The Church of All + Each

All Means All-ness

In 2009, Robert Welsh, then President of the Council on Christian Unity, posed a bold question to the Disciples at General Assembly:

“What part of ‘all’ do we not understand?”

His challenge was not just rhetorical—it invited us to confront our own patterns of exclusion and self-centeredness. That same year, we claimed our identity as:

“Disciples of Christ, a movement for wholeness in a fragmented world. We welcome all to the table as the Lord has welcomed us.”

Not long after, the phrase “All means all”—or, as we say in the South, “All means y’all”—began to appear on bumper stickers and T-shirts, serving as a public, persistent reminder of our commitment to radical inclusion.

This insistence on “all” stands in stark contrast to the hyper-individualism of our culture. The glorification of self as the highest aim leads to destructive outcomes: rampant consumerism, defensive protectionism, and self-idolization. “Me-first” thinking doesn’t just isolate—it rationalizes racism, judgmentalism, and even authoritarianism.

Mid-20th-century psychiatrist Erich Fromm warned about this in The Escape from Freedom. When individuals become overwhelmed by complexity and cut off from meaningful connection, they often seek refuge in centralized authority - a dynamic not unlike the biblical story of Cain and Abel: when people tire of caring for their siblings and neighbors, when “me-first” runs out of steam, authoritarianism becomes a tempting substitute for true community.

In that light, our continued witness—“all means all”—is not only countercultural but profoundly necessary.

Can “All” Include “Each”?

But here’s the question: In our faithful emphasis on welcoming all, have we lost sight of the each, of the individual soul?

Can we hold space for both communal belonging and personal relationship with God? Is it possible that people need to feel individually seen, known, and loved by God—not just as part of a crowd, but as themselves?

We rightly resist toxic individualism, but what about a life-giving individualism? Sometimes, hearing “God loves everyone” so often can dull its meaning—especially for someone who already feels small or forgotten.

Maybe it’s time we say this too:

God likes you.

The journey from Holy Week to Pentecost illustrates this balance beautifully. And Jesus didn’t approach his resurrection appearances the way many of us might. I might’ve marched back to Calvary, waved the nails like trophies, and knocked on Pilate’s door, and said, “Here, I don’t need these anymore. I would have gone to the Sanhedrin, blaring Toby Keith: “How do you like me now?”

But Jesus didn’t do that.

Instead, he met Mary in the garden and called her by name. He walked with two disciples on the road to Emmaus and revealed himself in the breaking of bread. He restored Peter at the lakeshore, repeating his name three times. He invited Thomas to touch his wounds.

Each encounter was intimate, personal, and transformational—not intended to prove a point, but to restore relationship.

They remind me of the parable of the woman who loses a coin and searches her home until she finds it. These encounters were not crowd moments. They were each moments.

From Resurrection to Pentecost

Then came Pentecost: a gathering of three thousand, baptized and bound in new community. They shared everything in common, devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching, to fellowship, to prayer, and to the breaking of bread.

What began with individual encounters led to a radical community of belonging.

This movement—from resurrection to church formation—is a sacred rhythm. The tick-tock of the kairos clock: each and all, community and call, the sending out and the gathering in.

Each and All: Freedom and Unity

Disciples have long spoken of “eachness” and “allness” in terms of freedom and unity. As a covenantal people, we understand that unity is not coerced or enforced—it is rooted in shared devotion to Christ. Our freedom as individuals doesn’t threaten community; it strengthens it. And our unity does not erase individuality; it honors it.

A Small Practice with Big Impact

So what might this look like in practice?

There are many implications to consider, but I want to suggest just one as a way to end this post and begin a conversation

Every Sunday, we declare that all are welcome at the Lord’s Table. But what if, just one Sunday—perhaps Pentecost—we also declared:

“Each person is welcome”

Not just from the Table, but through intentional acts: a phone call, a handwritten note, a word of affirmation spoken aloud. What if elders and ministers took time to name the unique gifts, graces, and presence of the people they serve?

Could we try it for just one Sunday—and reflect together on what we discover?

Experiments begin with a hypothesis. Here’s mine: If we intentionally see, know, and affirm each person while simultaneously welcoming all, we will discover that each and all are companions. Freedom and unity belong together. The invitation to the table for all, and the knowing of the individual encounter with the resurrected Christ, have never been separate things.

I think we would discover that the invitation to gather all to the table of the Lord comes with a commitment that each one knows that they have a space reserved just for them. 

The Table has always been open to everyone—but also, very specifically, to you.

There’s a place set. With your name on it.

- From Rev. Dr. Andy Mangum, Regional Minister & President