Why Do I Belong to My Church

Why I Still Belong to a Church

Read in Malayalam

മലയാളത്തിൽ വായിക്കാൻ...

Philipose Vaidyar

Every church has a role to play and serves a specific community or type of people. I believe the Master of the Church uses His body of believers everywhere to reach out to the world. I also believe that no single mission or church can complete the unfinished task of mission in any country or context. For this reason, I respect all church denominations and pray that each of them will yield to the Lord’s call and mission.

What I share here is regarding my membership in a local congregation—a congregation I would like to be part of.

Independent churches have undeniable advantages.

They can move fast.
They can try new things.
They can start evangelism, missions, creative ministries, and social initiatives without waiting for approvals from layers of authority.

In contrast, traditional churches operate within hierarchies. Pastors and presbyters function within boundaries. Innovation is often slow. Any attempt to change age-old practices invites resistance.

At first glance, the independent model looks more attractive.

But leadership realities change the picture.

In churches where pastors serve fixed terms—three or four years—there are unspoken reasons why very little new is initiated.

Why take so much trouble to start something new?
Why invite criticism by pushing change?
Why invest years in building a ministry when there is no assurance it will continue after a transfer?

Year one: you introduce an idea.
Year two: you establish it.
Year three: you get people involved.
Year four: you leave.

There is no guarantee the next pastor will care.

So most leaders choose the safer path—maintain the status quo.
If energy is spent, it is usually on visible and lasting outcomes: renovating a building, constructing a new church, or upgrading facilities. These projects create goodwill and survive leadership changes.

I once saw a small but meaningful exception.

A newly appointed pastor suggested that our congregation be introduced to local ministries in the city, so we could learn to participate beyond ourselves. I immediately thought of two small ministries I knew personally. He took the initiative, arranged visits, and many members joined. We went more than once. People learned. Some got involved. One partnership still continues.

Such initiatives are usually acceptable because they do not threaten tradition.

But anything that touches deeply rooted practices—liturgy, authority, long-held customs—is far more difficult to change. It invites questions, resistance, and sometimes conflict. So churches settle into an “average mode”—stable, predictable, and safe. Even in mission fields, there is often a tendency to impose familiar styles and practices on new believers instead of allowing faith to grow in its own cultural soil.

Independent churches offer a different freedom.

A pastor can stay long-term.
He can build patiently.
He can mentor leaders according to a clear vision.
He can introduce new ministries, partnerships, financial models, and spiritual formation methods without being questioned by an upper authority.

This freedom can produce vibrant communities.

But it also carries serious risks.

In many independent churches, when the pastor is the final authority, there is no corrective structure. Over time, he may change—slowly and often unknowingly. Leadership style shifts. Doctrine shifts. Interpretation becomes personal. Disagreement is seen as rebellion.

Those who differ usually do one of two things:
They leave.
Or they stay silent.

History shows that several sincere and gifted pastors have gradually become authoritarian, doctrinally imbalanced, or even cultic—sometimes in leadership, sometimes in theology, sometimes in both.

Traditional churches restrict pastoral freedom, but they provide theological continuity. A pastor may not be able to change much, but he also cannot change everything. Whether he personally likes it or not, he must work within a shared framework.

Interestingly, in such churches, the members often enjoy more freedom than the pastors.

They are free to think. Free to question.
Free to read. Free to grow.

They are not constantly monitored for loyalty to one leader’s interpretation.

That matters to me.

An old ministry leader—someone I have known since the early 1980s—asked me about my church membership and involvement. He is from a Syrian church background and was part of a Pentecostal Church. A firebrand speaker, a doctorate in theology, a professor and a principal.  

I told him plainly:

“I am part of the St. Thomas Evangelical Church. I participate in every possible way. If I am asked to preach, I do it gladly, considering the theme and lessons for the day. If I am asked to lead Bible studies, I do it wholeheartedly with the desire that every member of the church should study the Word for themselves. But I also differ on several matters.

I do not personally conform much to liturgy, though I have nothing against it. My early upbringing was Baptist. In many ways, I am still a Baptist inside. We believe in believer’s baptism, and we had the freedom to baptize our children when they became adults and could confess their faith. We have done so for three of our children.

I took membership in this church because I observed it to be a missionary church, deeply involved in mission work. On practices I disagree with, I simply do not participate. I also have the freedom to write. When needed, I write to the bishops stating my position. If they do not respond, I leave it with them.

Wherever I travel, if there is a congregation, I attend. This is how I belong.”

He smiled and said, “Vaidyare, that was a very good decision.”

Then he told me something that stayed with me.

He said he regretted a decision he made over forty years ago—when one of our leaders had invited him to join the Church, and he declined.

Today, I thank God for the Church I joined 36 years ago.

I have no regrets.
I agree to disagree on some matters.
I serve where I can.
I stay free where I must.

Faith, I have learned, is not about choosing perfect systems.
It is about choosing spaces where conviction is held with humility, authority is balanced by accountability, and belonging does not demand uniformity.

That balance is rare.
But when you find it, it is worth staying.

Read in Malayalam  മലയാളത്തിൽ വായിക്കാൻ... 

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Lessons from 2026

When Life Keeps Its Own Schedule

The Year That Taught Me about Time, Space, and Grace

 

Philipose Vaidyar

We Planned the Beginning. Life Had Other Ideas.  We entered 2026 with a plan. Not a wish, not a prayer request—an actual plan. A reunion that made sense on calendars and in family group chats. Everyone moving toward one location. One home. One reassuring proof that family logistics still worked.

The plan failed.

No arguments. No dramatic exits. Just full lives—full schedules, full routines, full priorities. There was space for comfort, order, and emotional boundaries. Just not for us.

Instead, I found myself in the city, slowed by a cold and allergies, resting in what can only be described as a stop-gap house. Temporary. Borrowed. Unplanned. Not the investment I had imagined starting the year with.

And yet, this unplanned placement became the classroom. Sometimes the best “investment” is not the one you planned. It is the one you are given.

 

1. The Legacy of the Magnifying Glass

A child lives in this house. Six years old. Upper KG. He is not a theologian, not a philosopher, and not tasked with explaining life. He simply observes.

He is fascinated by a magnifying glass that belongs to his grandmother. In his simple world, she heals bodies and his grandfather tends souls. His mother did not inherit the degree, but she inherited the instinct. Care flows naturally here. When medicine was given to me without fuss one morning, the lesson arrived quietly.

Legacy is not always a profession. It is a way of seeing.

The magnifying glass asks an uncomfortable question: Are you examining life closely enough to notice mercy, or only enlarging disappointment?

 

2. The Chennai Metric: What Is “Enough”?

In 2006, we moved to Chennai for our son’s schooling. We  stayed for 17.5 years—long enough to absorb a statistic that permanently corrects self-pity: more than 50,000 households live on pavements, apart from the many slums.

If you have

• a roof over your head (even if it is rented),
• work that produces income,
• food on the table,

you are already ahead.

Contentment is not the absence of ambition. Earn more. Live better. Care well for your parents. Just do not insult your present by pretending you have nothing while chasing “more.”

 

3. Rooms, Room, and the Unexpected Guests

We often imagine that hospitality requires spare bedrooms, perfect furniture, and emotional bandwidth. It does not.

You can have many rooms and still have no room. You can have very little space and still make people feel received. True wealth is the ability to let your home become a resting place for someone else—especially when your own plans are quietly collapsing.

And then, sometimes, a child decides you belong. Not because of obligation, pedigree, or planning—but simply because there is space and love has already decided. The younger sibling follows suit. Acceptance arrives without consultation. No history required. No prior grief examined. No compensation for loss calculated. Just room. Just welcome.

This is inconvenient. Especially when rejection arrives from those expected to provide it.

 

4. The “Go-Getter” Fallacy and the Certainty of Death

Many treat God—or the universe—like a service provider. Knock. Ask. Expect delivery. Faith is not a transaction; it is trust. When plans dissolve and expectations fail, remember: The Lord is not obligated to your blueprint. He provides what you need, not what you ordered.

Four days before the year ended, the lesson arrived from another direction.

A cousin—more accurately, a brother—passed away at 90. Senior in age, old enough to have been my father. A leading advocate in his town for decades. I drove over 325 kilometers to attend his funeral. Well cared for by his children. No drama. No tragedy. And yet, standing there, a quiet truth landed: everyone has a time—but only death is certain, never its timing.

We speak confidently about plans, reunions, next years, next phases. We speak as if time itself has agreed to cooperate. It hasn’t. It never does.

The year wanted to remind us—before leaving—that conclusions arrive without consulting calendars. The reunion that didn’t happen. The house that unexpectedly did. The journey made for a farewell. Different events. Same teacher.

 

4. Reception, Grace, and Life’s Lesson

“He came to his own, and his own did not receive him. Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God.” — John 1:11–12

We came to the city—the pearl of the Arabian Sea. Familiar blood. Familiar ties. Familiar expectations. No room.

Elsewhere, however, a door opened. Not because of obligation. Not because of shared history. Simply because there was space—and love decided that was enough.

Rejection often grows out of familiarity. Acceptance usually arrives by grace. Longevity, status, or tradition does not guarantee reception. Sometimes, only openness and willingness do.

5. The Foundation

As we navigate 2026, these words remain steady:

• On Priority
  “But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you.” — Matthew 6:33
• On Persistence
  “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and he who seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened.” — Matthew 7:7–8
• On Hospitality
  “And whoever gives one of these little ones only a cup of cold water in the name of a disciple, assuredly, I say to you, he shall by no means lose his reward”