Shared Practice, Not Monoculture: What the World Cup Can Remind Us About Worship

There is little that captures our collective attention like the world’s most popular game. With an expanded field of 48 teams competing, this year’s World Cup has drawn billions into a remarkably shared experience of participation. As a home World Cup for those of us in North America, it has likely pulled even those who do not follow soccer (or football) closely into the vortex.

In a world where our personal and collective attention is increasingly fractured, it has been refreshing to experience such a broad, shared focus, even if only fleetingly. As I watched the matches and joined the celebrations, I found myself thinking about another set of shared practices: Christian worship. The World Cup, despite its controversies and imperfections, offered an intriguing picture of what it looks like to cultivate unity without demanding uniformity.

Perhaps that is one of its greatest lessons. The World Cup succeeds not because it creates a monoculture, but because it creates shared practices that allow many cultures to participate fully while remaining distinct.

That distinction is worth considering in worship.

Too often, our conversations about unity assume that everyone should worship in the same way, sing in the same style, dress similarly, or express emotion in the same way. Yet Scripture presents a different vision. Christian unity is not the elimination of cultural difference but our common participation in the life of Christ. The question, then, is not whether our worshipers all look or sound alike. The question is whether we have cultivated shared rhythms rooted in our identity as God’s people that invite everyone to participate.

Inclusive worship, organized around shared practice and identity rather than cultural uniformity, can flourish in a few key ways.

First, worship invites wholehearted participation without demanding uniformity.

I was fortunate enough to attend matches in person, and as thrilling as the games were, even more inspiring were the celebrations surrounding them. I didn’t know I loved “Country Roads” until I sang it with tens of thousands of fellow fans. I wondered why we don’t always sing like that when we gather for worship.

Perhaps it is because “Country Roads” is memorable and accessible. Certainly. There was also a clear shared narrative: a victory for the home team. But familiar songs and a shared narrative are hardly unique to sporting events. Christian worship gathers around the greatest story ever told.

What struck me even more was that everyone was encouraged to participate, without judgment, in their own way. Some wore elaborate costumes; others came in various jerseys. Some remained seated. Others stood, danced, waved scarves, or simply sang. No one was asked to abandon their identity before joining the celebration. Everyone was invited to participate fully.

Not everyone did. But few seemed deterred.

When we gather for worship, we sing songs of infinitely greater significance than “Country Roads,” as compelling as that experience was. What prerequisites to full participation have we unintentionally created? What expectations about dress, musical taste, emotional expression, or cultural familiarity quietly communicate that some people belong more naturally than others?

Second, shared practices make it possible to appreciate cultures beyond our own.

One of my favorite memories had nothing to do with the team I was supporting. Outside the stadium in Atlanta, Cabo Verde supporters formed an exuberant drum circle before their match. I was not part of their celebration, but it was impossible not to be drawn into its joy. Their rhythms reflected a cultural expression different from my own. Yet participating as an observer, even briefly, expanded rather than threatened my own experience.

Likewise, although Cabo Verde’s remarkable draw against eventual champions Spain was not “my” victory, it was moving to witness what it meant to their players and supporters.

The World Cup reminded me that shared practices create space not merely to tolerate unfamiliar cultural expressions but to delight in them. We can celebrate someone else’s song, someone else’s dance, someone else’s story, precisely because we belong to something larger together.

Christian worship can and ought to do the same.

Our shared identity in Christ does not erase our cultures. Rather, it allows different cultures to enrich our common worship. Revelation’s vision is not a monochrome multitude but “every nation, tribe, people, and language” gathered around the throne. The goal is not monoculture. The goal is a shared response to the God who has created and redeemed us.

Third, unity, like trust, takes time to cultivate but can be quickly undermined.

Shared practices only create unity when participants trust that everyone belongs on equal footing.

One of the quickest ways to erode that trust is even the perception of favoritism.

Without revisiting the endless debates over VAR decisions, overturned suspensions, or missed calls, this tournament demonstrated how rapidly goodwill can evaporate when people believe different standards are being applied. Whether those perceptions were justified or not, they changed the atmosphere.

Paul confronted similar dynamics in the Corinthian church. Favoritism fractured the community because people began to believe that some mattered more than others.

The knockout rounds illustrate another challenge. As the tournament progresses, broader celebration increasingly gives way to zero-sum competition. Team loyalty begins to eclipse the shared experience that made the event so compelling in the first place.

Churches can experience similar shifts. We may unintentionally privilege particular leaders, generations, musical preferences, or cultural norms until our shared identity is overshadowed by competing loyalties.

As we seek to worship in unity, we would do well to ask: In what ways do we show favoritism to some worshipers or leaders? In what ways do we create competition where we might instead cultivate common purpose?

Fourth and finally, despite its flaws, the World Cup demonstrated that division is often not inevitable. More often than we admit, it is cultivated by leaders who consolidate power by demeaning rivals and deepening suspicion toward cultural “others.”

Several commentators described this tournament as “an international cousins’ sleepover, in which we all like each other even though our parents don’t get along.”

That feels remarkably accurate.

For a few weeks, people who spoke different languages, dressed differently, sang different songs, and carried different histories discovered they could share the same spaces, admire one another’s traditions, and participate in something larger than themselves.

If soccer can do that, how much more can Christian worship?

We gather not around a game but around the God who created every human being in the divine image. We gather not merely to remember facts about God, but to become God’s people together.

Anthropologist Barbara Myerhoff described ritual as “‘re-membering’...the reaggregation of members, the figures who belong to one’s life story.”

Christian worship is precisely that kind of re-membering.

Week after week, we remember who God is, who we are in Christ, and, just as importantly, who we belong to. We become members of one another’s stories because we all belong to God’s story.

May our worship cultivate shared practices that are strong enough to hold remarkable diversity—not by demanding monoculture, but by inviting every culture to participate in the life of Christ.

If the World Cup can unite people around a game, Christian worship can unite people around the living Christ. Our churches can offer the world something even more beautiful than the World Cup: a foretaste of every nation, tribe, people, and language joyfully gathered around the throne.