify the church’s teachings on Christ’s relation to the Father.
Bishops gathered from all over the Christian world, from Spain to Persia. It’s likely that about 200 attended the council. Given the fact that the persecution of Christians had only ended a few years before, some of these bishops arrived with scars and other physical marks of their faith. Neither Arius nor Athanasius spoke at the council. They weren’t bishops, although Athanasius would become one in the years following. The council was organized so that every bishop could speak. Many brought local creeds used in their dioceses, but none of these addressed the fundamental issue that brought them together.
So they turned to scripture as they began to formulate a universal creed. This is why we see language such as “begotten,” “light,” and “Son of God” in the text. But more clarity was needed. So they turned to philosophy and introduced language such as “being” and “substance” in order to describe the scriptural claims of the church. The council used the Greek word homoousion meaning one substance or same being to describe the reality that Jesus and the Father are of the same being, both equally divine. The introduction of this language bothered some as the term is not in scripture, but it was deemed necessary to clarify the faith. In the end, all but 17 of the bishops endorsed the council’s statement, which included calling on Arius to either renounce his teachings or be banished. He chose banishment.
The historian Robert Louis Wilken provides a translation of the original creed of the Nicene council in his book The First Thousand Years: A Global History of Christianity:
“We believe in one God, the Father Almighty, maker of all things visible and invisible.
“And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, begotten from the Father, only begotten, that is from the substance of the Father, God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten not made, of one substance with the Father, through whom all things were made in heaven and one earth; who for us men and our salvation came down and became incarnate, becoming man, suffered and rose again on the third day, ascended to the heavens, and will come to judge the living and the dead.
“And in the Holy Spirit.
“Those who say there was a time when he was not, or before he was begotten he was not and that he came from non-being, or from another substance or being, of that he was created, or is capable of moral change or mutable — these the catholic and apostolic Church anathematizes.”
We can see from this text that it is not exactly the same as what we recite in our church services today, but the core is there. Another council, this time in Constantinople in 381, was called to address the Holy Spirit because Arian sympathizers tried to demote the Third Person of the Trinity just as they had tried with the Second. So again, clarity was needed. The creed that we have today is actually the Nicene-Constantinopolitan creed.
It would take many centuries to expunge the teachings of Arius. But the church stood fast. As did Athanasius, who for decades fought against Arians after the Nicene council, being exiled from his diocese numerous times became of his efforts. One of his books, On the Incarnation, became a standard for Christian thought. He was rightly described at one point as Athanasius Contra Mundum, Athanasius against the world. He stood fast.
And the church stood fast, to proclaim the true reality of Christ, the savior, the only one who could be, “God from God, Light from Light, true God of true God.” The only one who could save us. As we mark the 1700th anniversary of the council we can be thankful for the faithful voices who stood firm both then and now. We can also be thankful for the continued guidance of the Holy Spirit in the church. It is right that we mark this milestone anniversary.
Ryan Danker is the publisher of Good News.
by Steve | May 2, 2025 | Home Page Hero Slider, In the News, March/April 2025, Uncategorized
Recurring Patterns & Unheeded Warnings —
By James R. Thobaben (March/April 2025) —
Humans see patterns. It is not enough to see facts, that is, bits of information that correspond to the world around us. It is also necessary to have knowledge, that is an understanding of how those facts fit together. Indeed, to live and thrive, we must also see patterns.
Still, sometimes, we perceive and/or describe patterns incorrectly. This is especially true of historical patterns. There really are patterns that exist and repeat. This is even true about the little corner of humanity describable as Wesleyan-Methodism. Patterns exist. Tendencies are discernable. Probabilities are evident.
One of the most helpful schemas for understanding the history of Methodism is that of Ernst Troeltsch (1865-1923) as modified by H.R. Niebuhr (1894-1962). Troeltsch’s theology is not of very much value to orthodox/orthopraxic believers, but his sociology is. Troeltsch developed the ‘church-sect’ model which was later supplemented by H. Richard Niebuhr, another excellent sociologist who also made dubious theological assertions.
Unfortunately, their sociological arguments are more than a bit “academic-y.” And, these are made even more confusing by Troetsch’s and Niebuhr’s propensity to use very common words like “church,” “sect,” “mystic,” and “denomination” in very narrow and often counter-intuitive senses. For instance, for them “sect” does not mean a closed group of crazed religious extremists, “mystic” does not refer to one who is lost in the adoration of God, nor does “denomination” mean an organized autonomous branch of Protestantism. Even so, their general description of the patterns of church history are very helpful in understanding Methodism.
So, modifying the terms and definitions of the church-sect model just a bit to fit more contemporary language and circumstances, one can divide up Christian Protestant ecclesial organizations using four patterns:
• A state-approved church: An organization that directly cooperates with those holding political and economic power; often the “state-approved church” (in the most extreme form, this is a “theocracy”).
• A sect: An organization in tension with the surrounding society’s power-holders due to the high membership standards that are contrary to the values of the popular culture or, at least, those holding political authority.
• A routinized denomination: An organization with primary focus on maintaining institutional structures and only loose concern with the original mission for which they were created; often there is little expectation of, nor concern for, the local congregation’s membership beyond their financial support ( the word “routinized” means “routine-ized” and often implies an unaccountable bureaucracy).
• An association of syncretistic individuals: A loosely-affiliated group in which members do not necessarily have common beliefs and behaviors; but tensions are minimized by high individualism and low shared expectations.
Although these are ‘ideal types’ or generalized patterns, they are helpful for describing the reoccurring organizational patterns in Methodist history and likely where it will go in the future. Knowing this can help the new expressions of Methodism (perhaps) resist such tendencies and maintain fidelity to the God they claim to serve and the mission for which they first came into existence.
Seeing Historical Patterns in Methodism
At first, Methodist was a “sect” but within a state-sanctioned church. In a sense, it was a Protestant version of a monastic community within Catholicism. The Oxford Methodists (Charles Wesley, William Morgan, and Bob Kirkham, to be joined by John Clayton and George Whitfield, and soon led by Charles’ older brother John) were very strict, holding high membership expectations. They freely chose to be accountable to one another in order to spur one another into living out Christian holiness even while serving as clergy in a broader national church with only nominal membership standards.
Soon enough, these early Methodists — all affiliated with the most elite educational institution in the English-speaking world — began to insist that religious excellence was possible for and expected of all. This claim, and some of their methods (field preaching, visiting the imprisoned, etc.), resulted in significant tension between themselves and ecclesial authorities.
Rejection by their social peers did not impede the early Methodists’ efforts to follow their shared mission of spreading scriptural holiness in “reforming” the nation and the Church (Large Minutes). To the first Methodists this meant offering Christ to any with “a desire to flee the wrath to come” and assisting those born-again to mature in faithfulness. The movement was open to men and women, the rich and the poor, the educated scholar and the day laborer. Methodism grew beyond the founders’ expectations, and it did so quite rapidly. It maintained its sectarian strictness (evidenced by the expulsions noted in the early editions of the “Minutes’’), even while remaining within the state church (the Wesleys and several others remained priests).
The development of formal structures was necessary to maintain both the extremely high membership expectations and significant outreach. In this necessary development of structure — this “routinizing” — lay the insidious kernels of the organization’s spiritual decay. The pattern was set.
Methodism and its revivalism first made its way to the colonies of North America through the ministry of Calvinist Methodist George Whitfield (1740), who allied himself with Jonathan Edwards. The former was the key preacher of the Great Awakening, the North American side of the British Evangelical Awakening that in England and Ireland was being led by the Wesleys. Revivalism in the American colonies lost momentum, in part due to limited organizational follow-up, but Methodism itself picked up again in 1760s under the leadership of committed laypersons. Methodism was still a “sect in a state-sanctioned church” with strict small groups maintaining moral and doctrinal standards.
The American Revolution, though, compelled an organizational change. Some Methodists, and a great number of Anglican priests left for Canada or Great Britian. Those remaining concluded they did not need a state church. Still, the sacraments were a means of grace, Methodists believed an ordained ministry was necessary for consecration. American-based ordination would have to be. The circuit preachers could be ordained, and the strict class and band system would then be maintained by North American lay leadership. Francis Asbury, along with Thomas Coke, (recently sent by Wesley) initiated a new organization, the Methodist Episcopal Church, for this purpose. The “sect-in-state-sanctioned-church” had become a “sect.”
High expectations of members (e.g., regular prayer, mutual accountability, attendance upon the sacraments, regular financial support, and active service to the marginal, including explicit opposition to slavery) once again put the group at odds with some of the newly established political, social, and economic authorities. The sect’s leadership accepted such as inevitable. As Wesley had several decades earlier noted: “Nor do the customs of the world at all hinder [the Methodist from] ‘running the race that is set before him.’ He knows that vice does not lose its nature, though it becomes ever so fashionable…He cannot, therefore, ‘follow’ even ‘a multitude to do evil’” (Character of a Methodist, 1741).
The now unattached sect remained strict for two to three generations. During this time it grew, and grew rapidly (it turns out that people who take Christianity seriously often want to be serious Christians). A huge upswing occurred with the Wilderness Revivals of the first decade of the 19th century (often called the Second Great Awakening, centered at Cane Ridge Meetinghouse in Kentucky). While other congregations were established, it was the strict, revivalist Baptists and even more so Methodists that exploded west of the Appalachians.
Wesley instructed the early Methodists to “[g]ain all you can by honest industry. Use all possible diligence in your calling” (Use of Money). He also realized, long before those sociological thinkers, that this would lead to increased wealth and status and, perhaps, spiritual problems associated not only with materialism but with social “acceptability.”
“I am not afraid that the people called Methodists should ever cease to exist either in Europe or America. But I am afraid lest they should only exist as a dead sect, having the form of religion without the power. And this undoubtedly will be the case unless they hold fast both the doctrine, spirit, and discipline with which they first set out” (“Thoughts on Methodism,” 1787).
By the third and fourth generation Methodists had begun their rise into the new middle class and started to lose their sectarian mutual accountability. This was evidenced in increasing cultural accommodation. For instance, as Asbury bemoaned:
“My spirit was grieved at the conduct of some Methodists, that hire out slaves at public places to the highest bidder, to cut, skin, and starve them; I think such members ought to be dealt with: on the side of oppressors there is law and power, but where is justice and mercy to the poor slaves? what eye will pity, what hand will help, or ear listen to their distresses? I will try if words can be like drawn swords, to pierce the hearts of the owners.” (The Journal of the Rev. Francis Asbury: Bishop of the Methodist Episcopal Church, from August 7, 1771, to December 7, 1815 (New York: N. Bangs and T. Mason, 1821), 2:273)
Along with their economic success and a desire for social acceptance came what could only be called an abomination: the toleration of chattel slavery amongst a wide swath of the membership. The first Book of Discipline (1785) of the Methodist Episcopal Church had required that, “unless they buy them on purpose to free them,” anyone dealing in the trafficking of slaves was, “immediately to be expelled.” Sadly, by the third decade of the 19th century, a bishop owning slaves was tolerated by far too many. Perhaps this was inevitable due to the disregard some fifty years earlier of Richard Allen and Absalom Jones and perhaps 40 laypersons.
The 1830’s toleration of slavery was not the cause, but the proof that Methodism had moved from being a “sect-within-a-state-sanctioned church” through being an independent “sect” to become a “routinized denomination.” Though a debate raged, some denominational elites made excuses for the tacit (or sometimes explicit) approval of the societal convention. Schisms over the moral and doctrinal compromise had already occurred and schism after schism would follow.
Methodism’s willing compromise with the culture seemed to be the inevitable, a sociological pattern. Methodists had become economically successful, the mutual accountability of the band system had gone into decline, and bishops had found pleasure hobnobbing with cultural elites. Methodism did continue to grow in numbers, but also in the social acceptability that coincided with cultural accommodation, in that case over the toleration of slavery.
Schisms over the perceived abandonment of early Methodism’s sectarian fervor occurred. Sometimes this led to a belligerent legalism with the split-off organizations maintaining a small, highly sectarian membership.
There is no reason to rehearse all of Methodist history. The pattern is one that has obviously recurred. Sectarian purity with high membership expectations is modified, rightly or wrongly, for more effective outreach. The organizational structures develop with leadership seeking social approval, and then routinize into unaccountable bureaucracies. Schism after schism occurs in the hope of a “primitive,” Scriptural purity, but then the pattern is reiterated by the third or fourth generation.
Finally, the Methodist movement made it to the late 20th century. In Britain, the pattern of this stage was marked by innumerable abandoned Methodist buildings. In Canada and Australia, Methodism was absorbed into “united” churches, seemingly gaining nothing but more managerial positions. In the U.S. the “mainline” churches — including the United Methodist — were no longer “main.” The oldline denominations, as well as many evangelical ones as well, were deemed mediocre in fulfilling their missions, at best.
Completing the sociological pattern, many of those oldline congregations had become nothing but “associations of syncretistic individuals.” The oldline churches were often made up of people with a shared appreciation for potlucks but having little else in common. Certainly, the “average Methodist congregation” was not theologically or morally consistent. Accountability on personal purity and doctrine for the laity (and, arguably for the clergy and bureaucrats) was gone. “Social holiness,” a term referring to mutual accountability on core doctrine and morality, had come to mean agreement with the bureaucracy’s social agenda.
The historical pattern has been reiterated time after time. Dynamic reformers coalesce in effort to reinvigorate their community. Keeping their original fervor and strictness, they start to grow. They are respected by some for their integrity and rejected by others for their legalism. Small reform groups form internally and a few split off. Paradoxically, the new main body’s social acceptance so compromises its character that it becomes unappealing, and it starts a slow decline. The dissipation is slow at first, because the group has significant social and economic capital which continue to fund the managerial level of the organization.
Can Patterns of Decay Be Resisted?
Does this repeated pattern indicate a sort of sociological predestination? No, but, so what?
• What will happen to the UM Church? In all likelihood, decline continues, especially overseas. Eventually, that will stabilize, perhaps with the societal presence of the UMC being similar to that of the UCC or the PCUSA. A few congregations may remain strong or even grow in small towns or in urban enclaves. Denominational resources that remain will be devoted to organizational maintenance.
Internationally, the UMC brand has not been as damaged as in the US, but it is becoming so. These churches will either decline or split off (the trust clause will be less effectual, though the US funding will remain enticing to bishops and bureaucrats). Lost members will go to growing neo-Pentecostal denominations or become postmodernist non-participants. Some congregations and conferences may become GMC or go autonomous.
There is some hope for those individual UMC congregations that want to remain true to that original mission of the Oxford Methodists. They can survive and thrive, but only to the extent that they operate distinctly from the central administration. Unfortunately, toleration of such by those with organizational authority is unlikely.
• What happens to the GMC? It may become a slightly more conservative version of the UMC. It is likely that rules will quickly arise that limit significant experimentation in order to promote the maintenance of the organization.
Fortunately, this process of routinization is currently being delayed by the stripping down to basics in the new Discipline. Still, it important that the GMC not confuse sectarian theological and moral conservatism with political and cultural conservatism. The goal cannot be to replicate ideals of post-WWII suburban Methodism. If the GMC establishes mechanisms and requirements for mutual accountability for both personal purity and social service, and if it allows experimentations in ministry forms, then it may actually flourish, at least for three or even four generations.
• What happens with the small congregations that have gone independent? They likely become something akin to independent Baptist churches that happen to allow infant baptism. Though there will be exceptions, most will likely function as “family chapels” with strong pastoral care but little concern beyond the walls, so to speak.
• And, what happens with the Foundry Network, the “Collegiate” body, and other very large churches that are not formally affiliating with others? Ironically, as with the very small independents, the lack of accountability beyond the organization may lead to institutional inbreeding. Though their being better at adopting techniques from the popular culture will keep their numbers up at first, they will grow increasingly dependent on the personal charisma of their leadership and an erroneous belief in their own irreplaceability or the spiritual exceptionalism.
The hope for such is that those individual leaders will recognize their need to be accountable, for as Wesley put it “there is no holiness but social holiness.” This includes for those in authority. These churches must demonstrate a genuine willingness to cooperate in ministries, a willingness to participate in outside educational endeavors, and — most importantly — a willingness to be answerable to someone outside the formal congregational structures. Still, if those leaders can direct the church toward expectations of purity (not just numerical growth) and service outreach (not just seeking popularity), then much good ministry can occur (at least until a problematic leader arises).
It is hard to believe any of these groups remaining in or coming out of the UMC will continue to spiritually thrive in their current forms for more than three generations. This is not cynicism, but an acknowledgement that patterns are called patterns because they recur, over and over.
So, in the future, will any offer good ministry, meaning serving the marginal in the Name of our Lord and preaching the Good News to those needing salvation, be offered? Yes, of course, for the glory of God cannot be stopped by human failure. And, there have recently been small expressions of renewal. Perhaps more are coming.
For Methodists to be part, though, they will have to figure out new ways to reiterate the original mission of Methodism and the original mission of the Church. Breaking patterns is hard. And, my suspicion is that these patterns will be sadly replicated.
So, are these “new expressions” following the UMC schism all doomed by a sort of sociological predestination? No. This pattern of rise and decline can be resisted, but I do not see it happening. Then again, I could be wrong.
James Thobaben is Dean of the School of Theology and professor of Bioethics and Social Ethics at Asbury Theological Seminary in Wilmore, Kentucky. He is the author of Healthcare Ethics: A Comprehensive Christian Resource. This article appeared in the March/April 2025 issue of Good News.
by Steve | May 1, 2025 | Home Page Hero Slider, In the News, March/April 2025
Body Language —
By Jessica LaGrone (March/April 2025) —
The first paying job I ever held was as a Health Aide in a doctor’s office that primarily treated patients and families who were unable to pay for medical care. I wasn’t qualified to do much in the way of real medicine, so one of my main jobs was to call patients in from the waiting room, to take their height and weight and blood pressure, and then to ask them a set of questions to obtain a medical history known as the anamnesis.
Most of us have been through this process so many times that we might be able to reconstruct the questions off the top of our heads:
• What brings you in today?
• How are you feeling?
• Where does it hurt?
• How long have you felt this way?
An anamnesis includes not only our immediate symptoms, but also our family medical history, allergies, questions about alcohol and drug usage and risk-associated behaviors. The result, recorded in a medical chart, sounds a little like a story, a little like a puzzle, a little like a problem to be solved.
But it’s also vitally important to remember that behind each anamnesis is a person, that the symptoms described are not disembodied, but belong to a living soul whose experience of that story feels very, very personal. Can you imagine anything more intimate than the things you experience happening within your own body?
Anamnesis is a Greek word that means “a calling to mind,” or “a remembrance.”
It’s a calling to remember — here specifically a remembrance or a recalling of the experience of one body. But it’s also the medical history going even farther back than that person’s own medical memory.
When I had the job of collecting an anamnesis from each patient I was not yet “in ministry,” but let me tell you that hearing the story of the body feels like holy work. It feels a little like being a priest: hearing confession and helping someone enter into healing.
Years later I found myself on one of those God-prescribed U-turns and began to realize that my calling was not medicine but ministry. One day I was sitting in a seminary class learning about the sacraments of baptism and Holy Communion when the professor began recounting the historic names of the different parts of the eucharistic liturgy: Confession, Absolution, Sursum Corda, Sanctus, Anamnesis, Mysterion, Epiclesis.
I loved learning all of the mysterious-sounding words, but one of them in particular stood out to me. Anamnesis: The remembrance, reenactment, and participation in the history of the Body.
The very same word used by medical professionals to recount the medical history of our bodies was the word used at the Communion Table to recount the holy history of Christ, his ministry, death, and resurrection, which includes his actions and words of institution at the table in the Upper Room: “Take and eat, this is my body, which is given for you.”
I felt like pausing for a moment to send a quick message to my dad, who once told me I was throwing away an undergraduate degree in premedical biology to go into ministry. I thought about telling him: It turns out, they’re basically the same thing! (Aside from the earning potential, anyway.)
Just like an anamnesis in a medical chart follows the journey of a body, an anamnesis at the Table describes the journey of Christ’s body. A holy history of how Christ came to live and die and rise again for us. An anamnesis of love.
In a passage from the first letter to the Corinthians, Paul makes a shocking claim: “Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it” (I Corinthians 12:27).
I can’t imagine a way of addressing someone in any more intimate way than referring to them as one’s own body. Can you?
Nothing is more intimate for us than the experience of our bodies. Our bodies are responsible for all of our input and output to the world around us. They move at our slightest impulse. They provide contact with the world through our senses. Our bodies are both the way we receive input from the world around us, and the way we move outwardly to impact the world around us.
Here Christ is saying: That’s how closely I relate to you, those who believe in me, who follow me. You are my body. You are the way I long to physically and outwardly express my thoughts, my will, my impulses. When I long to touch the world, I touch it through you. When I pour out resources, I do it through you. When I want to share my joy and celebration at the good world I have made, I want to experience and express that through you, my body.
Back in the doctor’s office where I worked, our storeroom held shelves and shelves of medical charts containing the stories of each patient’s symptoms, subsequent diagnoses, and treatments. Some patients had charts so thick that we filled them and had to open up a second chart, and a third, and more, just to hold their story.
Imagine how thick a medical chart would be for a 100-year-old patient. What if a patient could be more than a millennium old? Two millennia old? How long would their story stretch?
Imagine, if you will, that patient’s anamnesis:
The patient is a 2000-year-old who presents with both acute pain and rampant disease, but also a remarkable capacity for healing and resilience. She has been through a multitude of cancers, amputations, and treatments, but also astonishing recoveries.
Her greatest scars include the Crusades, her silence during the Holocaust, her complicities to slavery and injustice and abuse. Some of these diseases are so disfiguring those closest to her would say she doesn’t even look like herself.
She has been through many treatments, recoveries, and regenerations, often stirring from the point of near death. Sometimes it seems that she is in a coma, or on life support, but that’s usually when she is revived somewhere it is least expected.
Without her, our laws would have no foundation, our societies would lack moral guidance, purpose, and hope. Without her we would miss the depths of compassion brought through her works in hospitals and schools and missions. Through her diseases have been cured, orphans taken in and raised. Countless lonely people in her have found family and purpose and strength.
Because this body is always shifting and growing, it’s difficult to find ways to describe her physical anatomy. What exactly is her height, weight, mass? Is her temperature hot or cold or lukewarm? Is her heartbeat racing or slowed to a flat line?
It’s hard to say what should go in her chart under physical characteristics. Is she a tiny country church up on a hill or a mega-church auditorium? Is she shouting or meditating, dancing or repeating liturgy? Is she gathered under trees, in tents, in cathedrals or auditoriums, at schools or in homes? Is she in schism or in unity? Marching in protest or in bowing in deep contemplative silence?
When we try to picture her some of our feelings are warm and nostalgic, others are pockmarked with trauma or pain. “Church hurt” is a diagnosis repeated all too often these days.
Being part of a body can be both painful and healing. When a physical body has encountered an illness or pathogen, it develops antibodies that are specifically targeted, specifically shaped, to take down those challenges the next time it faces them. It’s the reason I won’t have chicken pox again — my body still carries the antibodies it made when I was nine.
One of the miraculous things about being a member of a body that has existed over 2000 years is that there is very little we can experience today that it hasn’t gone through in some way before. If we are paying attention to the incredible connectivity to the history of this body, we may find many of our diagnoses are not new at all. If we search our chart we may also find treatments there that help.
Scripture can inoculate us against individualism. The Psalms can give us a booster of lament and praise and anger and repentance and joy. Liturgy and history swirl within us, bringing nourishment and reminders that this is not the first time the church has faced challenges.
Church history carries in its bloodstream stories like Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s, who knew the Church during some of her darkest days of sickness. Surrounded by evidence of disease, he still worked to build a new kind of Church that stood on conviction, even when it meant losing his own life to save hers.
Perhaps when we encounter the dizzying effects of nationalism, or the painful symptoms of tyrants and conflicts and wars, pieces of the past will rush at us like white blood cells ready to fight again the very things that threatened before and threaten again.
In the last few years it seems like story after story has broken with news of leaders of the church inflicting harm on the body through misconduct and abuse.
Recently when one of these horrifying scandals broke, a preacher close to the events used his platform to offer those at the center of pain the metaphor from scripture of Lot’s wife, telling those facing a church torn apart by abuse not to turn back, not to dwell on the past, but to continue moving forward in faith.
Whatever his intentions, many heard it as a call not to reveal or process the wounds laid bare by the scandal that had broken only days before. Unfortunately, his message brought more pain to those already hurting. It was heard as a call to silence the heartbroken rather than facing an honest and open counting of the cost, lest the Church be hurt by the stories that might be told.
If I learned anything in the patient intake room long ago, it’s that the telling of the story of pain is part of the healing. Until the body bears witness, tells its whole story of hurt and grief, there is no chance for true healing. That’s what an anamnesis is — to tell the story of the body so that help and healing and intervention can rush in to the areas that need it the most.
To tell the truth is the beginning of getting the help we need. But to hide a wound means risking that it will fester to the point of infection, dismemberment and ultimately loss. If we want to heal, we will tell the stories of the body, even those that make us flinch.
I sometimes talk to young people who have experienced so much pain as they’ve witnessed the flaws of the Church that it makes them want to withdraw into a little corner of the faith. They haven’t given up on Jesus, just the people with the keys to his house.
Sometimes they wonder if they could leave all the trappings behind and start over. As one of them told me recently: “I don’t know if I can bear the Church, but I think I could do just Jesus and me and a few friends.”
“Well,” I said, “then you’ve just started the Church all over again!”
For those who want to authentically follow Jesus, amputation is not an option. We can’t do it alone. Christians need Christians. Churches need churches. Our medical history would urge us not to let the moments of struggle drive us away from the place that healing can happen. Amputation has never gone well for the limb.
There are no single-celled Christians. No healthy single-celled churches. Bodies need connective tissue to survive.
In Communion, the anamnesis, finds its climax in these words: “On the night he was betrayed and gave himself up for us, Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it and said: ‘This is my body, given for you.’”
The same night of deep pain and betrayal was the night when the blessing of the body was offered. This same story of crucifixion is followed by triumph of resurrection. Jesus knows how to sit with a body in pain and suffering. It’s his body after all — both suffering and mended, broken and blessed, all at one table
When my son and my daughter were small, they often had skinned knees and elbows, bruised foreheads and shins. Each night in the bathtub was an anamnesis in and of itself — recounting that day’s bumps and bruises, the most recent wounds of normal childhood play.
Sometimes there was some wound, scabbed over, that would change from night to night, almost as if by magic. “Look mommy,” they sometimes said: “Look! My skinned knee isn’t so bad, my bruise is going away. Why? What happened?”
Who tells a three-year-old about platelets and macrophages and hemoglobin? Who would explain to a preschooler the veritable processional of internal saints streaming to the site of their hurt to bring healing? I would. Because of my dual obsession with medicine and ministry, I did.
And each time we talked about their bodies’ remarkable ability to heal I would also tell them: “God made your body this way! Isn’t that cool? God made your body so that it knows how to heal itself from the inside out.” And sometimes I would even get choked up thinking about these precious bodies, and all the wounds to come, and how God would be there with them for every single one.
After a while, perhaps because I had explained it so often, they just stopped asking. They did what children do: instead of asking the questions, they began to narrate the answers themselves. They would point to a knee or elbow or scab, still hurting but better today than the day before and declare:
“Look mommy! God is healing me!”
May it be true of you and me. May it be true of the body itself. Amen.
Jessica LaGrone is the Dean of the Chapel at Asbury Theological Seminary in Wilmore, Kentucky. This article appeared in the March/April 2025 issue of Good News.
by Steve | May 1, 2025 | Features, Home Page Hero Slider, In the News, March/April 2025
Scriptural Holiness: A set apart people —
David F. Watson (March/April 2025) —
At its 2024 Convening General Conference, the Global Methodist Church adopted the following mission statement: “The Global Methodist Church exists to make disciples of Jesus Christ and spread scriptural holiness across the globe.” As one of the people who helped craft this mission statement, I was elated at the overwhelming majority that voted in favor of its adoption. Naming scriptural holiness as the center of our mission was an important step in claiming an authentically Wesleyan voice and vocation. After all, it was none other than John Wesley who told us that God’s design in raising up Methodist preachers was to “reform the nation and, in particular, the church; to spread scriptural holiness over the land.”
Since that time, however, a number of people have asked me to explain the term “scriptural holiness.” I get it.
Many Methodists haven’t talked about scriptural holiness for generations. While a brief definition is difficult, the following description might get us started: Scriptural holiness is the work of God we receive through faith to make us a new creation, freeing us from the power of sin to live as a set-apart people. In what follows I’ll unpack this a bit.
Holiness as Separation
At root, holiness is about separation. The Hebrew word we translate as “holiness” is qodesh. It refers to things that are set apart, separate from the ordinary world. It is first and foremost an attribute of the transcendent and perfect God. Consider Isaiah’s vision of God in Isaiah 6:
“In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. And one called to another and said: ‘Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.’ The pivots on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke” (vv. 1-4).
Of all the things these angels could say about God, they proclaim his holiness. God is separate from us. The eternal God who created all things is perfectly righteous and loving, all-powerful and all-knowing. We are not.
Isaiah perceives the contrast between the holiness of God and his own profane nature. He thus cries out in fear. “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!”
A Set-Apart People
The good news, though, is that God wants to share his life with us. For this reason, he created a set-apart people to represent him among all the other peoples of the earth. As he says to Israel in Leviticus 20:26, “You shall be holy to me; for I the Lord am holy, and I have separated you from the other peoples to be mine.” Israel is to receive something of the character of God. Just as God is set apart from this world, so Israel will be set apart from other nations. This separation from other peoples involves covenant fidelity between God and Israel. As God says in Exodus 19:5-6, “Now therefore, if you obey my voice and keep my covenant, you shall be my treasured possession out of all the peoples. Indeed, the whole earth is mine, but you shall be for me a priestly kingdom and a holy nation.” The people of Israel are to worship and live differently than the other nations. They are to be holy.
Israel and Judah went through periods of faithfulness and periods of rebellion against God. At times God would send prophets among them to warn them that they had departed from the covenant they had made with him. Sometimes the people listened. Often they did not. The kings rarely did. Following Jeroboam, all the kings of Israel were wicked, as were many of the kings of Judah. Yet the calling of Israel as a holy nation was only a part of God’s plan of salvation. It was never the entirety. When we reach the last verse of the last book of the Old Testament, the story continues.
Jesus Sets Us Free
In the fullness of time, God became incarnate as one of these Israelite people whom he had set apart. “And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14). Jesus, both divine and human, has made the holiness of God available to us in a new way. He not only calls us to holiness, but empowers us to live as holy people. On the cross, he took our sin upon himself, broke its stranglehold over our lives, and set us free for joyful obedience. As Paul explains this to the church in Rome, “But thanks be to God that you, having once been slaves of sin, have become obedient from the heart to the form of teaching to which you were entrusted, and that you, having been set free from sin, have become slaves of righteousness” (Romans 6:17-18). We were once slaves to sin, but now we have been set free to love and serve God.
Wesley knew we could never do this on our own. In our own strength, we can never truly live the way God wants us to live. Sin is too powerful. It warps our minds. It makes us believe that good is evil and evil is good. Apart from the grace of God, we cannot perceive our own sinfulness. In his sermon, “On Our Lord’s Sermon on the Mount, Discourse the Tenth,” Wesley writes,
“Know thyself. See and feel thyself a sinner. Feel that thy inward parts are very wickedness, that thou are altogether corrupt and abominable…. Know and feel that thou are a poor, vile, guilty worm, quivering over the great gulf! What art thou? A sinner born to die; a leaf driven before the wind; a vapour ready to vanish away, just appearing and then scattered into the air, to be no more seen!”
If this sounds harsh to our ears today, we should understand that Wesley was trying to get across the extent to which sin has warped our hearts and minds. Everyone has sinned — everyone — and even when we know what is right, we often end up doing wrong (Romans 7:14-24). Until we diagnose the problem, we cannot find the cure. The problem, as Wesley understood from the teaching of Scripture, is the pervasive and coercive power of sin. The cure is the healing power of the Holy Spirit.
Continuing his argument in Romans 6, Paul contrasts an old life of sin with new life in Christ. He reminds the Christians of Rome that they used to be enslaved to sin. “But now that you have been freed from sin and enslaved to God, the advantage you get is sanctification. The end is eternal life” (6:22). This word we translate as “sanctification” is hagiasmos, and it means, “being made holy” or “being set apart.” Now that you’ve been freed from sin, the advantage you get is that you’ve been set apart. You’re empowered to think, speak, and act differently than you did before. You’re called to and empowered for a different kind of life. Those who don’t know Christ will not understand why you live in this strange new way, but you can invite them to be part of this set-apart people as well.
A New Creation
Once we receive Christ, we are not simply the Revised Standard Version of our old selves.
The change God works in us is truly radical. The word “radical” comes from the Latin radix, which means “root.” Our transformation by the power of the Holy Spirit is not superficial. It is fundamental. It occurs at the very root of our being. We call this the New Birth — a crucial element of the Wesleyan understanding of salvation. As Jesus said to Nicodemus in John 3:3, “No one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” We are made new. In Christ we are a new creation (2 Corinthians 5:17). This happens because we become “participants of the divine nature” (2 Peter 1:4). Put more simply, God shares himself with us, and in so doing makes us into the people we were always meant to be.
Faith and the Means of Grace
Holiness is an aspect of the nature of God, and it is something he shares with us. What part, then, do we play in becoming holy people? Do we simply sit back and watch TV while God does all the work? Wesley would bristle at the idea. We are saved by grace through faith — by putting our whole trust in Jesus Christ for our salvation. That faith will result in certain behaviors that will make us increasingly open to the work of God. We call these “means of grace.” Wesley identified particular means of grace as the “ordinances of God,” which he listed in the General Rules:
• The public worship of God.
• The ministry of the Word, either read or expounded.
• The Supper of the Lord.
• Family and private prayer.
• Searching the Scriptures.
• Fasting or abstinence.
None of these practices saves us. None makes us holy. None changes our hearts. Only God can do these things. Rather, these practices are responses of faith to the work of God. They are ways in which we beckon the work of the Holy Spirit. When we sin, we quench the work of the Spirit in our hearts, but when we partake of these means of grace in faith, we invite the Holy Spirit to change us. When we read Scripture, worship God, pray, receive the Lord’s Supper, or fast, we engage in practices commended or commanded in Scripture that serve as conduits of the Holy Spirit. As the Spirit works in our hearts, we are made new.
Scriptural holiness is the work of God we receive through faith to make us a new creation, freeing us from the power of sin to live as a set-apart people. When God makes us new, we will think, speak, and act differently from the world around us in important ways. We will live as set-apart people. Many will think us strange. They may even regard us with animosity. Yet it has been this way since the church’s earliest days. Our calling is not to seek the favor of an unbelieving world, but to love and serve God — Father, Son, and Holy Spirit — who shares his nature with us and sets us apart to bear witness to his love.
David F. Watson serves as Academic Dean and Professor of New Testament at United Theological Seminary in Dayton, Ohio. He holds a PhD from Southern Methodist University and is an ordained elder in the Global Methodist Church.
By David F. Watson
At its 2024 Convening General Conference, the Global Methodist Church adopted the following mission statement: “The Global Methodist Church exists to make disciples of Jesus Christ and spread scriptural holiness across the globe.” As one of the people who helped craft this mission statement, I was elated at the overwhelming majority that voted in favor of its adoption. Naming scriptural holiness as the center of our mission was an important step in claiming an authentically Wesleyan voice and vocation. After all, it was none other than John Wesley who told us that God’s design in raising up Methodist preachers was to “reform the nation and, in particular, the church; to spread scriptural holiness over the land.”
Since that time, however, a number of people have asked me to explain the term “scriptural holiness.” I get it. Many Methodists haven’t talked about scriptural holiness for generations. While a brief definition is difficult, the following description might get us started: Scriptural holiness is the work of God we receive through faith to make us a new creation, freeing us from the power of sin to live as a set-apart people. In what follows I’ll unpack this a bit.
Holiness as Separation
At root, holiness is about separation. The Hebrew word we translate as “holiness” is qodesh. It refers to things that are set apart, separate from the ordinary world. It is first and foremost an attribute of the transcendent and perfect God. Consider Isaiah’s vision of God in Isaiah 6:
“In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. And one called to another and said: ‘Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.’ The pivots on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke” (vv. 1-4).
Of all the things these angels could say about God, they proclaim his holiness. God is separate from us. The eternal God who created all things is perfectly righteous and loving, all-powerful and all-knowing. We are not.
Isaiah perceives the contrast between the holiness of God and his own profane nature. He thus cries out in fear. “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!”
A Set-Apart People
The good news, though, is that God wants to share his life with us. For this reason, he created a set-apart people to represent him among all the other peoples of the earth. As he says to Israel in Leviticus 20:26, “You shall be holy to me; for I the Lord am holy, and I have separated you from the other peoples to be mine.” Israel is to receive something of the character of God. Just as God is set apart from this world, so Israel will be set apart from other nations. This separation from other peoples involves covenant fidelity between God and Israel. As God says in Exodus 19:5-6, “Now therefore, if you obey my voice and keep my covenant, you shall be my treasured possession out of all the peoples. Indeed, the whole earth is mine, but you shall be for me a priestly kingdom and a holy nation.” The people of Israel are to worship and live differently than the other nations. They are to be holy.
Israel and Judah went through periods of faithfulness and periods of rebellion against God. At times God would send prophets among them to warn them that they had departed from the covenant they had made with him. Sometimes the people listened. Often they did not. The kings rarely did. Following Jeroboam, all the kings of Israel were wicked, as were many of the kings of Judah. Yet the calling of Israel as a holy nation was only a part of God’s plan of salvation. It was never the entirety. When we reach the last verse of the last book of the Old Testament, the story continues.
Jesus Sets Us Free
In the fullness of time, God became incarnate as one of these Israelite people whom he had set apart. “And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14). Jesus, both divine and human, has made the holiness of God available to us in a new way. He not only calls us to holiness, but empowers us to live as holy people. On the cross, he took our sin upon himself, broke its stranglehold over our lives, and set us free for joyful obedience. As Paul explains this to the church in Rome, “But thanks be to God that you, having once been slaves of sin, have become obedient from the heart to the form of teaching to which you were entrusted, and that you, having been set free from sin, have become slaves of righteousness” (Romans 6:17-18). We were once slaves to sin, but now we have been set free to love and serve God.
Wesley knew we could never do this on our own. In our own strength, we can never truly live the way God wants us to live. Sin is too powerful. It warps our minds. It makes us believe that good is evil and evil is good. Apart from the grace of God, we cannot perceive our own sinfulness. In his sermon, “On Our Lord’s Sermon on the Mount, Discourse the Tenth,” Wesley writes,
“Know thyself. See and feel thyself a sinner. Feel that thy inward parts are very wickedness, that thou are altogether corrupt and abominable…. Know and feel that thou are a poor, vile, guilty worm, quivering over the great gulf! What art thou? A sinner born to die; a leaf driven before the wind; a vapour ready to vanish away, just appearing and then scattered into the air, to be no more seen!”
If this sounds harsh to our ears today, we should understand that Wesley was trying to get across the extent to which sin has warped our hearts and minds. Everyone has sinned — everyone, and even when we know what is right, we often end up doing wrong (Romans 7:14-24). Until we diagnose the problem, we cannot find the cure. The problem, as Wesley understood from the teaching of Scripture, is the pervasive and coercive power of sin. The cure is the healing power of the Holy Spirit.
Continuing his argument in Romans 6, Paul contrasts an old life of sin with new life in Christ. He reminds the Christians of Rome that they used to be enslaved to sin. “But now that you have been freed from sin and enslaved to God, the advantage you get is sanctification. The end is eternal life” (6:22). This word we translate as “sanctification” is hagiasmos, and it means, “being made holy” or “being set apart.” Now that you’ve been freed from sin, the advantage you get is that you’ve been set apart. You’re empowered to think, speak, and act differently than you did before. You’re called to and empowered for a different kind of life. Those who don’t know Christ will not understand why you live in this strange new way, but you can invite them to be part of this set-apart people as well.
A New Creation
Once we receive Christ, we are not simply the Revised Standard Version of our old selves.
The change God works in us is truly radical. The word “radical” comes from the Latin radix, which means “root.” Our transformation by the power of the Holy Spirit is not superficial. It is fundamental. It occurs at the very root of our being. We call this the New Birth — a crucial element of the Wesleyan understanding of salvation. As Jesus said to Nicodemus in John 3:3, “No one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” We are made new. In Christ we are a new creation (2 Corinthians 5:17). This happens because we become “participants of the divine nature” (2 Peter 1:4). Put more simply, God shares himself with us, and in so doing makes us into the people we were always meant to be.
Faith and the Means of Grace
Holiness is an aspect of the nature of God, and it is something he shares with us. What part, then, do we play in becoming holy people? Do we simply sit back and watch TV while God does all the work? Wesley would bristle at the idea. We are saved by grace through faith — by putting our whole trust in Jesus Christ for our salvation. That faith will result in certain behaviors that will make us increasingly open to the work of God. We call these “means of grace.” Wesley identified particular means of grace as the “ordinances of God,” which he listed in the General Rules:
• The public worship of God.
• The ministry of the Word, either read or expounded.
• The Supper of the Lord.
• Family and private prayer.
• Searching the Scriptures.
• Fasting or abstinence.
None of these practices saves us. None makes us holy. None changes our hearts. Only God can do these things. Rather, these practices are responses of faith to the work of God. They are ways in which we beckon the work of the Holy Spirit. When we sin, we quench the work of the Spirit in our hearts, but when we partake of these means of grace in faith, we invite the Holy Spirit to change us. When we read Scripture, worship God, pray, receive the Lord’s Supper, or fast, we engage in practices commended or commanded in Scripture that serve as conduits of the Holy Spirit. As the Spirit works in our hearts, we are made new.
Scriptural holiness is the work of God we receive through faith to make us a new creation, freeing us from the power of sin to live as a set-apart people. When God makes us new, we will think, speak, and act differently from the world around us in important ways. We will live as set-apart people. Many will think us strange. They may even regard us with animosity. Yet it has been this way since the church’s earliest days. Our calling is not to seek the favor of an unbelieving world, but to love and serve God — Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—who shares his nature with us and sets us apart to bear witness to his love.
David F. Watson is the president of Asbury Theological Seminary in Wilmore, Kenucky. He holds a PhD from Southern Methodist University and is an ordained elder in the Global Methodist Church. This article appeared in the March/April 2025 issue of Good News.
