Membership and a new chapter
Tomorrow marks a significant step for us—we’ll begin discussions about full church membership with our Bible study pastor. Starting next Sunday, we’ll officially be attending this new church regularly.
Now, we’re definitely not your usual church member couple. I'm an Anglican and hold to what some call “replacement theology”—though I prefer the term covenant theology—the belief that the Church is the true Israel, not a political nation-state. Meanwhile, my wife holds to a rather unorthodox view that the 12 tribes of Israel are made up of the Caribbean, Africa, and Latin America.
Yes, it’s a peculiar view, but let me be clear—she’s a Trinitarian who believes salvation is by grace through faith in Christ alone. So we’re not dealing with heresy, just an unusual take on redemptive history. The essentials are intact.
Honestly, it’s a blessing to be a part of a biblically faithful church—a place where there’s spiritual accountability, where preaching is Christ-centered, and where the fear of the Lord is taken seriously.
But joining a faithful church also brings unique burdens, especially when it comes to family. My mum wants to attend one Sunday while she’s staying with us—and that’s when the challenge begins. This is something that Christians with believing family members will never fully grasp.
Here’s how it will go: she’ll walk in, warmly greet everyone, and make herself at home. Then the sermon begins—revival-tinged, heavy with the holiness of God, filled with the thunder of His sovereignty. My pastor doesn’t preach to entertain; he preaches like a man sent from God, sounding the Gospel like a fire alarm. And this time, the message won’t just wash over my mum. She’ll really hear it.
Then comes the hard part. The conversation afterward. The one where I have to say:
“Mum, I know you carried me in your womb for nine months. I know you’ve always believed in me when no one else did. But none of that changes the reality—your soul is under judgment unless you believe in the Lord Jesus Christ.”
This is the burden of Gospel proclamation. It’s not sentimental. It’s not easy. And it’s not about writing a feel-good Christian blog post that tickles ears or offers shallow self-help advice. This is real talk. Eternal realities are at stake.
I’m not talking about the empty “Christian values” of some GB News or Fox News talking head—values that often have more to do with nostalgia and nationalism than the Gospel. I’m talking about the good news of a crucified and risen Savior. I’m talking about repentance, faith, and regeneration. I’m talking about Jesus Christ as Lord.
So tomorrow we begin membership talks—and more than anything, we pray that our lives, our marriage, and our witness would reflect the weight and wonder of that Gospel.
Now, we’re definitely not your usual church member couple. I'm an Anglican and hold to what some call “replacement theology”—though I prefer the term covenant theology—the belief that the Church is the true Israel, not a political nation-state. Meanwhile, my wife holds to a rather unorthodox view that the 12 tribes of Israel are made up of the Caribbean, Africa, and Latin America.
Yes, it’s a peculiar view, but let me be clear—she’s a Trinitarian who believes salvation is by grace through faith in Christ alone. So we’re not dealing with heresy, just an unusual take on redemptive history. The essentials are intact.
Honestly, it’s a blessing to be a part of a biblically faithful church—a place where there’s spiritual accountability, where preaching is Christ-centered, and where the fear of the Lord is taken seriously.
But joining a faithful church also brings unique burdens, especially when it comes to family. My mum wants to attend one Sunday while she’s staying with us—and that’s when the challenge begins. This is something that Christians with believing family members will never fully grasp.
Here’s how it will go: she’ll walk in, warmly greet everyone, and make herself at home. Then the sermon begins—revival-tinged, heavy with the holiness of God, filled with the thunder of His sovereignty. My pastor doesn’t preach to entertain; he preaches like a man sent from God, sounding the Gospel like a fire alarm. And this time, the message won’t just wash over my mum. She’ll really hear it.
Then comes the hard part. The conversation afterward. The one where I have to say:
“Mum, I know you carried me in your womb for nine months. I know you’ve always believed in me when no one else did. But none of that changes the reality—your soul is under judgment unless you believe in the Lord Jesus Christ.”
This is the burden of Gospel proclamation. It’s not sentimental. It’s not easy. And it’s not about writing a feel-good Christian blog post that tickles ears or offers shallow self-help advice. This is real talk. Eternal realities are at stake.
I’m not talking about the empty “Christian values” of some GB News or Fox News talking head—values that often have more to do with nostalgia and nationalism than the Gospel. I’m talking about the good news of a crucified and risen Savior. I’m talking about repentance, faith, and regeneration. I’m talking about Jesus Christ as Lord.
So tomorrow we begin membership talks—and more than anything, we pray that our lives, our marriage, and our witness would reflect the weight and wonder of that Gospel.
