Tim Keller didn’t just outline 15 key markers of church renewal—he cast a broader vision for reviving the church’s public witness. Among his insights, he identified 10 bold messages a renewed church must proclaim.
In this second part, we’ll dig into how The Communion Revolution echoes and responds to Keller’s call. Let’s get started.
1. Christianity offers an identity not based on your performance or efforts… but based on the unchanging love of God.
In a world obsessed with self-made identity, Christianity offers something radically different: identity that isn’t achieved, but received. Your identity is rooted in God’s unchanging love.
Secular culture tells you to define yourself by success, self-expression, or social status—fragile markers that shift with every achievement, failure, or fleeting approval.
The Gospel offers a foundation that doesn’t move.
The Communion Revolution calls Christians to a new identity—we’re table-people, rooted not in personal accomplishments but in belonging to a communal body.
At the table, you’re not measured by what you’ve done, but embraced because Christ has welcomed you in. If you’re at the table, you’re in the family.
Agape feasts shape us. Sitting together, breaking bread, sharing life in Christ—this is where identity is formed. You don’t prove your worth to belong; you belong because Christ has invited you.
The world demands you curate a personal brand. The Gospel calls you into a spiritual family. The table replaces performance pressure with the security of love and grace.
Imagine a church known not for status, ideology, or self-improvement, but for its radical, table-driven way of life—a people whose very identity is Communion itself.
2. Christianity offers a resolution to guilt, shame, and self-laceration.
Secular culture swings between two extremes:
🔹 Dismissing failure—“You’re perfect as you are. No need for guilt.”
🔹 Weaponizing failure—cancel culture, where your worst mistakes define you forever.
Communion offers a better way. No one earns a seat at the table; we are here only because Christ had mercy on us. If that’s true, how could we deny anyone else a place? At the table, forgiveness is received—and freely given.
A table-driven life sharpens self-awareness. In an individualistic world, it’s easy to ignore the harm we cause to others. But in a tight-knit community, sin isn’t abstract—it wounds real relationships.
Yet Communion heals what sin breaks. We come as Christ’s Body, fractured by our failures, yet through bread and wine, He restores us—reconciling us to God and each other. Grace names sin without condemning us to it.
At the Lord’s table, your sin isn’t excused, nor is it turned against you. You’re not defined by your lowest moment, nor left to bear its weight alone. Instead, you’re offered restoration, held in love, and reminded: You belong.
A table-driven church doesn’t just preach grace—it lives it. Here, sin is real, but grace reigns supreme. No one is cast out, because we all need Christ’s mercy.
3. Christianity offers a kind of freedom that does not undermine loving relationships.
Secular culture defines freedom as “no one can tell me what to do.” But this kind of freedom often isolates us, fractures relationships, and enslaves us to fleeting desires.
True freedom isn’t the absence of limits—it’s the ability to choose what fosters love, harmony, and human flourishing.
Freedom without love is narcissism, and it breeds loneliness. A person chasing unchecked autonomy won’t sustain deep bonds for long. Real freedom isn’t about dodging constraints; it’s about embracing the right ones for the sake of others.
The Russian Orthodox idea of sobornost captures this well: a harmony between personal identity and communal belonging, forged not by force, but by voluntary, self-sacrificial love. In Communion, we submit our will to Christ, so that we may learn to love others well—not out of coercion, but freely.
A table-driven life demands this kind of freedom. Radical hospitality—sharing meals, time, and resources—means putting the needs of others ahead of your own. Yet in giving, we discover a paradox: true fulfillment flows not from grasping, but from self-giving.
At the table, personal agency and communal good intertwine. Here, freedom isn’t just the right to do as we please, but the joy of belonging, serving, and loving others well.
4. Christianity offers a contentment and joy not based on changing circumstances.
Christian joy isn’t dependent on shifting circumstances—it flows from self-giving love and the flourishing of others.
Think of a parent beaming as their child grows in virtue, a mentor glowing when their protégé succeeds, or a friend rejoicing as another finds faith. This kind of fulfillment runs deeper than any material success or personal achievement.
At its core, the greatest joy comes from Communion—sharing life, breaking bread, and embodying Christ’s love in community. The Communion Revolution makes this tangible: around the table, we find joy not in chasing personal highs, but in lifting others up.
This is why Christian joy endures even in suffering. Rooted in God’s unshakable promises and the love we share, it offers a contentment that isn’t found in what we accumulate, but in what we give and receive together.
5. Christianity offers a meaning and purpose in life that suffering cannot take away.
Secularism sees suffering as meaningless chaos—proof that life lacks purpose, something to avoid at all costs. Christianity offers a radically different vision: meaning so deep that even suffering can be redeemed.
Through His death and resurrection, Christ’s broken body made us whole. Likewise, our suffering, when entrusted to God, is not wasted. He reshapes it, forging endurance, compassion, and dependence on Him. Often, those who have walked through the valley are the ones best able to guide others through.
But suffering, like manure, must be placed in the right context. Left alone, it festers—heavy, bitter, and crushing. You wouldn’t want to live in it. But in God’s hands, it becomes like fertilizer for something beautiful to grow in our soul.
Without Christ’s hope, suffering is meaningless. Without the Communion of saints, it is unbearable. But at the table, grief meets comfort, weakness finds strength, and loss is carried together in love.
The world isolates the suffering; the church embraces them. Suffering, met with faith, does not strip us of purpose—it deepens it, drawing us into Communion with God and each other, where His love meets us at our lowest and leads us toward redemption.
6. Christianity offers a basis for morality and justice, avoiding the dangers of relativism and oppression.
Christianity offers us a moral foundation that sidesteps the void of relativism and the weight of oppression. But what does this look like in practice?
Picture yourself, sustaining a table-driven community over a long time. What keeps it alive? Trust, honesty, fidelity, generosity, humility, self-sacrifice—virtues that aren’t lofty theories, but daily practices that make Communion possible.
That’s already a moral framework. Not a rigid system of rules, but a way of living that binds us together over time.
At the center of the table is Christ—not ideology, culture, or personal ambition, but Jesus alone. His lordship unites us; without Him, our morality fractures into power plays and self-interest.
Relativism pretends to be sophisticated, but in practice, it’s a tool of the rich and powerful. When nothing is truly right or wrong, morality bends to the will of the strong—imposed through media, culture, or brute force—leaving the weak unprotected.
Communion resists oppression by grounding itself in Christ’s mercy. No one earns their seat at His table; therefore, no one can lord it over another. Jesus reigns, not by dominating, but by serving—and He calls us to do the same.
Christian morality flows not from coercion, but from love. It doesn’t burden from above; it blesses from within, transforming hearts through hospitality and grace.
7. Christianity offers a unique view of power.
The world sees power as dominance—being first, admired, in control. Martin Luther King Jr. called this the “drum major instinct,” the drive to stand out and be honored.
Jesus flipped this upside down: true greatness isn’t ruling over others, but serving them.
Christ doesn’t crush our desire to be great—He redefines it. Do you want to lead? Serve. Do you want to be first? Put yourself last. He embodied this perfectly, stripping off divine glory to take on human frailty, giving up His life not to dominate, but to redeem.
A hospitable community thrives on this kind of power—the power of self-giving love. Opening your door, setting the table, feeding the hungry, making room—it’s not weakness, but strength at its highest.
At the Lord’s table, power should never be hoarded or wielded for control. It is poured out, for the good of others.
8. Christianity offers a unique account of truth.
Truth isn’t just a collection of facts floating in space, nor is it something we invent in our minds. It is known through relationship and is fundamentally grounded in Communion.
Modern culture swings between two distortions: subjectivism, which says truth is just a personal construct (“I’m living my truth”), and objectivism, where “only that which is measurable by science is true.”
Christianity offers something deeper: truth that is both knowable and relational, revealed through reason and faith together.
Truth is not merely objective or subjective—it is transjective. It is revealed within a Communion of knowers, just as the Trinity is the ultimate Truth, a perfect Communion of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Jesus didn’t just teach the truth—He embodied it. “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” Truth isn’t an abstract principle but a person; it’s found in Him. In Communion with Christ and each other, we don’t just know the truth—we live it.
Truth unfolds in four dimensions:
- Procedural: Practicing it—shaping our habits, actions, and obedience to Christ.
- Perspectival: Perceiving it—seeing the world as God does, undistorted by sin.
- Propositional: Professing it—the Gospel, not a vague philosophy, but a concrete revelation.
- Participatory: Entering into it—abiding in Christ, sharing His life, mission, and love.
Culture often isolates one—facts, feelings, or perspective—while Christian truth weaves them all into a whole. The Communion Revolution embodies this at the table, where truth isn’t just debated but experienced.
Truth isn’t found in isolation; it emerges through relationships. This is why the pursuit of truth thrives not just in logic, but in faith, love, and community.
9. Christianity offers a unique hope for the world.
Christianity offers a hope unlike secularism, which fades into nothingness, or other religions, which promise escape from the physical world. It proclaims something far greater—a renewed creation where the righteous dwell in love, where heaven and earth are made one, and where God’s presence fills all things.
This hope gives meaning to history. Most worldviews either see history as a meaningless cycle (like ancient paganism) or as linear progress toward an ultimate resolution (like Marxism or modern progressivism). But the problem with secular ‘progress’ is that once you arrive, the story is over—progress has no meaning once the goal is reached.
Christianity tells a better story. History is moving toward a climax—the Wedding Feast of the Lamb, the renewal of all things, the resurrection of the body, and the restoration of Eden. But unlike secular visions of progress, the Christian story doesn’t end when it reaches its goal.
Communion reflects this boundless reality. Like a good marriage, it’s something you can achieve, but never complete—it’s a love that can deepen forever. The Kingdom of Heaven isn’t a static utopia, but an eternal unfolding of joy, beauty, and love. It will only get better and better.
At the Communion table, we taste this hope. The bread broken, the wine poured—they’re not just echoes of Christ’s death, but previews of resurrected life, glimpses of where history is truly headed. Every time we gather, we rehearse the coming feast.
Where secularism sees only decay, we proclaim resurrection. Where others try to escape the physical, we declare that God will redeem it. Communion is how we defy death—amid suffering and loss, we declare that our love, labor, and longing for justice are not in vain.
When heaven and earth are finally made new, the story doesn’t end—it begins anew, a world where love will only grow deeper, forever.
10. Christianity offers a unique approach to repairing relationships.
At the Lord’s table, no one earns a seat—we come not as the righteous, but as the forgiven. And having received mercy, we are called to extend it. Christianity offers a way of reconciliation that neither ignores justice nor withholds forgiveness.
Secular approaches often fail in one of two ways—justice warps into vengeance, or forgiveness becomes an excuse to overlook wrongdoing. But at the Cross, Jesus holds both together: sin’s cost is fully paid, yet grace abounds.
Communion makes this real. The table reconciles us not only to God but to one another. We do not come to the feast as isolated individuals but as a communal body. But a body cannot function if its members are divided against each other.
That is why Jesus commands us to seek reconciliation before we approach the altar—because our community’s health comes from laying our sins down at the feet of the Cross. His forgiveness, mercy, and grace is what keeps us together.
At this table, forgiveness doesn’t dodge accountability, nor does justice cancel mercy—both are done perfectly. Sin is faced, not ignored; yet grace flows, for none stand righteous before God.
Without both justice and mercy, relationships shatter. But in Communion, love bridges divides, grace mends what is broken, and the wounds of sin are met with the healing of the Cross.
Now Is Our Chance to Live the Gospel
Tim Keller called for a public witness that doesn’t just talk about grace but embodies it—a people whose very way of life proclaims the beauty of the Gospel. The Communion Revolution answers this call—with a table, a shared meal, a community bound together by Christ’s mercy.
The next era of the church won’t be won through culture wars or institutional reform alone—it will be built in homes, around tables, through relationships that make the love of Jesus tangible.
The question now isn’t “Will the world listen to our message?” but “Will we live out a message worth listening to?”
Let’s reclaim the practices that once made the church a beacon of hope.
🍽 Start Today: Share a meal with someone this week. No agenda, just an open door.
📚 Get Equipped: Download The Communion Revolution for free and start practicing radical hospitality.
📍 Visit: www.communionrevolution.com to learn more and join the movement.
📖 Buy: The Communion Revolution.
💬 Join the Conversation: Drop a comment—how does this resonate with you?
Stay Engaged
In our next post—“Part 9: The Church That I See”—we’ll explore what the church could look like, if we start The Communion Revolution…
📣 Share the Vision: Use #CommunionRevolution to spread the word.
Until then—set the table, break bread, and make space for renewal to begin. Share this with anyone longing for a deeper, more embodied faith.