I kicked off my shoes and moved the stool aside, raising the keyboard to match my 5’10” frame. It was the first time I would be on stage with the worship team at the multisite nondenominational church outside Chicago where I was serving. I had been leading worship from behind the keys for years, first in Papua New Guinea (PNG) where I grew up, then in Southern California and Colorado, before moving the Chicagoland area. My expression of barefoot worship had been a constant from stage to stage.
My grandpa was an ethnomusicologist and missionary in South Africa for four decades. Music is in my family’s bones. I grew up as a missionary kid in PNG, and in that country, with more than 800 distinct languages, music became the language many of us chose to communicate with each other and with God. Playing piano barefoot somehow connected me more deeply to this language and to God.
As we began the practice set, the male lead asked if I could be sure to put my shoes back on before people start entering the auditorium. I was confused. I was playing on my own keyboard, so it wasn’t like I was getting “foot germs” on some communally used piece of equipment (plus, I was wearing socks!). I agreed to comply since I was new to this stage, but he could tell I was confused. His simple follow-up said it all: “That just isn’t how we do things around here.”
Noted. I would realign my cultural norms with theirs as I had so many other things since moving from the jungles of Papua New Guinea to the cement jungle of Chicago.
Around that time I began to dive into the work of understanding culture—what it is, why it matters to God, and why it (should) matter to me.
How We Do Things Around Here
Understanding what culture is gives us the ability to practice empathy, honor, and intercultural agility in spaces we share with folks who are different from us (which is, of course, every space we share with others).
In the simplest sense of the word, culture could be defined as “how we do things around here.” It’s what we’re known for. If I were to ask you to describe Texan culture, you might mention ten-gallon hats, country music, BBQ brisket, and cowboys. Those terms are all valid because they describe some of the things Texas is known for. We are known for what is true of a majority of us. So, Texas is known for these things, which are true for a majority of Texans. It’s just “how things are done in Texas.” It’s Texan culture.
Culture is as complex as humans beings! We need to understand three main elements of culture in order to be equipped to honor each other’s humanity in all of its complexity.
First, culture is constantly being formed, either by design or by default. I teach workshops titled “Culture by Design” because it is a lot easier (read: less collateral damage, more honoring to humans) to design the culture we want to be known for from the start (of a church, a family, a relationship, a business, etc.) than to have to dismantle an unhealthy or toxic culture that was formed by default. Again, culture formation happens when things are normalized by a majority of the people or those with influence and power in a shared space or identity.
Second, we each hold multiple dimensions of culture. For example, we hold the culture of our family of origin, country of origin, race and ethnicity, gender, church or faith tradition, educational institutions, community, and so on. We show up in shared spaces with all of those dimensions. Likewise, we share space with others who also show up holding all the complex layers of their own cultures.
Finally, culture is expressed in many different ways—through both tangibles and intangibles. Language, food, and worship styles are some of the infinite tangibles of culture. Assumptions, values, behavior, power dynamics, and how “at home” one may feel are some of the more intangible expressions of culture.
In the story I shared above, wearing shoes while playing the keyboard on stage is a tangible expression of culture. The majority of the church leaders and attendees in the church I served wore shoes both on and off the stage, so there was a culture of shoe-wearing that became normalized and practiced. That meant when someone showed up expressing their own culture of barefoot praise and worship (which came from what was normalized in their country of origin), they were clearly misaligned with “how we do things around here.” In order to feel “at home” then, that person is expected to align their cultural expressions with those that had been normalized in that context.
That, of course, is a simple and (mostly) harmless example. However, when we start exploring “how things are done around here” in the context of values such as accountability for those in power or racist assumptions that have been normalized and calcified into systems and structures, having a theology of culture becomes critical to dismantling toxic and destructive culture.
A Theology of Culture
Understanding culture through a theological lens matters because Scripture shows us both the importance of specific culture and the breadth of culture(s) in God’s image-bearing world.
One clear way we see the importance of specific culture is in the incarnation. God took on flesh, not in the abstract but in a very particular people group, place, and time. Jesus lived and loved through a specific cultural lens throughout his life and ministry. That matters because it means that culture is not peripheral to the story of God. It is one of the places where God chooses to meet us.
These cultural specificities show up throughout the entirety of Scripture. We see “how things are done” in religious practices (such as circumcision), in social structures (such as the food distribution conflict in Acts 6), and in gender norms (such as women’s head coverings). The early church wrestled over whether Gentile believers had to adopt Jewish cultural and religious markers in order to fully belong. Again and again, the people of God are confronted with the question of whether faithfulness means calcifying cultural norms or making room for others in the family of God.
That’s where cultural stewardship becomes so important! If we only ever see through our own specific cultural lens, we might miss what God is revealing through others.
My mom, an author and missiologist, often spoke and wrote about the Tower of Babel (Genesis 11:1–9) through the lens of a linguist. After spending a couple decades living and serving in PNG, with its 800 distinct languages, she described the beauty of the fact that no single language can fully reflect the wholeness of theology or the fullness of God. Likewise, no one group of people—no single race, ethnicity, gender, socioeconomic class, and so on—can contain the wholeness of the image of God. I need diversity represented in my theology to expand my view of God. My understanding of God is in danger of becoming one dimensional when I only see God reflected through people who look like me, think like me, believe like me, or vote like me. I can see and know God more fully when I practice cultural humility and learn through different lenses.
Where might I be missing some aspect of God in a cultural expression that is different from my own? What might it mean for the church to take that question seriously?
On Cultural Stewardship
Understanding culture matters deeply in ministry because it is baked into our discipleship. Whether in our homes, churches, workplaces, or communities, we disciple and are being discipled through cultural norms. Those norms shape who feels at home and who feels like they have to realign their cultural norms in order to belong. If we are unaware of the cultural lenses we bring into shared spaces, we limit ourselves and others from experiencing and knowing the fullness of God through each other.
Practicing cultural stewardship, then, requires at least three practices: understanding ourselves and how we show up in shared spaces, seeking to better understand those we share space with, and practicing cultural agility by adapting to the differences others bring with them.
Cultural humility begins with self-awareness. We have to become aware of how we show up in shared spaces. For example, I tend to have a high word count in conversations, and if I am unaware of that, I will not leave much room for those who process more quietly or speak less often. If I do not understand my own way of showing up, I will fail to make space for others.
Such self-awareness can begin with simple reflection. How do you tend to show up in shared spaces? What is your energy like? How much silence do you feel comfortable with? How important is time management to you? How much do you share, and what do you expect others to share in return? These preferences may feel normal (or neutral) to us, but they are often deeply shaped by culture.
Second, cultural stewardship asks us to pay attention to others. Loving our neighbor well requires noticing how other people experience the same space. What makes them feel respected? What helps them feel at ease? Do they show care through directness or gentleness, through formalities (like using titles) or familiarity, through hugs or a healthy dose of social distance? Paying attention to these differences is one way we honor the image of God in one another.
This is especially important when we share space with people whose identities or experiences are not shared by the majority in that shared space. Again, culture is shaped by what has been normalized in a shared space or by shared people, so those outside the majority often feel the impact of that normalization most acutely. If most people in my church are able-bodied, I should absolutely be paying attention to how our shared practices affect our disabled brothers and sisters. If the majority of my neighbors are white, I’d better pay attention to how what has been normalized affects neighbors of color. Injustices are often sustained because those most centered by a culture rarely have to think about it.
Third, cultural stewardship calls for cultural agility. The goal is not to erase who we are, nor to expect others to assimilate to us. It is to practice enough humility and flexibility to make room for each other. That might mean adjusting how we communicate, how we lead, how we structure a meeting, or how we worship. It will inevitably feel clunky at first. (In fact, if it doesn’t, we’re probably doing it wrong!) But those awkward spaces are often where we learn the most about ourselves, our neighbors, and God.
It is also important to distinguish between cultural preferences and cultural harms. Some differences are simply differences: whether we prefer more or less small talk, a tighter or looser orientation to time, or wearing shoes on stage or not. These are not matters of right and wrong.
But some normalized patterns do cause harm. If we aren’t paying attention, we may be forming a culture we don’t want to be known for simply because it has been normalized by a majority of people in that space. When racism, sexism, ableism, or other forms of injustice become embedded in “how things are done around here,” that must be named and addressed. That work of cultural stewardship is not simply the work of agility training; it is repentance, reform, and the dismantling of destructive culture.
In the life of the church, cultural stewardship takes on many forms. For example, we might worship alongside a neighboring congregation and experience God through a different style of music, prayer, or liturgy. We might widen the pool of leaders who are invited to serve, speak, or shape the life of the community. We might begin asking not just what feels meaningful to us, but what helps others feel seen, welcomed, and able to belong. These practices may stretch us, but that stretching often helps us expand our view of God and mature our love of others.
A Kingdom-Sized Imagination
Like discipleship itself, cultural formation is lifelong work. As we grow in our understanding of ourselves, others, and God, we also grow in love. We begin to recognize that our own cultural lens is real but incomplete. We begin to notice that others may see something we have missed. As we learn to listen, adapt, and make room, our vision of both God and neighbor becomes fuller.
And that, friends, is the work of cultural stewardship. We ask ourselves, “How do we do things around here? What are we known for? More importantly, what do we want to be known for?” Perhaps one small part of what it means to have a kingdom-sized imagination for culture is to pay attention to the cultures we create, to ask who feels at home within them, and to remain open to the ways God may be revealed through cultural expressions that are different from our own.
This article was first published in the Covenant Companion Summer 2026 issue, the official magazine of the Evangelical Covenant Church.
Commentary
Facets of Glory: How Culture Helps Us See God
I kicked off my shoes and moved the stool aside, raising the keyboard to match my 5’10” frame. It was the first time I would be on stage with the worship team at the multisite nondenominational church outside Chicago where I was serving. I had been leading worship from behind the keys for years, first in Papua New Guinea (PNG) where I grew up, then in Southern California and Colorado, before moving the Chicagoland area. My expression of barefoot worship had been a constant from stage to stage.
My grandpa was an ethnomusicologist and missionary in South Africa for four decades. Music is in my family’s bones. I grew up as a missionary kid in PNG, and in that country, with more than 800 distinct languages, music became the language many of us chose to communicate with each other and with God. Playing piano barefoot somehow connected me more deeply to this language and to God.
As we began the practice set, the male lead asked if I could be sure to put my shoes back on before people start entering the auditorium. I was confused. I was playing on my own keyboard, so it wasn’t like I was getting “foot germs” on some communally used piece of equipment (plus, I was wearing socks!). I agreed to comply since I was new to this stage, but he could tell I was confused. His simple follow-up said it all: “That just isn’t how we do things around here.”
Noted. I would realign my cultural norms with theirs as I had so many other things since moving from the jungles of Papua New Guinea to the cement jungle of Chicago.
Around that time I began to dive into the work of understanding culture—what it is, why it matters to God, and why it (should) matter to me.
How We Do Things Around Here
Understanding what culture is gives us the ability to practice empathy, honor, and intercultural agility in spaces we share with folks who are different from us (which is, of course, every space we share with others).
In the simplest sense of the word, culture could be defined as “how we do things around here.” It’s what we’re known for. If I were to ask you to describe Texan culture, you might mention ten-gallon hats, country music, BBQ brisket, and cowboys. Those terms are all valid because they describe some of the things Texas is known for. We are known for what is true of a majority of us. So, Texas is known for these things, which are true for a majority of Texans. It’s just “how things are done in Texas.” It’s Texan culture.
Culture is as complex as humans beings! We need to understand three main elements of culture in order to be equipped to honor each other’s humanity in all of its complexity.
First, culture is constantly being formed, either by design or by default. I teach workshops titled “Culture by Design” because it is a lot easier (read: less collateral damage, more honoring to humans) to design the culture we want to be known for from the start (of a church, a family, a relationship, a business, etc.) than to have to dismantle an unhealthy or toxic culture that was formed by default. Again, culture formation happens when things are normalized by a majority of the people or those with influence and power in a shared space or identity.
Second, we each hold multiple dimensions of culture. For example, we hold the culture of our family of origin, country of origin, race and ethnicity, gender, church or faith tradition, educational institutions, community, and so on. We show up in shared spaces with all of those dimensions. Likewise, we share space with others who also show up holding all the complex layers of their own cultures.
Finally, culture is expressed in many different ways—through both tangibles and intangibles. Language, food, and worship styles are some of the infinite tangibles of culture. Assumptions, values, behavior, power dynamics, and how “at home” one may feel are some of the more intangible expressions of culture.
In the story I shared above, wearing shoes while playing the keyboard on stage is a tangible expression of culture. The majority of the church leaders and attendees in the church I served wore shoes both on and off the stage, so there was a culture of shoe-wearing that became normalized and practiced. That meant when someone showed up expressing their own culture of barefoot praise and worship (which came from what was normalized in their country of origin), they were clearly misaligned with “how we do things around here.” In order to feel “at home” then, that person is expected to align their cultural expressions with those that had been normalized in that context.
That, of course, is a simple and (mostly) harmless example. However, when we start exploring “how things are done around here” in the context of values such as accountability for those in power or racist assumptions that have been normalized and calcified into systems and structures, having a theology of culture becomes critical to dismantling toxic and destructive culture.
A Theology of Culture
Understanding culture through a theological lens matters because Scripture shows us both the importance of specific culture and the breadth of culture(s) in God’s image-bearing world.
One clear way we see the importance of specific culture is in the incarnation. God took on flesh, not in the abstract but in a very particular people group, place, and time. Jesus lived and loved through a specific cultural lens throughout his life and ministry. That matters because it means that culture is not peripheral to the story of God. It is one of the places where God chooses to meet us.
These cultural specificities show up throughout the entirety of Scripture. We see “how things are done” in religious practices (such as circumcision), in social structures (such as the food distribution conflict in Acts 6), and in gender norms (such as women’s head coverings). The early church wrestled over whether Gentile believers had to adopt Jewish cultural and religious markers in order to fully belong. Again and again, the people of God are confronted with the question of whether faithfulness means calcifying cultural norms or making room for others in the family of God.
That’s where cultural stewardship becomes so important! If we only ever see through our own specific cultural lens, we might miss what God is revealing through others.
My mom, an author and missiologist, often spoke and wrote about the Tower of Babel (Genesis 11:1–9) through the lens of a linguist. After spending a couple decades living and serving in PNG, with its 800 distinct languages, she described the beauty of the fact that no single language can fully reflect the wholeness of theology or the fullness of God. Likewise, no one group of people—no single race, ethnicity, gender, socioeconomic class, and so on—can contain the wholeness of the image of God. I need diversity represented in my theology to expand my view of God. My understanding of God is in danger of becoming one dimensional when I only see God reflected through people who look like me, think like me, believe like me, or vote like me. I can see and know God more fully when I practice cultural humility and learn through different lenses.
Where might I be missing some aspect of God in a cultural expression that is different from my own? What might it mean for the church to take that question seriously?
On Cultural Stewardship
Understanding culture matters deeply in ministry because it is baked into our discipleship. Whether in our homes, churches, workplaces, or communities, we disciple and are being discipled through cultural norms. Those norms shape who feels at home and who feels like they have to realign their cultural norms in order to belong. If we are unaware of the cultural lenses we bring into shared spaces, we limit ourselves and others from experiencing and knowing the fullness of God through each other.
Practicing cultural stewardship, then, requires at least three practices: understanding ourselves and how we show up in shared spaces, seeking to better understand those we share space with, and practicing cultural agility by adapting to the differences others bring with them.
Cultural humility begins with self-awareness. We have to become aware of how we show up in shared spaces. For example, I tend to have a high word count in conversations, and if I am unaware of that, I will not leave much room for those who process more quietly or speak less often. If I do not understand my own way of showing up, I will fail to make space for others.
Such self-awareness can begin with simple reflection. How do you tend to show up in shared spaces? What is your energy like? How much silence do you feel comfortable with? How important is time management to you? How much do you share, and what do you expect others to share in return? These preferences may feel normal (or neutral) to us, but they are often deeply shaped by culture.
Second, cultural stewardship asks us to pay attention to others. Loving our neighbor well requires noticing how other people experience the same space. What makes them feel respected? What helps them feel at ease? Do they show care through directness or gentleness, through formalities (like using titles) or familiarity, through hugs or a healthy dose of social distance? Paying attention to these differences is one way we honor the image of God in one another.
This is especially important when we share space with people whose identities or experiences are not shared by the majority in that shared space. Again, culture is shaped by what has been normalized in a shared space or by shared people, so those outside the majority often feel the impact of that normalization most acutely. If most people in my church are able-bodied, I should absolutely be paying attention to how our shared practices affect our disabled brothers and sisters. If the majority of my neighbors are white, I’d better pay attention to how what has been normalized affects neighbors of color. Injustices are often sustained because those most centered by a culture rarely have to think about it.
Third, cultural stewardship calls for cultural agility. The goal is not to erase who we are, nor to expect others to assimilate to us. It is to practice enough humility and flexibility to make room for each other. That might mean adjusting how we communicate, how we lead, how we structure a meeting, or how we worship. It will inevitably feel clunky at first. (In fact, if it doesn’t, we’re probably doing it wrong!) But those awkward spaces are often where we learn the most about ourselves, our neighbors, and God.
It is also important to distinguish between cultural preferences and cultural harms. Some differences are simply differences: whether we prefer more or less small talk, a tighter or looser orientation to time, or wearing shoes on stage or not. These are not matters of right and wrong.
But some normalized patterns do cause harm. If we aren’t paying attention, we may be forming a culture we don’t want to be known for simply because it has been normalized by a majority of people in that space. When racism, sexism, ableism, or other forms of injustice become embedded in “how things are done around here,” that must be named and addressed. That work of cultural stewardship is not simply the work of agility training; it is repentance, reform, and the dismantling of destructive culture.
In the life of the church, cultural stewardship takes on many forms. For example, we might worship alongside a neighboring congregation and experience God through a different style of music, prayer, or liturgy. We might widen the pool of leaders who are invited to serve, speak, or shape the life of the community. We might begin asking not just what feels meaningful to us, but what helps others feel seen, welcomed, and able to belong. These practices may stretch us, but that stretching often helps us expand our view of God and mature our love of others.
A Kingdom-Sized Imagination
Like discipleship itself, cultural formation is lifelong work. As we grow in our understanding of ourselves, others, and God, we also grow in love. We begin to recognize that our own cultural lens is real but incomplete. We begin to notice that others may see something we have missed. As we learn to listen, adapt, and make room, our vision of both God and neighbor becomes fuller.
And that, friends, is the work of cultural stewardship. We ask ourselves, “How do we do things around here? What are we known for? More importantly, what do we want to be known for?” Perhaps one small part of what it means to have a kingdom-sized imagination for culture is to pay attention to the cultures we create, to ask who feels at home within them, and to remain open to the ways God may be revealed through cultural expressions that are different from our own.
This article was first published in the Covenant Companion Summer 2026 issue, the official magazine of the Evangelical Covenant Church.
Celeste Cecchi
CONTINUE READING
Explore More Stories & News
Honoring Our Past While Naming Our Wounds
The immigrant church was home. That’s what makes questioning it feel like betrayal.
Faithfulness Over Influence
A spy series about performing for unseen watchers got Jelani Greenidge thinking about how we perform our faith.
The Life of a PastorGirl
A pastor who was warned that ministry would “eat her up and spit her out” writes, twenty-five years later, about the God who was faithful throughout her journey.
North Park Theological Seminary Receives $8 Million Grant to Launch One Covenant Community
One Covenant Community is a five-year effort to strengthen pastoral leadership across the Covenant, and North Park has three open positions to support the work.
Show Up
For ten years, North Park University campus pastor Terence Gadsden has been building a culture of belonging—one 5 a.m. practice at a time. This spring, students noticed.
Am I Called?
A church-conference altar call led to years of burnout before this editor found a different definition of calling.