What does it mean to “do” church in a way that’s human? This is the question I found myself asking after reading Carl Trueman’s most recent book, The Desecration of Man.
The Desecration of Man
Trueman argues that we have “killed God” — to borrow a phrase from 18th century philosopher Fredrich Nietzsche — and now play gods ourselves. This results not in our exaltation, newfound freedom, or joy, but in our desecration. Ironically, as we’ve sought to transcend our humanity, we’ve only succeeded in reducing ourselves to something sub-human.
Trueman states summarily, “My argument has been that modern man’s attempts at [self-deification] have led not to his deification but his desecration. In shattering the moral limits, the obligations, and the teleology that originally rested on an understanding of man as the divine image, we have paradoxically reduced ourselves … we have desecrated humanity.”
In other words, moderns have rejected any divinely ordained limits or duties as creatures and rather think of themselves as masters of their own destiny, inventors of their own morality, and possessors of the power and technological means to assert their will over the raw material of their bodies and lives. Think of Justice Kennedy’s quote from the U.S. Supreme Court’s 1992 decision in Planned Parenthood v. Casey: “At the heart of liberty is the right to define one’s own concept of existence, of meaning, of the universe, and of the mystery of human life.” The result of this “right” is our desecration in a myriad of ways; the sexual chaos of our culture, abortion, gender reassignment, and euthanasia.
The task of the 21st century man is to answer the question posed in Psalm 8, “What is man?” Christians are uniquely positioned to provide an answer.
How is the Church to Respond?
If desecration is the problem, Trueman suggests that consecration is the Christian response. He offers three “C’s” to memorably summarize how the church is to do this — our creed (a renewed commitment to Christian teaching on the image of God in man and its entailments), our code (the practices of life in modern world), and our cult (“cult” meaning the individual and communal practices of embodied worship).
Our creed teaches that each human is a subject, not an object. The human is not a thing, but a person, deserving of dignity, and endowed with a God-given telos. “In the image of God, He created them” (Gen. 1:27). All people are made “in the likeness of God” (James 3:9). We are not raw material to experiment on. We are persons with a nature, limits, and obligations — all given by a good, personal God. The devotional liturgy Every Moment Holy beautifully states: “I am not a blank canvas … My choices might either affirm as sacred — or tragically desecrate— that divine blueprint.” We must confidently preach, teach, and catechize with these truths.
Our code calls us to treat people differently than the modern world does. We make small choices to treat people — of all shapes, colors, sizes, abilities, and stripes — as people, not things. This looks like opening our homes in hospitality, treating the cashier kindly, and choosing to interact with people when apps make avoiding human interaction easy. We must choose to treat one another as others.
Most importantly for my article, our cult — that is, our worship — must correspond to our nature as human beings. Humans are inescapably social and embodied creatures. We must double-down on this and re-consecrate people in our worship gatherings. They are not simply giving units, attendees, or the audience — they are the image-bearing, redeemed body of the Lord Jesus. As Trueman says, these truths must “inform the actions and movement of the cult, or the way Christians worship.” Our worship practices are “most important in taking the church’s creed and using it to shape the Christian imagination.” We must have human-shaped worship.
What is Human-Shaped Worship?
This led me to reflect on a challenging question I began with: Is our worship humane? By that, I mean to ask if our forms of worship align with biblical anthropology? Or are they subtly influenced by these desecrating, modern convictions? I suspect some of our choices in the ways we “do” church betray an impoverished view of what it means to be human, embodied image-bearers. I am fearful that we have embraced practices and tendencies that reinforce the dehumanizing convictions of our culture — specifically that we are atomized, individual units with no obligations to others.
Do we pray? According to Trueman, prayer is the “practical realization of theological and anthropological convictions … acknowledge[ing] in word and deed our dependence upon God.” We are not blank canvases. As the Heidelberg Catechism states, we are not our own but belong to God, both body and soul, and rely on Him for forgiveness, hope, and daily bread. Do we pray in our worship gatherings for these things? Do we confess our complete and utter dependence on Him? Is prayer a central feature of our gathering, or is it simply “useful” — for transitions or to fill space?
Do we sing? I’m sure every church service features songs. But do we sing? Is our singing congregational? Or is it only the stage? Music was always communal until the advent of technology that allowed it to become an individual escape. Communal singing has always been a feature of the people of God, and church is one of the few remaining places where people gather to sing together. Trueman again, “Unlike karaoke, where the singer gives expression to her individuality through individual performance, church worship requires each person to sing the same lyrics and the same tune as everybody else at the same time … the very act itself binds the individual to community.” Singing with a room full of people challenges our autonomy and sense of individuality by placing us within a room full of people declaring the same truths, in harmony, with one voice. Like prayer, it’s an anthropological and theological act. Do we lead our church in congregational worship with songs and environmental choices that encourage congregational singing? Do our songs unite, or do they isolate and alienate?
Do we invite congregational participation in our worship? Or is our gathering stage-driven, with everything from the stage downward? Trueman writes that “a good liturgy is also dialogical,” arguing that the people of God being spoken to by God through His Word and responding to Him has always been a part of our worship. Our churches must think of engaging and inviting the whole room participating together, rather than attending to receive a “service” or “good” from stage.
I am not prescribing a singular way forward or a particular liturgy — that’s the beauty of being Baptist. I am saying, however, that we must critically assess our gathering and embrace the challenge offered us by Trueman, to consider how our worship gatherings can re-consecrate the human being in our imagination. The church has long practiced humane, human-shaped and human-scaled worship, and we must resist the temptations afforded us by new technology.
The answer to our culture’s desecration is consecration — and the church’s answers is, in part, worship that’s rooted in human nature and designed for people. It may not be flashy, technologically impressive, or worthy of going viral, but it’s human. And that’s something that feels in short supply.
— Trevor Hoffman is a teaching pastor at Ridgewood Church in Greer.
