It began, as many important conversations do, in a church meeting. During our recent Quarterly Church Meeting, a comment arose that stopped us in our tracks: “Cambridge Baptist is an English church.”
What makes a church what it is?
The words were simple. But they carried weight. Some nodded. Others frowned. For some, it felt clarifying. For others, it was painful. And yet, for all of us, it raised deeper questions worth sitting with: What makes a church what it is? Is it the language we use? The songs we sing? Or is there something more—something not tied to culture at all?
Are We an “English Church”?
When we hear that phrase—English church—what do we actually mean? That we conduct services in English? That our hymns and sermons flow through this common tongue? Yes, that much is true. But does language define the essence of Christ’s Church? Think of John’s vision in Revelation 5:9: “You were slain, and by your blood you ransomed people for God from every tribe and language and people and nation.” That picture explodes the narrow categories we so easily fall into.
What ultimately binds us is not a cultural identity, but the cross of Christ.
Paul puts it plainly, too. “There is neither Jew nor Greek…for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28). If that is true, then what ultimately binds us is not a cultural identity, but the cross of Christ. So perhaps the best question isn’t, “Are we an English church?”; but rather “Whose church are we?”
Then Why Xhosa Songs?
Part of this tension surfaced around music. Before and after our services, Xhosa songs are sometimes played. So some have wondered why. Doesn’t this confuse our identity?
Imagine walking into a gathering where every conversation, song, and social cue is foreign.
Think of it this way. Imagine walking into a gathering where every conversation, every song, every social cue is foreign to you. You’d feel out of place. Then, suddenly, you hear a familiar tune—one that signals: you belong here too. That’s what those Xhosa songs are meant to be: a gentle act of hospitality. They are not replacing our worship. They are opening the doors wider. They are saying to our brothers and sisters: you are not guests here. You are family. And isn’t that the heart of the gospel? “Welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God” (Romans 15:7).
What Good Could This Do?
It may seem small—a song before or after a service—but consider what such gestures can achieve:
- The gospel on display. Outsiders see that Christ gathers people who wouldn’t naturally gather.
- Walls lowered. Music speaks of unity in ways sermons alone cannot.
- Hearts humbled. The majority learns to lay aside preference for the sake of love.
- Fellowship deepened. Valuing each other’s cultures weaves us closer as Christ’s body.
Could it be that these small acts are rehearsals for heaven’s choir, where every tribe and tongue will sing together before the Lamb?
What Will We Choose?
So, whose church is it? If we cling to labels—English church, Xhosa church—we will miss the richer reality before us: we are Christ’s Church. Unity doesn’t mean uniformity. It doesn’t erase culture. It does something harder and holier: it teaches us to love one another across our differences, to be patient with what feels unfamiliar, and to see Christ in one another more clearly than we see culture.
If we belong to Christ, then we already belong to one another.
That is the challenge. That is also the joy. So let us walk this road together—not as an “English church” or a “Xhosa church,” but as Christ’s. For if we belong to him, then we already belong to one another—forever.
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