I saw a video this morning, where an ex-pastor was disentangling an argument about gender ideologies from another video. In the original video, the creators were saying (complete with dim mood lighting and a soft pad of music underneath, tell-tale Christian signs a good word is about to drop) that non-binary people reject the identification of daughter or son, and therefore they cannot claim their identity as a child of God. The ex-pastor stitched this video and explained how the very nature of the gospel means anyone can live as a child of God no matter how they identify. He mostly pointed out the toxicity of theological arguments like this, explaining that we as humans cannot possibly decide who does and does not fit the story of God.
I scrolled the comments knowing full well it was going to evoke discomfort in me, but nosiness always wins. And, unsurprisingly, the comment section was full of strife. A big name worship leader commented on the video, saying he was glad this person is an “ex” pastor because he is ignorant. Others were throwing different scriptures around, arguing into the void before they scroll on to the next video. Others were ensuring this ex-pastor knows he is deceived, evil even. One even mentioned what he had to say was heresy, when all he basically said was gospel truth - Jesus is for everyone.
We are the finger-pointing people. I hate that for us.
We are hell-bent on removing difference, on making assumptions about the entirety of a person based on their beliefs. We would rather preach to a comment section than build real and raw relationships with those who identify differently than us, who see the world differently than we do. We like the idea of unity, Jesus’ actual prayer for his people1, but we find it by removing those who challenge our ideals, shaving them off like a piece of mold on cheese.
Unity founded in us vs. them isn’t unity, it’s division.
And it is much easier to live divided than it is to love in unity. It is much easier to preach the gospel than to live the gospel. It is hard to allow love to be the table we meet at, because difference forces us to the edge of ourselves. To sit with the conservative, or the progressive, and dare to see their humanity places us in the right-hand seat of discomfort. It is humbling, and not in the glorified way we might preach about on a Sunday. It is humbling in a gross way, one that reveals our shortcomings, our fallibility, our pride.
This is where we are called to be, right in the messy middle of it all. It’s what Jesus modelled for us. He never did what was expected. He certainly was not interested in managing the social rules of the time. The religious majority had expectations of him, questions of him, and he was not interested in pandering to them. He went right to the people on the margins, those who had been left out of religious spaces, and spent time with them. We don’t see much of Jesus debating scripture in the gospels. We see a lot of him spending time with people who the religious majority had theological questions about.
There are times where I want to surround myself with people who think like I do. I want to categorize things in black-and-white, in right and wrongs. But, at my core, I’d rather build bridges than walls. I’d rather keep my table the way it is, with queer friends, atheist friends, friends who are questioning, friends who are sure, friends who are non-affirming, friends who are. I’d rather our differences disciple me further into Love, into that mysterious place where living out the gospel means relying less on myself and more on God.
This is a lofty ideal, a difficult one. It regularly puts me to the edge of myself. I scroll social media and am irked by our divisiveness. I want us to agree. The nature of living in a broken world means we won’t. But maybe, just maybe, this was God’s plan all along. Maybe God knew black-and-white answers would make us Gods ourselves, when we were created to be human. Middling, unknowing, limited, humans.
But I cannot speak for God. I think that might be the point.
Benediction:
May unity find us
At a full table
Where difference disciples us closer together
Sharing in a feast of Love
Questions for reflection:
Imagine your “table”. Who is regularly seated at it? Do the people you have close, intimate relationships with look like you? Believe like you? Think like you?
Imagine someone on the opposite side of your theological, political, or social beliefs. What would it look like to share vulnerable relationship with them?
What stirs in you as you consider connecting with those who align differently than you on the hot topics of the day?
Necessary caveats (because nuance is everything):
- I am not saying that disagreement = hatred. What I am saying is we are quick to moralize disagreement and use it to “other” people, and it is very difficult to dialogue about disagreement without insulting the other.
- I make a case here for having a diverse table. I think it is important to mention that, for some, a diverse table is not emotionally safe. I think this is valid, too. I don’t think you should have to maintain relationships with people who represent those who hurt you, denied you, or grossly invalidated your experience.
As always, thanks for reading this edition of The Middle! Feel free to share with someone you love, or subscribe to receive next months email right to your inbox.
This prayer is found in John 17:20-23