On Easter Sunday—and again on Confirmation Sunday, April 26—we have the privilege of baptizing and welcoming several dear souls into membership here at Collegiate/Wesley. Before we ever get to the water, I’ll stand next to the font and ask our candidates a series of questions that begin with these words:
On behalf of the whole church, I ask you:
I’ve always been taken with that phrase.
You might hear it and think, “Sure—the whole church will hear their answers.” But it’s so much bigger than that.
The people in the sanctuary on any given Sunday—even Easter!—aren’t “the whole church.” Our former Bishop Julius Trimble used to remind us that any given gathering is “unique and unrepeatable.” Never again will this exact group be together in quite the same way.
And yet—we often live as if we are the whole thing. Just us. Who we are. As we are.
But the church is always shifting—through births and deaths, through people coming and going, through the quiet ways life reshapes us. Even if the same people were in the room next week, we would not be the same.
And if we’re shifting, then so is “the whole church.”
“The whole church,” actually, is bigger than those gathered in the room. Bigger than those who call CW home. It includes people we may never meet—those who join us online, those who once worshiped here and may again, those for whom this community is a quiet but meaningful connection.
And still, it’s bigger.
“The whole church” reaches far beyond Collegiate/Wesley. Beyond even The United Methodist Church. It includes Christians of every tradition—Episcopals and Presbyterians, Lutherans and Baptists, Roman Catholics and Orthodox, independents and more.
Because we are not baptized into a denomination.
We are baptized into Christ.
Which means this: when we speak promises “on behalf of the whole church,” we are speaking for a body far larger, more diverse, and more connected than we often imagine.
And that’s not just poetic. It’s demanding.
Because the truth is, we do not all live these promises in the same way. There are real and painful differences across the church—in how we understand Scripture, in how we practice inclusion, in how we pursue justice and care for our neighbors.
Some of those differences are not abstract. They touch people’s lives in deeply personal ways. They can feel like a break in the body itself.
We should not pretend otherwise.
And still—we belong to one another in Christ.
Which means we don’t get to shrink the church down to people who agree with us. Instead, we are called to live these promises as clearly and courageously as we can—trusting that faithful witness has a way of calling the whole church toward its best self.
When a child is baptized in a Catholic parish, they become part of us. When a believer is baptized in a Baptist church, they belong to this same “whole church.” When I baptized women at the prison in Mitchellville, the promises spoken there were made on behalf of this same vast, connected body.
It is always on behalf of the whole church—across every place and time. What some have called the “mystical communion.” What Scripture names the great cloud of witnesses.
In the prison chapel, I used to invite people to imagine that whole church pressing in—filling every inch of the space, eager to witness the promises being made.
That will be true on Sunday, too.
In the glory of Easter—and, really, every time we gather—we are surrounded. The saints and witnesses are with us: cheering us on, delighting in our faithfulness, grieving with our sorrows. Ready for us to join them, when our time comes.
So when those questions are asked, they are not just for the candidates.
They are for all of us.
Because every time we remember “the whole church” is right here with us, we are being invited—again—to live like it’s true.
