by Joel V Webb | Nov 16, 2025 | Orthodoxy Matters, Theology & Practice
Before I say anything, I want to affirm clearly and without hesitation that I believe in healings. I believe that God acts in the world today in ways that are truly supernatural, transformative, and beyond the reach of human explanation. I believe that the gifts of the Holy Spirit did not end with the close of the apostolic age, nor were they somehow meant to expire once the canon of Scripture was sealed. Rather, they continue to be given, continue to be used, and continue to bless the Church in every generation. In this sense, I am what most people would call a continuationist—not because of any particular theological camp I’m trying to align with, but because this simply seems to be the testimony of Scripture and the lived experience of the Church throughout history. The same God who healed through the apostles and prophets is the God who heals today.
Yet, even as I affirm this, I also believe that Scripture gives us clear guidelines, boundaries, and expectations for how these gifts are to be exercised. The Holy Spirit does not operate chaotically or in contradiction to the order He has inspired. And this is where I differ from many of the charismatic or Pentecostal expressions I grew up around. While I am grateful for the sincerity, zeal, and hunger for God that shaped much of my early faith, I also recognize that sincerity does not automatically equate to biblical practice. Scripture gives parameters for prophecy, for tongues, for healing, and for the discernment of spirits—not to restrict the Spirit’s work, but to protect it, to keep it grounded in truth, and to ensure that it builds up the Church rather than confusing or misdirecting it. Boundaries are not the enemy of spiritual gifts; they are the framework that allows the gifts to flourish in a healthy, Christ-centered way.
Secondly, being more traditional in my ecclesiology, I believe that the Holy Spirit’s primary mode of operation is through Christ’s Church—not merely through isolated individuals acting independently, but through the Body as a whole. Yes, God works through people, and yes, individuals can be uniquely gifted or called, but Scripture consistently shows the Spirit working in and through the gathered people of God, within the structure and sacramental life of the community Christ established. For me, this reinforcement of ecclesial structure is not about stifling the Spirit but about recognizing the Spirit’s own design. The Spirit gives gifts to the Church, not to lone spiritual entrepreneurs. So while I affirm the Spirit’s work in individuals, I also believe that He most often works through the ordered life of the Church—through her elders, her sacraments, her disciplines, her worship, and her unity.
That now being said, on to my main point. Recently I have been seeing a number of para church evangelist and healing ministries that have been making the rounds in my region of the United States. And, being the good social media marketers that they are, they have excellent websites and social media pages, with exciting and energetic videos of their ministries, showing the worship services, testimonies of healing, and how the power of God moves during their revival meetings.
And, generally, I don’t think it’s a bad thing overall. Even if we are not 100% on board with someone’s theology or their particular praxis of ministry, the reality is that God has a long history of working through imperfect vessels—sometimes in spite of them. St. Paul himself acknowledges this when he speaks of Christ being preached even through questionable motives. Somehow, in the mysterious economy of God, the Gospel has a way of slipping through the cracks of our human inconsistencies. People do hear about Jesus. Hearts are stirred. Lives are changed. And the Kingdom of God advances, not because any of us have perfect doctrine or flawless ministry methods, but because the Spirit blows where He wills.
So I want to acknowledge that aspect honestly. I have no desire to stand on the sidelines with crossed arms, smugly pointing out everything that’s wrong. I’m not interested in nitpicking every theological nuance or dismissing entire ministries simply because I find elements of their approach unbalanced or unhelpful. I can rejoice when Christ is magnified, even when the packaging isn’t something I would personally choose. And when people testify to encountering God—whether through healing, worship, repentance, or a renewed sense of His presence—I am inclined to take that seriously.
And I want to be clear: I am not a skeptic. I believe that healings happen, and that they are real. I don’t assume deception or fabrication as a first resort. I believe that God still touches bodies, minds, and spirits in ways that are genuinely miraculous. I have seen healing firsthand, witnessed stories that were far too specific and too well-verified to be emotional exaggerations, and walked alongside people whose lives were undeniably transformed by the power of God. So my concerns are not coming from a place of disbelief or cynicism, but from a desire to preserve the integrity of something sacred. If healing is a genuine gift of God, and it is, then it deserves truthfulness, humility, verification, and reverence.
But…
There seems to be a common denominator in the multitude of testimonies across most of these videos. All the healings are for ailments that are not visible. Hearing issues, back pain, eye problems, intestinal problems, one leg shorter than the other (don’t get me started on that rabbit trail). Now, I am not saying that these are issues that don’t need healing, or that God would not heal. I believe that it is possible, even probable that many have received healing. Yet, with that being said I have a big problem when almost all of the examples we get are with frankly falsifiable ailments.
The human body is really powerful and can do crazy things on its own. There are people who can consistently demonstrate various medical symptoms with no underlying condition, other than they think they have something. And who’s to say that in some of these healings, that through the energy and emotion of everything going on temporarily allows the symptoms to subside. But without follow up, do we even know?
Where in contrast, the healing ministry of Jesus almost exclusively dealt with health problems that were always visible. Leprosy, cripples, the blind and more. My question is not that these various evangelist ministries don’t have the power of God to heal. But, if they do, where are the verified cases of ailments like this, that have been demonstrated through follow-up, affirming through family/friends and medical professionals that something is different. In the case of the 10 lepers that Christ healed, His command was for them to go show themselves to the priest, to verify that they were healed!
While I certainly have theological differences and disagreement with someone like Justin Peters, a very reformed pastor who is a regular critiquer of the charismatic movement, he makes this point often. People like himself (who is very obviously in a wheelchair with a disability), are never the ones brought on to the stage of big healing ministries, because frankly the stakes or too high that the healing or miracle won’t take place, or look like it did. This should give us, to anyone will to self reflect to ask, when was the last time we saw someone totally disfigured be healed at one of these events?
The other question I have is more ecclesiastical in nature. Most, if not all of these ministries are parachurch. They by definition operate outside the confines of the authority or structure of a church, or denomination. That is dangerous. Primarily, because having oversight and accountability is something that we in the church have been learning the hard way for the last twenty years especially. What is the organization of their ministry, who are they accountable or answer to? Recent stories from ministries of people like Todd White continue to show the dangers of very charismatic (in personality) leaders, who have a lot of power, and no accountability. Abuses of people and resources ensue, leading to broken lives, trust and relationships.
And this brings me to the deeper pastoral concern that undergirds all of this. When ministries function without clear ties to the local church, without any real submission to recognized pastoral authority, and without any structure for discipline or correction, the people who end up suffering the most are often the vulnerable, those who come desperate for healing, longing for hope, and willing to trust anyone who speaks in the name of Jesus with enough confidence. When there is no oversight, the spiritual “safety net” that Christ intends in the Church is simply not there.
Because if we believe that healing is real, and I most certainly do, then we must also believe that it is holy. And if it is holy, it must be stewarded with reverence, patience, and discernment. The New Testament never presents healing power as a personal possession or a “brand” to be platformed, but as a gift entrusted to the Church for the care of souls. St. James does not say, “Send for the traveling evangelist,” but rather, “Call for the elders of the church.” He situates healing firmly within the community Christ established, the community where people know each other, where pastors are accountable for the lives they shepherd, and where claims can be tested because relationships actually exist.
This is precisely what is lacking when healing becomes detached from the Church and turned into a spectacle of spiritual entrepreneurship. Without the church’s discernment, without the theological and pastoral ballast of tradition, and without the sacramental context of prayer and repentance, the pursuit of healing can easily drift into confusion at best, and manipulation at worst. The line between genuine ministry and emotional catharsis becomes blurry. The line between faith and performance becomes negotiable. And the line between giving glory to Christ and building a platform for oneself becomes dangerously thin.
My concern is not that people are seeking healing, God knows we need more of that, not less. My concern is that many believers are being unintentionally conditioned to look for the extraordinary outside the very place Christ promised His presence: His Body, the Church. In our hunger for power, we often overlook the very ordinary, structured, accountable means by which the Holy Spirit is already at work among us. The same Spirit who parted seas is the One who works quietly in confession, in anointing, in Eucharist, in the gathering of the faithful, and in the long, slow healing of hearts and bodies that does not fit neatly into a 90-second testimony clip.
Furthermore, when healing is detached from the Church, there is no mechanism to follow up with the person who claimed to be healed. There is no pastoral care, no ongoing discernment, no walking with them in their continued journey toward wholeness. Whether their healing endures, deepens, or proves temporary, no one is there to accompany them. The result is that stories proliferate but discipleship does not.
And this has consequences. When people experience no lasting healing after being told they did, they don’t merely walk away disappointed—they walk away wounded. Often they quietly assume the problem must be with them: “Maybe I didn’t have enough faith. Maybe I didn’t believe hard enough.” They rarely blame the minister; they blame themselves. And this spiritual guilt, this sense of internal failure, is profoundly damaging. It is the opposite of what true healing ministry is meant to produce.
The irony is that the New Testament model for healing actually protects against precisely this kind of spiritual injury. In Scripture, healing is always relational, always communal, and always accountable. It happens in a context where truth can be verified, where people know your story, and where spiritual authority is not self-appointed but recognized by the wider body of Christ.
Do I believe God heals? Yes. Do I believe we should seek prayer for healing? Absolutely. But I believe this must happen within the life of the Church, in the light, with accountability, humility, and truthfulness. If something is real, it can be tested. If something is of God, it will stand. And if something is truly miraculous, it should lead to deeper discipleship, not bigger platforms.
What I am ultimately pleading for is not cynicism, but integrity. Not disbelief, but discernment. Not less expectation of the Spirit’s power, but a more biblical understanding of where that power is ordinarily found. Revival that does not lead people back to the Church is not the revival Scripture envisions. Healing that does not deepen union with Christ’s Body is not the healing Christ models. And ministries that cannot answer to anyone are ministries that cannot be trusted with the souls of the suffering.
If we are going to pray “Come, Holy Spirit,” then we must also be willing to receive the Spirit the way God intends not only in moments of intense emotion, but in the regular, accountable, embodied life of the Church. Because the Spirit does not just give gifts; He gives order. He builds up the Body. And He will not contradict the very structure Christ Himself established.
If we rediscover that, I believe we may also rediscover a more authentic form of healing, one that is quieter perhaps, slower, less cinematic, but far more rooted, far more verifiable, and far more transformative. The kind of healing that leads not merely to testimonies, but to lasting disciples. The kind that glorifies Christ far more than any stage ever could.
by Joel V Webb | Nov 15, 2025 | Theology & Practice
Since becoming a pastor people have asked me what my favorite part of the role is. Initially I would say sermon preparation. And I do love it. The prayer, study, condensing of the message and delivery are things I enjoy very much. But as time has progressed and I am getting close towards one year as a lead pastor, I have started to notice that there is something else that is my favorite part of the role.
Recently I have spent some time doing home visits for a parishioner who has been facing some medical issues. Because of these issues he isn’t always able to make it to church, which means that he misses on coming to the table for communion. So there we are, sitting together in his room, talking and spending some time together, and then I open my portable communion kit, and we share in some prayers, and then eating and drinking together. And it was in that moment that I realized, “this is what I love to do.”
To be sacramental is to understand that what makes the world what it is, is not the scientific understanding of the molecular and atomic as the building blocks of reality. But to know that it is through those means that God utilizes as the delivery method of His grace. We are not disembodied spiritual beings. We are people who are spiritual, that have physical bodies, and at this current moment, during our lives, they are inseparable.
It is gnostic in tendency to believe that the primary experience of the Christian life is cathartically non-material. That it is based on our feelings, or an inward experience that does not have an outward or physical expression. Yes, there is a moment of regeneration that takes place, when the Spirit of God enters a person and they are now a Christian, a member of Christ’s body on the earth, not dedicated to be an ambassador of the Kingdom. But that moment is recognized and understood historically in Christian theology, to be at baptism, when through an act of God, a person is circumcised not by human hands, and is brought into a new life in Christ. The physical act, not in and of itself, is the act by which God operates His grace and works in us and to us.
Here we now come back to Communion. What are the means that we are strengthened and enabled for Christian life and service? This has always been understood in classical Christianity, and through the magisterial reforms to be through coming to the table. John Wesley says in his sermon The Duty of Constant Communion:
The grace of God given herein confirms to us the pardon of our sins, by enabling us to leave them. As our bodies are strengthened by bread and wine, so are our souls by these tokens of the body and blood of Christ. This is the food of our souls: This gives strength to perform our duty, and leads us on to perfection. If, therefore, we have any regard for the plain command of Christ, if we desire the pardon of our sins, if we wish for strength to believe, to love and obey God, then we should neglect no opportunity of receiving the Lord’s Supper.
It is in this primary sacrament that God gives us His grace, and here we see the importance for us to never neglect participating in it. As I have said before, it is unfortunate that this most essential and important act has taken “second fiddle” so to speak in much of the American Protestant experience. Whether through practical consternation, or theological downplaying, we have taken what seems to be an obvious command of Christ, and neglected it.
Part of John’s strength of words on the position was largely due to the practice of receiving the Sacrament during his lifetime. At that time in England, it was law for all a part of the Church of England to receive at minimum the Eucharist three times a year. And, as often happens with minimums, many people took that as the rule, and only received those three times to maintain their participation and status within society. This lax recognition, seeing the reception of the means of grace as the bare minimum of societal participation would of course as we can guess lead to a low view of the Sacraments. As the Rev. Dr. James Wood of the Nazarene Theological College of Australia would say that the Methodist revival was not just evangelical in nature (centered around the Word of God), but also a sacramental revival, as churches where John would administer the Sacrament would have hundreds in attendance (https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/did-wesley-intend-to-start-a-church-with-joseph-wood/id1569988895?i=1000735543639)
This should lead us to have a slightly modified perspective then, as those in the Wesleyan-Methodist movement in the 21st century, that the heritage we hold is not just the centrality of Scripture and holiness, but as well a recentering of the sacraments as the means by which God’s grace is administered and flow through to His Church. Sadly, the result over the last century in particular in those movements such as my own who have influence from the holiness movements have seen that low church drift towards a secondary importance of things like the Lord’s Supper, seeing them an ancillary to the life of the People of God, rather than primary and central that have co-equal necessity in ministry to the life of followers of Christ.
From the Eucharistic Manual of John & Charles Wesley: This Holy Sacrament is not only a Commemorative Sacrifice, but a Feast conveying blessings to man, nurturing and sustaining his soul ; it is the divinely appointed means of access to God, the channel through which His graces are given. To this Feast all Christians are invited to meet their Saviour, and to feed upon His precious Body and Blood, which once having given for the life of the world , He there offers to be the sustenance of every faithful soul.’ It is a sure instrument of present grace, and the only safe pledge of our everlasting inheritance.’
Do we now see what we have so often missed? John himself it is seen from his diaries and other accounts that he took communion at least 4 times a week. And, a central contention in the early Methodist movement, particularly in America was the necessity of clergy who could administer the Sacraments to a quickly expanding United States, with Methodist as a whole growing right alongside it. Wesley’s Sunday Service of the Methodists was a revised Book of Common Prayer edited for the American Methodists to have worship centered around this administration.
This is often the false dichotomy that we create around the Methodist revival. It was not a rejection of the sacramental or liturgical nature of the Anglican tradition, that was moved aside for a more evangelical or in some cases it would be argued charismatic expression of the Christian faith. Rather, it it through the evangelical and charismatic in which the sacramental and liturgical were brought to life, restored to their full benefit and purpose in being the bulwark of living the faith day to day, mediating the grace of God through the Church as had been described and demonstrated from Acts, the Church Fathers, through to the Reformation and then to the Wesley’s.
So here is where we are called. To a re-centering of the Eucharistic heart of the Church. To see that coming to the table is not just a necessity, or something we do from time to time. But instead is, when done in faith and out of love for God, as the “grand channel” of God’s grace (Sermon 11, “Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread.”). And I think, the longer we think about it, the more we realize that in a tired and disenchanted age, we need the mystery, beauty and strength that God gives to us in His body and blood.
by Joel V Webb | Oct 13, 2025 | Uncategorized
Evangelical Christianity has rightly emphasized that forgiveness is grounded in the once-for-all atoning work of Jesus Christ (Hebrews 10:10–14), received by grace through faith alone (Ephesians 2:8–9). Yet Scripture and the historic Christian tradition alike reveal that the means by which this grace transforms believers are not purely internal or private. Confession—verbal, relational, and restorative—stands as one of the chief practices through which the gospel is embodied in the life of the Church.
For many Protestants, the very idea of confession evokes imagery of Roman Catholic practice: a believer entering a confessional booth, disclosing sins to a priest, and receiving absolution. This often triggers skepticism: “We only have one mediator—Christ—and only God can forgive sin!” Such a reaction is understandable, especially in light of historical abuses. Yet beneath this instinct lies an incomplete picture of what confession truly is and how it functions in Scripture and the Church’s life.
One of the key differences between Protestant and Roman Catholic understandings of confession lies in the theology of the sacraments. Roman Catholicism recognizes seven sacraments, including penance, whereas most Protestant traditions affirm only two—Baptism and the Eucharist—as dominical sacraments, instituted directly by Christ. However, this need not exclude other practices from being understood as sacramental—that is, as outward signs that convey inward grace—even if they are not sacraments in the strictest sense.
A sacrament may be defined as an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace, instituted by Christ himself, whereby God works effectively to convey and confirm that grace to the believer. Rooted in Augustine’s classic definition (De Catechizandis Rudibus 26.50) and received through the Anglican formularies (Article XXV of the Thirty-Nine Articles), this understanding was embraced and expanded by John Wesley. Wesley described the sacraments as “means of grace”—channels through which the Holy Spirit works to awaken, justify, and sanctify believers (cf. Sermon 16, The Means of Grace).
Scripturally, these means are grounded in Christ’s own commands: “Do this in remembrance of me” (Luke 22:19) and “Repent and be baptized… for the forgiveness of your sins” (Acts 2:38). The sacraments are therefore both divine acts and human responses—signs of covenantal grace that unite the Church to Christ and to one another.
At its most basic, a sacrament is an avenue of divine grace for the believer who approaches in faith. In the Anglican tradition, two sacraments—Baptism and the Eucharist—are recognized as instituted by Christ, while five additional “sacraments of the Church” (confirmation, ordination, marriage, penance, and unction) are regarded as sacramental practices that, while not dominical, still convey grace as means of grace. Through this framework, confession (or penance) can rightly be seen as a vital part of Christian life—biblically grounded and pastorally fruitful—without elevating it beyond the authority of Scripture.
Why, then, emphasize confession in particular? Because of all the “sacraments of the Church,” it is the only one largely absent from Evangelical practice. Marriage is universally observed; ordination and the laying on of hands continue in various forms; prayer for the sick remains common; and church membership often functions analogously to confirmation. Yet confession—or Penance and Reconciliation—is virtually without an equivalent in most Evangelical contexts. While believers are encouraged to confess sins privately to God or occasionally to one another in accountability settings, these practices often lack the theological depth, consistency, and pastoral intentionality that historic confession embodies. Recovering a form of confession rooted in Scripture and Wesleyan spirituality could therefore restore an essential dimension of the Church’s ministry of healing and holiness.
In Scripture, confession and repentance are rarely private matters. Sin has both a vertical dimension (against God) and a horizontal one (against others and the covenant community). For this reason, biblical confession almost always involves both acknowledgment before God and accountability or restitution before others.
In the Old Testament, confession was typically public and tied to tangible acts of repentance. Leviticus 5:5–6 commands that “when anyone becomes aware that they are guilty… they must confess in what way they have sinned,” followed by a guilt offering to make atonement. Numbers 5:6–7 likewise directs that when one wrongs another, “they must confess the sin they have committed” and “make full restitution for the wrong, adding a fifth of the value to it.” Confession here is both verbal and restorative—it seeks to repair relationships and restore justice.
Public confession also marked Israel’s communal life. In Ezra 10:1, Ezra prays, “We have been unfaithful,” prompting the people to gather and confess together. Similarly, Nehemiah 9:2–3 depicts the people standing and confessing “their sins and the sins of their ancestors.” Repentance in these contexts is not merely individual but corporate—acknowledging that sin damages the whole covenant community.
This pattern continues into the New Testament. John the Baptist’s ministry of repentance included open confession: “They were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins” (Matthew 3:6). James instructs believers, “Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed” (James 5:16), emphasizing both mutual accountability and the healing power of truth-telling.
Restitution also remains integral to repentance. When Zacchaeus encounters Jesus, his faith expresses itself through reparation: “If I have defrauded anyone of anything, I restore it fourfold” (Luke 19:8). Jesus affirms this as genuine repentance, declaring, “Today salvation has come to this house.” Repentance, then, is never merely inward—it manifests in transformed behavior and restored relationships.
Even the Lord’s Prayer ties divine forgiveness to human reconciliation: “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us” (Matthew 6:12). Our reconciliation with God is inseparable from our reconciliation with one another.
Thus, biblically, confession is not a private transaction between the sinner and God alone. It is a relational act—rooted in community, expressed through words and deeds, and often requiring public acknowledgment and restitution. The grace of forgiveness is never cheap or isolated; it calls us into restored fellowship with both God and neighbor, embodying the gospel’s ministry of reconciliation (2 Corinthians 5:18–19).
Confession to another believer is a powerful act of humility and healing (James 5:16). Yet confession to an ordained pastor carries a distinct biblical and ecclesial significance, recognizing the Church as the appointed instrument through which Christ ministers reconciliation. Throughout Scripture, God’s forgiveness is declared through authorized representatives—prophets, priests, and ultimately the apostles—to whom Christ entrusted the authority of forgiveness: “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven” (John 20:23; cf. 2 Corinthians 5:18–20).
The pastor, as a steward of Word and Sacrament, stands not as a private confidant but as a public servant of Christ and his Church—entrusted to declare absolution, offer pastoral counsel, and guide the work of restitution in the name of the gospel. Confession before a pastor thus anchors repentance in the visible life of the Church, guards against self-deception, and assures the penitent that forgiveness is not merely a feeling but a divine reality—announced through Christ’s ordained minister.
Attached here is the PDF of this entire article, along with confessional rubrics and guidelines for privacy and legal requirements.
https://www.joelvwebb.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/10/Evangelical-Confession.docx.pdf
by Joel V Webb | Oct 11, 2025 | Uncategorized
Within the spiritual framework and practice of many evangelical Christians in the United States, there exists a significant gap in our understanding and application of the historical theology and praxis of the sacraments—or, more broadly, of sacramental actions. These are actions that, while not instituted sacraments of Christ (such as Baptism and the Eucharist), still bear a sacramental quality in that they serve as means of grace: tangible conduits through which God communicates His grace to His people. In classical Methodist and Wesleyan theology, these are understood as divinely appointed channels by which the life of God is imparted to the believer (cf. John Wesley, Sermon 16: The Means of Grace).
The Modern Divide Between the Physical and the Spiritual
One of the primary roots of this deficiency lies in the modern dichotomy between the spiritual and the physical. Western thought since the Enlightenment has often driven a rigid bifurcation between the two realms, sometimes even veering toward a subtle Gnosticism—a disdain for the physical in favor of the “purely spiritual.” This worldview is foreign to the biblical imagination.
In Scripture, and in the world that birthed it, the physical and spiritual are deeply intertwined. Creation itself is sacramental in that it reveals God’s invisible nature through visible means (Romans 1:20). Humanity, made in the image of God (Genesis 1:27), embodies this intersection of spirit and matter. God’s interactions with His people consistently employ physical means—anointing oil, water, bread, wine, touch, and even dust—to communicate spiritual realities.
The Incarnation as the Foundation of Sacramentality
At the heart of a sacramental worldview lies the Incarnation: “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14). In Christ, God sanctified matter itself, showing that the physical world can be a vessel of divine grace. To affirm this is not to drift toward superstition, but to stand squarely within the center of Christian orthodoxy.
The Incarnation declares that God does not despise material creation; He works through it. From the water of baptism (Acts 2:38; Titus 3:5), to the bread and wine of the Eucharist (1 Corinthians 10:16–17), to the laying on of hands (2 Timothy 1:6), the pattern is consistent: God uses the physical to effect the spiritual.
The Laying on of Hands: A Sacramental Action
Paul reminds Timothy, “Do not neglect the gift you have, which was given you by prophecy when the council of elders laid their hands on you” (1 Timothy 4:14). Here, something more than symbolic recognition occurs—grace is conferred. The act of laying on hands is a physical sign through which God imparts spiritual empowerment and affirmation of calling. This understanding echoes throughout Church history, from the apostolic era to the present day.
John Calvin, while cautious about overextending the term “sacrament,” still recognized that God uses external signs as “instruments of His grace” (Institutes, IV.xiv.1). Likewise, Wesley emphasized that means of grace are “outward signs, words, or actions, ordained of God, and appointed for this end—to be the ordinary channels whereby He might convey His grace to men.”
The Eucharist and the Sacramental Imagination
The same principle applies to the Eucharist. While we eat bread and drink wine, we do so in faith that through these elements we participate in the Body and Blood of Christ (1 Corinthians 10:16). The physical act points beyond itself; it is both remembrance and participation (anamnesis and koinonia). As Jesus said, “This is my body… this is my blood” (Matthew 26:26–28).
Such an understanding guards against a reductionist view of the Lord’s Table as mere memorial. The mystery of Christ’s presence is not explained by philosophical categories but experienced by faith within the Church’s worship.
The Loss of the Sacramental Imagination
Unfortunately, in the last two centuries, the rise of scientific rationalism and modernistic philosophy has profoundly shaped Protestant imagination. Evangelicals often seek the movement of the Spirit, but only in “spiritual” ways—detached from the physical and the ordinary. We have come to expect God in the spectacular, forgetting that He often chooses the simple, tangible, and embodied.
Recovering Evangelical Sacramentalism
To recover a robust sacramental worldview is not to abandon evangelical conviction—it is to deepen it. Evangelical sacramentalism affirms that grace is not confined to the invisible realm but permeates all creation. It insists that God meets us in Word and matter, Spirit and flesh.
When we anoint with oil (James 5:14), lay hands in prayer (Acts 8:17), break bread in communion (Luke 24:30–31), or even gather in corporate worship (Hebrews 10:24–25), we participate in the mystery of a God who mediates His presence through His creation.
The Church’s task, then, is to reclaim this incarnational imagination—to see the world once again as charged with the grandeur of God (Psalm 19:1). By doing so, we do not drift into ritualism, but rediscover the very heart of our faith: that the God who became flesh continues to meet us in the ordinary, to make us holy, and to confer grace through the tangible signs of His love.
by Joel V Webb | Oct 5, 2025 | Uncategorized
Today is World Communion Sunday—a day I honestly hadn’t paid much attention to until this week. I saw a church I follow on social media post that they would be celebrating Communion today because of the occasion. I paused for a moment and thought, That’s wonderful. A day specifically set aside to highlight and participate in one of the central Sacraments Christ commanded His Church to observe—“as often as you drink it”—is something to celebrate.
Over the past year, I’ve noticed a growing renewal of interest in the Table—whether you call it the Eucharist, Communion, the Lord’s Supper, or the Lord’s Table. In many churches, there’s a quiet but steady movement to return to the centrality of this sacred meal in worship. And it’s not without reason.
When we look at Scripture, we see that the early Church placed the Table right at the heart of their gatherings. Acts 2:42 tells us, “They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer.” The “breaking of bread” here isn’t just sharing a meal—it’s the Eucharist. The early believers didn’t treat Communion as an occasional ritual. It was a regular and vital act of worship, a visible expression of their fellowship with Christ and with one another.
And that pattern continued for centuries. Through the early Church Fathers, through the medieval Church, through the Reformation and beyond, the weekly celebration of the Eucharist was the norm. It’s still the case today in many Anglican, Orthodox, Lutheran, and Catholic churches. The Table wasn’t an optional extra—it was the very center of Christian worship, the place where heaven and earth meet in the mystery of God’s grace.
But somewhere along the way—particularly in Protestant churches in America—that rhythm changed. For many congregations, especially in non-denominational or contemporary settings, Communion is now a monthly or quarterly event, sometimes even less. It’s not that these churches don’t love Jesus or value the cross—it’s that the Table has been unintentionally sidelined.
Part of this happened out of necessity. In the early years of the United States, the Church was spreading faster than clergy could keep up. Methodist circuit riders, for example, traveled hundreds of miles to serve multiple congregations. They might only reach a particular church once a month, and when they did, that was when the Lord’s Supper was celebrated. It was a practical and pastoral reality, not a theological one—and in many places, it’s still necessary today.
But over time, this practical limitation became a habit, and that habit became a tradition. What began as an issue of logistics slowly reshaped our theology and expectations. People grew accustomed to celebrating Communion infrequently, and that irregularity came to feel normal—even spiritual.
The second shift was theological, and this one has had a deeper, more lasting impact. During the Radical Reformation, some reformers—wanting to distance themselves from perceived excesses in medieval theology—rejected the idea that Christ is truly present in the elements. They reduced Communion to a symbolic act of remembrance, a kind of mental exercise to recall the crucifixion.
Now, remembrance is indeed part of the Supper. Jesus Himself said, “Do this in remembrance of me.” But to say it is only remembrance is to strip away something sacred and mysterious. For the first 1,500 years of Christianity, believers of every tradition—East and West—affirmed some form of the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. They might have debated how it happens, but they agreed that when we gather at the Table, Christ is truly present among us in a unique and powerful way.
Even the early Reformers like Luther, Calvin, and Cranmer held to this conviction, each in their own language. The Anglican tradition developed a rich understanding that Christ is “really and spiritually present” in the Eucharist, not in a crude or mechanical sense, but through the mystery of the Holy Spirit. The Wesleys inherited this view, and through Methodism, they brought a renewed emphasis on the Eucharist as a means of grace—a channel through which God works to strengthen, renew, and sanctify His people.
But over time, the symbolic-only view spread widely, especially through revival movements and the broader Evangelical world. Many sincere and faithful believers came to see Communion as little more than a memorial, a time to think about what Jesus did for us. And while that reflection is good and necessary, it misses the deeper truth that the Supper is not just something we do for God, but something God does in us.
In much of Evangelicalism today, even in denominations that officially affirm the Real Presence, the practice of Communion has been shaped more by the radical reformers than by the classical Christian consensus. Part of the reason is the proliferation of evangelical publishing—books, study guides, and devotional materials that are biblically faithful and orthodox in many ways, yet often reflect a theology of the sacraments that is thin or incomplete. These materials have shaped generations of believers who, though belonging to liturgical or sacramental traditions, now think and practice more like Baptists or Zwinglians when it comes to the Table.
I don’t say that to criticize—it’s simply the reality of how ideas spread. People need good content to learn and grow from, and for a long time, most of what was available leaned toward a non-sacramental framework. That’s why I’m so encouraged by organizations like Seedbed, which are creating thoughtful and engaging resources from a Methodist and Wesleyan perspective—resources that help reclaim a fuller, richer understanding of grace and sacrament.
So here’s my plea to the Church: let’s come back to the Table. Let’s make the Lord’s Supper central again. Not as a token observance, but as the heartbeat of our worship. When we gather around the Table, we don’t just remember Christ’s sacrifice—we receive it afresh. We are nourished by His grace. We are united with one another. We are strengthened for mission. The Eucharist is not an empty symbol—it’s a living encounter with the risen Christ who meets us where He promised to be.
And this isn’t something that only large or liturgical churches can do. Whether you worship with a guitar and projector or a choir and organ, whether you meet in a cathedral or a rented school gym, Christ’s Table fits every context. The meal He gave us isn’t bound by style or size. It’s the meal where He Himself is both the host and the feast.
If we long to see revival in our churches, renewal in our lives, and transformation in our communities, we won’t find it through better programs or slicker production. It starts where the early Church started—with the breaking of bread, with the Word, with prayer, with fellowship around the Table.
Because when we gather there, Christ Himself is in our midst.
And that changes everything.
