Fellowship is about diversity. And unity does not mean uniformity. But sometimes, differences can also drive people apart. What helps in such situations is explained in part three of the interview with the Chief Apostle.
How do you envisage the congregation of the future?
For me, the congregation of the future is not a question of size or structure. It is a question of closeness. I would like to see congregations where there is scope for pastoral care—where members do not merely see one another but truly perceive one another. A place where everyone can come just as they are, with their questions, with their brokenness, and still know: this is where I belong. A place where there is closeness, trust, relationships, and love. For this is heaven, and we are preparing for heaven.
I like to imagine this as a table where there is room for everyone. And everyone really does mean everyone: the big and the small, the strong and the weak, the active and the inactive, those who have been here for a long time, and those who are yet to come. And this table is not mine, after all. I am not inviting anyone. I am sitting at the table myself because someone has invited me.
What does church mean to you?
Church is the place where Christ takes centre stage, where Christ is at work. Wherever He is at the centre, there is church, even if only two or three are gathered. Where He is not at the centre, there is no church, even if a thousand people are present.
In what areas does the Church need continuity?
Consistency does not mean that everything remains as it was. Consistency means that the essentials remain: the Apostles’ doctrine, fellowship, the breaking of bread, and prayer. The apostolate is called to remind us of this. It is the Church’s role to make this possible. And it is the calling of all who follow Christ to put them into practice in their daily lives.
And in what areas should the Church find new ways forward?
We should never forget our roots. I often speak about how important pastoral care is to me. It is where our Church comes from, but for me it is just as much a part of its future. Perhaps some subjects call for new approaches, while others require us to return to what has sustained us this far. In all of this, however, we can draw on the great richness of our diversity: the diversity of cultures, the diversity of experience, the diversity of approaches to faith. And that brings me back to where I began. Our diversity is our wealth—as long as it does not divide us.
In what situations do you personally find it difficult to tolerate differences?
Not when it comes to differences themselves. A different tradition, a different culture, a different way of asking questions—I am quite comfortable with that. Most of the time, I even learn from it. What I have difficulty with are those who put themselves at the centre. Those who always have to be right. Those who will not accept any opinion other than their own. Those who speak simply to be heard, rather than because they have something to say. And I say this deliberately: that is not diversity. It is quite the opposite.
Our aim should rather be: “Let each esteem others better than himself” (Philippians 2: 3). That is the sentence on which everything hinges. Anyone who can do that no longer has to tolerate others. They can learn from them; and they make room for them. This applies to me, too—and especially so.
Where in the worldwide Church do you already experience this heaven you were talking about earlier?
First of all, we must clarify what could be meant by heaven. I am not necessarily talking about a place. I mean relationship. Closeness, trust, love. That is heaven. And I experience it now already.
I experience it in the sacristy. I find myself sitting with ministers whom I am meeting for the first time. We come from different countries, we speak different languages, we lead completely different lives. And yet I feel: we love the same Lord and we are waiting for the same thing. No one needs to say a word about it. It is just there.
I experience this heaven during the divine service when I look into people’s faces. Complete strangers. I do not know any of their names. And yet I find myself thinking: these are my brothers and sisters. We do not know one another. But we know one another in our hearts. And have done so for a long time.
That is the heaven I am talking about. It is not something that lies only at the end. It begins right here.
Photo: Jens Lange