The concept of the Church as the People of God emerges as a transformative theme in Catholic theology, as articulated during the Second Vatican Council. 

This vision redefines the Church not merely as a hierarchical institution but as a living community called to embody God’s presence in the world. The documents of Vatican II provide a robust foundation for this understanding, reflecting a shift toward inclusivity and shared responsibility.

The cornerstone of this doctrine is found in Lumen Gentium (Dogmatic Constitution on the Church), Paragraph 9, which states: “At all times and among every people, God has given welcome to whosoever fears Him and does what is right… It was to these that He revealed Himself through the history of salvation.” This affirms the Church as a universal people, drawn from all nations, united by their response to God’s call, challenging exclusive elitism.

Further, Lumen Gentium, Paragraph 11, elaborates: “The holy People of God shares also in Christ’s prophetic office… it manifests this… by the whole of its life.” This highlights the collective role of all members—laity, clergy, and religious—in proclaiming God’s truth through lived virtue, not just institutional decree, fostering a participatory faith.

Gaudium et Spes, Paragraph 1, reinforces this: “The joys and the hopes, the griefs and the anxieties of the men of this age… are the joys and hopes, the griefs and anxieties of the followers of Christ.” This positions the People of God as a compassionate community, sharing humanity’s experiences and actively engaging with secular society to promote justice and love.

Vatican II’s emphasis on the People of God invites a dynamic, inclusive Church, where all contribute to God’s kingdom, reflecting Christ’s love and mercy across cultures and generations.

As the People of God, the Church emerges as the community of the resurrection, a living embodiment of the transformative power unleashed through Jesus’ death and resurrection. 

Resurrection Ecclesiology reinterprets the Church as the living embodiment of Christ’s Resurrection, rooted in the experience of early Christian communities. 

Drawing from Vatican II, Yves Congar, and Henri de Lubac’s Catholicism, this ecclesiology emphasizes the Church as a dynamic community that makes Jesus present through its practices, values, and communal life, rather than merely analyzing the Resurrection as a theological concept.

Early Christians understood the Resurrection as a vindication of Jesus’ teachings, affirming their way of life. As Congar notes, the Resurrection was not an abstract doctrine but a lived reality, shaping communities defined by love, mutual support, and Eucharistic fellowship. 

These communities experienced Jesus’ ongoing presence in their shared life, particularly during Eucharistic meals, which Vatican II’s Lumen Gentium describes as the source and summit of Christian life. This presence was not static but transformative, calling the community to embody Christ’s mission in the world.

Resurrection Ecclesiology posits that the Church not only commemorates the Resurrection but also actively participates in it. The early Christians did not dissect the Resurrection theologically; they practiced it through their communal life, sharing resources, caring for the marginalized, and proclaiming the Gospel. 

De Lubac, in Catholicism, emphasizes this communal dimension, arguing that the Church is a social reality —a “community of salvation” that extends Christ’s presence across time. The Church, as the Body of Christ, makes Jesus present not only through institutional structures but also through the lived witness of its members.

By living in solidarity, justice, and love, the Church becomes a sign of the Resurrection, manifesting Christ’s victory over death in concrete acts of compassion and hope.

Resurrection Ecclesiology challenges modern tendencies to reduce the Church to a bureaucratic institution or a set of doctrines. Instead, it calls for a return to the vibrant, Spirit-filled communities of the early Church, where faith was expressed in action. Congar’s theology of the laity supports this, highlighting that all members share in Christ’s mission, making the Resurrection present through their diverse vocations.

In practice, this ecclesiology invites the Church to prioritize communal life, Eucharistic celebration, and service to the poor and marginalized as expressions of Resurrection conviction. It is less about proving the Resurrection and more about living its consequences: a community where death is overcome by love, division by unity, and despair by hope. By embodying these realities, the Church becomes the Community of the Resurrection, a living witness to Christ’s enduring presence in the world.

The Church is the communal witness to the Resurrection. It embodies the Risen Jesus and presents him to the world.

To fully understand this role as a witness, we must carefully analyze our explanations of the Resurrection. 

Easter homilies often fixate on death’s defeat or the physicality of Jesus’ risen body, proclaiming that the Resurrection guarantees eternal life or hinges on a corpse reanimated. 

Yet, Monday arrives, and death persists. People grieve, empires oppress, and the world seems unchanged. 

This misplaced emphasis distorts the meaning of Easter, reducing it to individual immortality or historical proof rather than the vindication of a transformative way of life. 

The early Christians did not obsess over biological immortality or forensic evidence of Jesus’ body. They saw the Resurrection as God’s vindication of Jesus’ teachings—his way of selfless love, generosity, and solidarity. As Congar emphasizes, the Resurrection was lived, not debated, in communities that embodied Christ’s presence through mutual care and Eucharistic fellowship. 

Vatican II’s Gaudium et Spes echoes this, urging the Church to manifest God’s Kingdom through justice and love, not merely doctrinal claims. 

Easter revealed that Empire, with its violence and domination, cannot destroy love. God raised Jesus, and the early Christians preached this by proclaiming, “Come see how we live.”

De Lubac, in Catholicism, argues that the Church is a social reality, not a collection of saved individuals. Easter is not about personal survival but about a community that lives the Kingdom’s values—kenotic love, generosity, and resistance to systemic injustice. The Resurrection is the sign that love is true, stronger than death, and that the Empire’s power is illusory.

This misplaced emphasis disconnects Easter from daily life. Homilies promising eternal life or debating bodily mechanics fail to inspire the radical communal witness of the early Church. Instead, Easter should challenge us to live as if the Kingdom is real: sharing resources, uplifting the marginalized, and rejecting the logic of domination. 

The early Christians’ Easter cry was not “We’ll live forever” but “God has raised Jesus—join our way of life.” 

Reclaiming Easter’s meaning requires shifting focus to the vindication of Jesus’ way. It’s about communities that practice kenotic love, demonstrating the Resurrection through their way of life. 

Empire cannot kill love, and the Kingdom’s reality endures in every act of generosity and solidarity. Easter invites us to live this truth, not theorize it, echoing the early Christians’ witness: God’s love triumphs, and our lives must show it.

Since the Church is the community of the resurrection, it manifests as the visible and present Body of Jesus, a living extension of his incarnate presence in the world.

This understanding views the Church not as a mere institution, but as a communal embodiment of the risen Christ, where His life, death, and resurrection continue to animate human relationships and social realities. 

The Church is the tangible expression of Jesus’ body, broken and restored, as seen in the Eucharistic celebration and the communal life of the Acts of the Apostles (Acts 2:42-47). As a counter-cultural body, it embodies kenotic love in opposition to anything that denigrates human dignity.  

Drawing on the Easter narratives, notably the empty tomb and the Emmaus encounter (Luke 24:13-35), the Church is called to be a space where the risen Lord is recognized, not merely commemorated, fostering a participatory engagement with the divine narrative.

The resurrection, in this view, is not a singular event but an ongoing process, re-enchanting the world through the Church’s witness of counter-narrative to secular individualism, embodying kenotic love—self-emptying for the sake of others.

Practically, this vision calls the Church to embody resurrection life in the present. It demands hospitality at the open table and resistance to imperial powers wherever they may be found, mirroring the early Christians’ refusal to participate in Roman culture, inviting all to join in the ongoing narrative of redemption and renewal.

To answer this question, I would like to start by referencing a book written by two Protestants. 

In "Solus Jesus: A Theology of Resistance" (2018), Emily Swan and Ken Wilson, former Vineyard pastors who left their denomination due to issues of exclusion and inclusion, propose a radical reorientation of the Christian community centered on Jesus’ ministry. 

In the book, they critique evangelical rigidity and advocate for a church defined by Jesus' teachings of love, justice, and resistance to oppression rather than doctrinal boundaries or exclusionary practices. 

In particular, they call for an ecclesiology that resists empire-like church structures and embraces marginalized voices.

Central to their understanding is who belongs in the church. They argue that inclusion is not conditional on creeds, moral purity, or ritual correctness, but on alignment with Jesus' way—encompassing anyone who embodies Jesus' ethic: loving others, feeding the hungry, welcoming strangers, and challenging power. 

They draw from biblical narratives like Jesus dining with tax collectors and prostitutes, positing the church as a "big tent" where diversity strengthens communal witness.

Who isn't in? Those who enforce hierarchies, hoard power, or weaponize scripture to marginalize—echoing Pharisees' legalism. Exclusion arises not from identity but from actions that perpetuate injustice. 

Boundaries in "Solus Jesus" are fluid and relational, not rigid fences. Church edges are porous, inviting dialogue with outsiders, including non-Christians, emphasizing ethical orthopraxy over orthodoxy. 

Now, let’s apply those insights to Catholic ecclesiology. 

In the Catholic mind, the Church encompasses a diverse membership defined by concentric circles of belonging and participation.

At its core, the inner circles comprise those who are freely and sacramentally united to the Church through baptism, the Eucharist, and other rites, forming the heart of this graced community.

Surrounding this core are the next rings, occupied by non-Catholic Christians. Though not wholly joined sacramentally, they remain integral to the Body of Jesus, participating in his risen life through their faith and practice.

The outermost circles encompass all people of goodwill and good intent, regardless of their religious affiliation. This expansive vision welcomes those who, through their ethical lives and pursuit of justice, reflect the kingdom’s values.

This concentric model understands Church membership not as a rigid hierarchy but as a fluid, inclusive fellowship. The inner circles bear sacramental responsibility to model Christ’s love, the middle rings contribute diverse expressions of faith, and the outer circles inspire a broader dialogue.

The Catholic Church must reform itself and embrace greater inclusivity to embody Christ's radical love. While boundaries provide essential meaning—defining community, doctrine, and practice—they must align with Jesus' Gospel example, not rigid hierarchies or exclusionary norms. 

In the Gospels, Jesus dined with tax collectors, prostitutes, and outcasts, breaking social barriers to welcome the marginalized. He prioritized compassion over purity codes, healing on the Sabbath, and affirming Samaritans. 

The Church should emulate this by welcoming all who sincerely desire to draw closer to Jesus, regardless of sexual orientation, marital status, or past sins. No one seeking Jesus and spiritual growth should face rejection at the door; instead, invite them into dialogue, sacraments, and fellowship, fostering transformation through grace.

Furthermore, the Church must reconsider its closed communion policy, which excludes non-Catholics and those in "irregular" situations from receiving the Eucharist. This stance stems largely from abstract theological lines—emphasizing canonical and doctrinal unity—rather than matters of the heart and Spirit. 

Jesus shared meals openly, using them to build unity and foster forgiveness, rather than as a means of testing orthodoxy. By shifting focus to spiritual hunger and repentance, the Church could open communion to earnest seekers, promoting healing and ecumenism. 

Adopting such an inclusive stance isn't diluting the truth, but rather reflecting Jesus' invitation: "Come to me, all you who are weary." 

True boundaries protect the vulnerable and challenge injustice, rather than enforcing division. Embracing inclusive practices would revitalize the Church, drawing more souls to Christ's table and amplifying its prophetic voice in a fractured world. 

The Church, as the people of God, manifests itself as the communion of saints, a living network of interconnected relationships that spans time and eternity.

The term “saints” here extends beyond canonized individuals to encompass all followers of Jesus—those who embody his teachings of love, justice, and self-giving. 

This communion transcends the present, uniting the people of God across generations: those who have gone before, those in purgatory, and those alive today.

The communion of saints emerges as a graced community where the natural and supernatural interpenetrate, drawing on the Eucharist as a unifying act that links the living, the departed, and those being purified.

Practically, the Church as the communion of saints calls for a lived awareness of this unity. It invites the faithful to honor the wisdom of past saints—martyrs, reformers, and everyday disciples—while praying for those in purgatory and fostering solidarity with the living. 

The Church’s structure, as a people, not a hierarchy, supports this, ensuring that every member—past, present, or in transition—shapes its mission.

This eternal fellowship, rooted in the resurrection, offers a framework where meaning emerges from relational participation, inviting all to join the ongoing narrative of God’s love, transforming the Church into a timeless communion.