Wesley's Tickets

As a result, we are no longer to be children, tossed here and there by waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by the trickery of men, by craftiness in deceitful scheming; but speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in all aspects into Him who is the head, even Christ, from whom the whole body, being fitted and held together by what every joint supplies, according to the proper working of each individual part, causes the growth of the body for the building up of itself in love (Eph. 4:14-16).

Every generation stumbles over the same fallacy: if we can just tweak the dials, adjust the knobs, tinker with the format, then we’ll finally unlock the secret to faithfulness! We shall grow by leaps and bounds, and the world shall be our gulf-coast oyster.

In the 1700s, there was a fella by the name of John Wesley who, along with his brother, Charles, decided to start a “Holy Club” at Oxford University. “Holy Club” was not what they called themselves, but a label bestowed by irritated fellow students. Why were folks so ugly to them? Well, they didn’t care much for the methodical approach these men took in their religion. Thus, they were branded—derided, really, as Methodists. The name stuck.

Now, one of the methods that Wesley and Co. adopted was what they called “Class Meetings”—a sprawling network of small gatherings in members’ homes to foster “discipleship,” accountability, and spiritual growth. It was expected that every Methodist be part of a Class, regularly attend, and report on their spiritual condition.

The system itself was the measuring stick, not Christ and His Word.

In fact, if you didn’t show up and “report on your soul,” you didn’t get your quarterly ticket. You read that right, they handed out literal tickets as proof of your attendance; these same tickets served as your admission into larger gatherings. Show up with enough tickets, you were in. Think about that. One's participation in worship was tied to his proven performance in the system. This is where the mask slips, because it reveals that the system itself was the measuring stick, not Christ and His Word.

The main concern was no longer simple faithfulness to Christ, but faithfulness to the program.

Now, the stated goal was noble enough: growth, accountability, encouragement, etc. But the system became the mold. The ticket was the proof you’d submitted—not to Jesus, but to the class structure. The main concern was no longer simple faithfulness to Christ, but faithfulness to the program. I hear the protests: Hold up—wait a minute! They were praying and studying and serving together—that’s God’s means of growth! How could you reduce that to mere loyalty to a system?

Well, I’m not doing that. They did. On the surface it looked biblical. But the substance of what was being produced was very different.

Biblical growth is rooted in Christ: “grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ” (2 Pet. 3:18); shaped by the Word: “by the pure milk of the word… grow” (1 Pet. 2:2); and facilitated in love: “the body… causes the growth… in love” (Eph. 4:16). That’s something altogether different from growth rooted in conformity, shaped by the rules of a system, and expressed in uniformity (not in deeper love or service). What I mean is, they grew in their compliance (fitting the mold), and dependence on the system’s validation (tickets, not the Savior). So while they claimed they were growing in grace, in reality they were growing in religious performance.

Wesley’s methods grew shape, not substance. That’s the difference.

Paul’s whole point is that growth is into Christ, the Head (Eph. 4:15). Not into a method, not into a program—into Him. Shape without substance isn’t maturity, it’s childishness, the very thing Paul warned against when he said don’t be tossed around by every scheme (Eph. 4:14). His words ring out against their protestations: “I am afraid that, as the serpent deceived Eve by his craftiness, your minds will be led astray from the simplicity and purity of devotion to Christ.” (2 Cor. 11:3).

The sneaky, underlying assumption is: if you can pass the system, you must be spiritual. Or worse, the system will make you spiritual.

If you pour Jell-O into a mold, it takes whatever shape the mold dictates. Smooth. Neat. Uniform. BUT it’s still Jell-O. The appearance or form has changed, not the substance. That’s what happens when faith is measured by attendance tickets and system-loyalty. Looking tidy, disciplined, and spiritual is not the same as devotion to Christ. Jesus doesn’t call us to be pressed into molds, but to be obedient from the heart (Rom. 6:17; Mk. 12:30-31).

The mold may give you uniformity, but Paul says maturity comes when “each individual part” works properly (Eph. 4:16). That’s individuals freely choosing obedience, not system-forced conformity. Big difference.

The system itself was treated as the cure for dead religion.

Sadly, this kind of thinking has seeped into the minds of many Christians who may be drinking the Wesley Kool-Aid and falling for the same assumptions today: structure makes disciples, systems produce holiness, and programs guarantee growth.

Wesley’s “Class Meetings” have been repackaged and sold many times over the centuries. In the mid 1900s, David Yonggi Cho took the same approach on a massive scale, organizing the world’s largest congregation into thousands of “cell groups.” His message was clear: “Home cell groups give every church member an opportunity to participate in the ministry of his church and to bring revival to his own neighborhood” (T. A. Hegre, quoted in Wesley and the Methodist Movement | Joel Comiskey Group.)

Others echoed the sentiment: this isn’t just a program, it’s the solution. From Methodist roots, to Cho’s cells, to American megachurches importing the model in the 1980s and 90s. Pamphlets and seminars promised these groups would make churches more welcoming, more intimate, and garner more participation. The system itself was treated as the cure for dead religion. Déjà vu. Wesley would be proud.

“My children, with whom I am again in labor until Christ is formed in you” (Gal. 4:19).

In reality the solution is much simpler: Christians should just be Christians. In other words, obedience to Christ. Real growth is inward-out: “Christ formed in you” (Gal. 4:19), not outward-in via Jell-O mold. Flipping this pattern is dangerous and destructive.

Roles and systems can compel activity. They can’t compel love, humility, or devotion.

It’s like a struggling Christian deciding to become a preacher because he thinks, "that will force me to be faithful. I’ll have to study, so I'll grow and mature automatically!” Paul warns: “Knowledge makes arrogant, but love edifies” (1 Cor. 8:1). You can master Scripture and still miss God. You can stand in a pulpit, preach truth, even capably and convincingly. But only Christ can transform you. “My children, with whom I am again in labor until Christ is formed in you” (Gal. 4:19). That’s the measure—not whether I’ve conformed to a method or role, but whether Christ is being formed in me. Roles and systems can compel activity. They can’t compel love, humility, or devotion. They can shape schedules, but they cannot shape hearts.

This is why the New Testament never sells methods as the cure. Instead, what we see is spiritual maturity springing from faith itself—devotion to Christ that overflows into worship, teaching, and service of which there are many iterations.

Acts 2:46-47 reveals Christians worshiping together daily, corporately, gathering in homes, sharing meals, teaching “from house to house.” Titus 2 pictures older women training younger women, and Paul instructed Timothy to teach faithful men. But these things flowed from their faith. Nowhere do we see the apostles pitching these things as “fixes” for what was lacking in weekly assemblies. That’s a critical difference. Small gatherings are good—biblical even—but when they’re sold as anything other than what we read them to be in the New Testament, that’s a red flag.

The local church doesn’t need new or additional formats. It needs the old pattern—the whole church coming together in one place, devoting themselves to the apostles’ teaching, to fellowship, to the breaking of bread, and to prayer (Acts 2:38-47; 1 Cor. 14:23).

The pitch for small groups, class meetings, or “forced growth by role” sounds convincing and noble because it touches on things God really does want, but then twists the solution.

1. It Appeals to Real Needs

People do long for closeness, honesty, and accountability.


People do want to participate more, not just sit passively.


People do want to be welcoming and evangelistic.


People do need discipline and regularity.

So when someone says, “Small groups will make us close… will help everyone participate… will welcome outsiders… will keep us accountable,” it sounds noble because those are real biblical goals.

2. It Offers an Easy Fix

Obedience is hard. Heart change is hard. Loving difficult brethren is hard. So the system sells itself as a shortcut:

Instead of me choosing to invest in others → the group will force it.


Instead of me stepping up to encourage in the assembly → the format will make me do it.


Instead of me humbling myself in prayer and repentance → the accountability structure will keep me straight.


It promises what feels like discipline without the cost.

3. It Has a Kernel of Truth

Cultivating habits through methods and tools can be useful. Paul disciplined his body (1 Cor. 9:27). Timothy was told to “discipline yourself for the purpose of godliness” (1 Tim. 4:7). Spiritual growth is cultivated through habits (Lk. 4:16; 22:39). But when the routine itself is treated like the cure, it stops being helpful and starts being fake.

4. It Appeals to Our Desire for Control

Deep down, we want a system we can manage. We want knobs to turn, levers to pull, guarantees to measure. “Do X, and you’ll get Y.” But following Jesus isn’t mechanical—it’s relational. Christ transforms hearts through the power of His Word, in fellowship with His body (Jn. 17:17; Rom. 10:17; Heb. 10:24-25). That’s humbling and slow. Systems feel cleaner and "more efficient."

Since following Jesus is relational, think in relational terms. Christians are the bride of Christ (Eph. 5:21-33). Marriage isn’t just about duty. Yes, there are roles and responsibilities, but they’re founded on love. The wife submits to her husband, not out of formality, but because she trusts and loves Christ. The husband provides and protects, not merely because it’s required, but because he cherishes her as Christ cherishes the church.

When a marriage is crumbling, oftentimes couples look to externals, believing it will force a fix.

A struggling couple might say:

“Let’s move to a new city — fresh start.”


“Let’s take a vacation — it’ll rekindle the spark.”


“Let’s try a new counselor, a new class, a new book.”

Those things may prove useful to relieve stress or give perspective. But none of them heal the marriage so long as a lack of commitment to love and serve each other remains. Book all the cruises, move to the mountains, or sign up for every seminar in town—if you’re not willing to truly love your spouse—none of it will matter. The marriage won’t survive.

That’s the same flaw in systematized small groups. You can rearrange the format, shrink the crowd, alter the setting—but if the heart hasn’t submitted to Christ, it’s just a new vacation spot for the same cold marriage. Moving chairs, splitting into groups, dimming the lights, shuffling the order of worship won’t bring you any closer to Jesus. But submitting your heart to Him will. Real closeness and unity don’t come from tricks of setting. The question isn’t, "What’s the format?" The question is, "Have I truly submitted to Christ?"