In reading through the Early Church Fathers recently, I was intrigued by Justin Martyr’s First Apology, which contains one of the most detailed descriptions we have of a church service in the post-apostolic era. Written between AD 153 and 155, it’s worth your time, if only to glimpse how ancient Christians structured their worship of God and their celebration of the gospel.
At the start of chapter 67, Justin emphasizes how Christians were intentional about continually reminding each other of the truths of the gospel. That alone is worth considering as a primary gift we offer each other—to see ourselves as part of a ministry of reminding one another, again and again, of God’s grace and the way of life that flows from Christ’s teaching. Justin also mentions how wealthier Christians provided for those in need. And then there’s the line that leaped off the page at me: “We are always together.”
Other translations render the Greek as “We are constantly together with one another” or simply “We always keep together.” Now, the Greek could be expansive, implying a spiritual bond of unity, which is why some translations go that route, rendering it as “We are united” or “We remain always in fellowship with one another.”
But since this same verb in the later patristic era would describe monks living together in community—literally sharing daily rhythms—I’m inclined to think Justin’s line includes the idea of getting together regularly, outside of formal worship meetings. Yes, there’s a spiritual unity; that insight follows from the mention of wealthier churchgoers helping those in need. But in the fuller context, the implication of physical togetherness feels unavoidable. “We’re always getting together!”
Programmatic Church Life
The early Christians sought one another out all week, not just on Sundays. That got me wondering whether it can be said of Christians today that we’re always together, especially when regular church service schedules have declined among evangelicals in recent years.
It wasn’t long ago that expectations for churchgoing were stringent. Older Baptists speak with a tinge of wistfulness about attending Sunday school, then Sunday morning worship, then Training Union before evening worship, and maybe a youth hangout afterward. Add Tuesday evening visitation, Wednesday night activities (prayer meetings or student ministry), Saturday morning men’s breakfasts, after-church potlucks, or women’s conferences, and the calendar filled fast.
The church was fostering multiple avenues for gathering, worship, and fellowship. The more plugged in you were, the more your life lined up with Justin’s description of the early church: “We are always together.”
Of course, there were downsides to that era. The programmatic model sometimes led to burnout for the volunteers who staffed so many events. It created the impression that “serious” Christians were present every time the doors were open, while others were less faithful. Participation could be equated with discipleship. Some worried that the number of programs interfered with Christian activity out in the world, reducing evangelism because the salt never left the saltshaker. Pastors and preachers, responsible for three different sermons a week, often felt stretched thin in preparation, sometimes at the expense of pastoral care. And as programs multiplied without sunset options, excellence slipped, and many events ran half-heartedly until someone finally asked, “Why are we doing this?”
It’s no surprise, then, that a movement arose to simplify—to do fewer things but to do them with excellence. We traded a crowded calendar that sometimes kept us from the world but kept us with each other for a streamlined calendar that gives us margin for mission but often leaves us isolated.
Together Without the Program
I’m not calling for a return to the overly programmatic era, as if that would bring us closer to the early church. Surely Justin’s line about always being together doesn’t refer to a strict schedule of meetings. But that older church culture did foster something we risk losing: the constant closeness through which reminding one another of the truth happened naturally. That kind of ongoing fellowship created a culture—often a distinctive counterculture—that was formative in itself, more powerful than merely dipping into a weekly worship service.
So what would it look like in our day to live out the early church practice of “being together” constantly? Especially in a time of simplified church rhythms that avoid program overload? Maybe it’s a group of men doing lunch once a week, whoever can make it. Or young moms gathering for coffee while their kids play. I’ve seen groups make good use of text messages and group video chats to “check in” regularly, offering prayer and encouragement. Maybe it’s a handful of students lingering over ice cream on a weekday afternoon, laughing, swapping stories, building bonds that carry gospel reminders. Or neighbors opening their screened-in porch once a week for whoever from the church wants to drop by.
I’d love to see more churches fostering this kind of fellowship—natural gathering points and informal touchpoints that help us “remind each other of these things.” I’d love to hear from church leaders who’ve seen fellowship taking place in simple, natural, even unplanned ways.
None of this can be mandated from on high. It’s not a program. But with a bit of intentionality, believers can seek each other out in ways that echo the post-apostolic picture Justin Martyr paints of the early church—of Christians about whom it could truly be said, “We are always together.”
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