grace

Asking for a Friend - How can we hold onto our Shared Humanity in a Divided World?

Matthew 18:21-22

Then Peter came and said to him, “Lord, if my brother or sister sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy times seven.


I loathe physical therapy. Thanks to having the back of someone 3x my age, I have been quite a few times in the last ten years. Everytime I go, I am paired with a guy about my same age but who is in impeccable physical condition, which already makes me feel worse. Then they put me through a circuit of ridiculous exercises, things with bands, an impossible balancing board, and stretches that make me feel like something could snap at any moment.

Exasperated, after throwing a ball against the wall while balancing on one leg, I asked, ‘What in the world does this have to do with making my back feel better?!’ My therapist said, ‘Your low back is weak. We can strengthen it some, but not much. Instead, if we focus on everything else around your low back, your hips, your core, your flexibility, then the pain will start to go away, but not entirely. You’ll be able to function, just not fully; your discs are too damaged. So focusing solely on your low back will never bring the healing you want. You have to focus on everything else around it.”

Now talking about my woes with physical therapy may seem like a non sequitur to the final question in our series: How do we hold on to our shared humanity in a divided world? But I promise it will come back around. So stay with me.

One thing among many I have loved about this series, Asking for a Friend, is that all of the questions have been timely; relevant not just to our life together, but to much that is happening in the world around us.

Today’s question is one we all want an answer to. The questioner had more context: they said, “as we get more and more divided, it seems like faith communities are pushing further and further to the extremes. In doing so, we lose the ability to see our shared humanity. What do we do? How do we move forward”?

Division and conflict have become a staple of American life. And that’s not just an anecdote, though I am sure you have your own story. According to Pew Research Center, compared to similar nations,we Americans hold much deeper divisions within nearly every facet of society: politics, race, and even agreement on basic facts.

Ironically enough, polarization is now a defining feature of these United States.

Faith communities are no different, especially along partisan lines. These days it’s more likely that the way someone votes determines what church they attend than their theological views. Which means, more churches are becoming homogenous in their political beliefs, more people are leaving churches from political partisanship, and there are fewer and fewer purple congregations. For the most part, churches are not sorting themselves, they are already sorted.

And in just the past two weeks, headlines have piled up calling this moment an inflection point—a crisis. It sure feels like it. Unity? Seeing our shared humanity? It seems nearly impossible—for churches, for the nation, let alone the warring parts of the world. So what do we do? I think we, as a church, go about unity like physical therapy.

It may sound counterintuitive, but if unity is the goal, don’t focus on it. If we insist on “being united”, if we tell ourselves and others, “we are a united congregation,” we won’t be—and everyone will end up disappointed, or worse.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer once wrote, “He who is in love with his vision of community will destroy community. But he who loves the people around him will create community wherever he goes.” The same is true of unity. If we love the idea of unity more than the people in front of us, we’ll never achieve it.

This is exactly what allows a group like Zeitouna to exist. Zeitouna is a group of six Jewish and six Palestinian women who, despite deep divisions, have learned to see each other’s shared humanity. For over twenty years, they have gathered in each others’ homes every other week, sharing dinner, and engaging in intentional Dialogue. They listen not to formulate a response, but to understand the other’s point of view. Their goal is not to come to an agreement. How could they?

Instead, they work on creating shared understanding—by listening, speaking from their own experience, slowing down, and pausing more. They focused on so many other things, not just the issues. And only then were they able to see one another for what they truly are, human. Irene, a Jewish member, said, “My heart has been opened to those who scare me.” Wadad, a Palestinian member, said, “Through Zeitouna I’ve learned to hear the voice of the ‘other’—her pain and her joy—realizing it mirrors my own.” They never chased unity itself. They focused on other things, and unity formed along the way.

Instead of chasing unity, let’s focus on our shared humanity, on forgiveness, and on grace.

Now, in the church we love to say that every person is made in the image of God. And that is true. But if we stop there, we can fool ourselves into thinking that image means we are inherently good, virtuous, capable. Scripture, and our experience, say otherwise. Paul reminds us that “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” The image of God in us is real, but like funhouse mirrors, it is fractured and distorted.

So what do we share, really? We share our limits. We share our failures. We share our tendency to mess things up and let each other down. Our weakness, not our strength, is our common ground. And friends, that might sound like bad news, but it is actually quite the opposite. Because when you stop expecting other people to be more virtuous, more stable, or more capable than you are—you find yourself a little less disappointed. A little more patient. A little more compassionate. It frees us to meet one another not with unrealistic expectations but with grace.

But that also means we will need to forgive, and to do so often. Like Peter, we ask “how often”? More than we want to, more than what seems right, honestly more than we think we can. Because it’s not so much that someone will wrong you 490 times, but that it might take 490 attempts at forgiving one offense before we’ve really done it.

All of that is hard. Which means, if we are going to see our shared humanity, forgive one another, and live as a functioning community, it will only be out of gratitude for the grace of Jesus, who has already done all of that for you and always will. When we dwell on the grace poured into our lives, it spills over—flowing from our hearts out into the world, giving others the mercy and love Jesus has already given us.

Just like physical therapy, if unity is the goal, focusing on it will only lead to more pain, disappointment, and ultimately division. Because we will, and likely already have, let each other down.

But I am asking you to stay. Stay even when there’s disagreement, stay when feelings are hurt, stay when it feels easier to walk away. Because if we leave every time, we miss what Jesus is capable of through forgiveness and grace.

So let’s focus on those things now: on shared humanity, on forgiveness, on the grace already given to us. And then by the mercy of God and the work of the Spirit, unity will begin to take shape. It may not be perfect. The pain may not entirely go away.

But we will be able to function.

We will be able to live together as God’s people.

And we will have hope for the unity that is to come to all people, through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

The Cost of Grace

Luke 9:51-62

When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem. And he sent messengers ahead of him. On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to prepare for his arrival, but they did not receive him because his face was set toward Jerusalem. 

When his disciples James and John saw this, they said, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” But he turned and rebuked them. Then they went on to another village.

As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” And Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead, but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” Another said, “I will follow you, Lord, but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” And Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”


Jesus would have been a terrible pastor. And I am not the first pastor or preacher to say such a thing. Most pastors, yours included, work very hard to make things comfortable. When you come here, things are orderly and neat, (have you met pastor mark?). We do our best to explain what’s going on, where things are, and how to get involved (if you want to). We hope the worship is satisfying, the music gratifying, and the preaching not a snore. We want people to know this is a place where you are cared for.

So we make sure Christian education is appealing and diverse in it’s offerings; there is plenty of opportunity for fellowship and meals together; and we do some service, but not too much. In all, we try to give people what they want, without too many demands — after all, it’s not like we can compete with sports or packed family calendars.

Jesus is the opposite. I imagine if Jesus were a pastor and greeted you at the door, he wouldn’t say, “I’m so glad you’ve joined us,” but more like, “Are you sure you want to do this?” That’s essentially what he says to the would-be disciples in Luke. Jesus is walking toward Jerusalem when someone says, “Wherever you go, I’ll follow!” You can almost hear Jesus say, “You don’t even know what you’re saying. Creatures of earth and sky have homes — not me. Are you ready to be homeless?” We don’t know how the young man responds. But I know how I would — and I’m guessing you do too.

And so it is with the other two would-be disciples. Jesus tells one not to bury his father. What kind of lunatic says that? Especially in a culture where honoring one’s parents was a sacred obligation. Surely Jesus can’t be saying that following him is greater than the traditions of their culture? Surely he isn’t telling us we can’t attend funerals or grieve those we love.

And is it really a big deal that the third person wants to say goodbye? That doesn’t seem like an unreasonable request? I mean of course he would come rushing back to Jesus, right? A quick hug to mom, maybe one more meal, a good night’s rest, and then he’ll be ready. But Jesus says “you’ll only make crooked furrows and that’s no good in the Kingdom of God”.

You see what I mean that Jesus wouldn’t make a good pastor? Here are people throwing themselves at Jesus and his response is “are you sure? Because this is going to cost you.”

It will cost you your comfort; it will cost you the traditions and obligations you hold so dearly,

it will cost you whatever or whoever it was waiting for you back home.

We don’t want to hear that. I don’t want to preach that! It would be easier to stand up and say we are doing so well. Instead of a discipleship at all cost, we much prefer discipleship at little to no cost. We want Jesus, myself included, to sound like a used car salesman, reaffirming that this life of faith can be ours with little to no money down!

We want discipleship on demand — where we hit pause when something else comes up, and resume when time allows. After all isn’t there grace?! And here among all places, isn’t grace offered with no string attached?

But when grace becomes an excuse to avoid commitment — when it asks nothing of us — it turns into what Bonhoeffer called “cheap grace.

“Cheap grace is that grace which we bestow on ourselves. Cheap grace is preaching forgiveness without repentance; it is baptism without the disciple of community;

it is the Lord’s Supper without the confession of sin; it is absolution with out personal confession.

Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without the living, incarnate Jesus Christ”.

Rather what Jesus offers to the would-be disciples and to us is a costly grace. It is costly because it will cost us comfort — but it is grace, because we follow Jesus.

It is costly because it will upend our lives — but it is grace, because it offers life to the full, here and now.

It is costly because we will lose relationships — but it is grace, because it leads us into deeper communion with others and with God

I want to be clear. Discipleship is not how much one goes to church. I don’t think Jesus is saying discipleship means you must be homeless, or that you can’t grieve a loved one, or doubt what you’re doing. But I also don’t want to chalk this up to hyperbole and say, “Nice try — at least there’s grace.” Grace isn’t an excuse; it’s a catalyst. Discipleship will cost us.

So what is the cost — for you, in your life, right now? And what might it cost us, together, as a community of faith?

What comfort might this costly grace afflict?

What obligations are you asked to let go of?

What relationships need reordered?

In Winston-Salem, I saw costly grace embodied. The Dwelling is a church made up of — and for — people who live on the margins. Folks who are homeless or have been. People wrestling with addiction. Just out of incarceration. Some from nearby low-income housing.

A few who looked like you and me.

When we got to the dwelling for worship, their sanctuary looked nothing like ours. Think more living room, less cathedral. It was packed with people who walked in from the street, bags and dogs in tow. People would yell, sometimes at no one, sometimes at someone, sometimes playful, sometimes not.

We ate breakfast together. But the smell of the egg casserole was not enough to mask the scent of sweat and smoke that filled the space. Worship began once seconds were finished, around 11ish, but no one sets their watch by it. And if you think our second service is loud…

People held conversations, left, came back in, moved about at their leisure. But they also clapped and danced, and yell affirmations during the sermon and prayers. Did I mention it too is an ELCA church?

After worship, they gathered for another meal, waiting in a long line on the blacktop as the North Carolina sun beat down. With early 2000s pop blasting from a speaker, the servers danced with abandon as they dished up a thoroughly southern lunch for over 200 people.

And that’s what every Sunday is like. [return to screen].

It is uncomfortable, especially for those of us who expect church to look, feel, smell, and sound more like this. It breaks many traditions of worship, programming, and education, especially for a Lutheran congregation.

And it has cost them relationships. People won’t worship there because they think it could be unsafe, or they can’t tolerate the smell, or there’s no Sunday School.

Yet as I sat in worship — clearly the minority in all sorts of ways — I saw costly grace. It was messy and beautiful, hard and joy-filled. But that’s discipleship.

And at our best, I believe we embrace costly grace in faithful ways for our context.

It sounds like raising hard questions and concerns about the dangers of Christian Nationalism.

It looks like showing up at Pride with a booth and a message: that God’s love is for all — especially those who’ve been told it’s not. It means addressing the history and ongoing injustice caused by racism. It feels like giving a significant portion of our money away each and every year to people and places that need it.

These things make us uncomfortable. They reorder our obligations. They challenge our traditions. And yes — they have cost us relationships. But isn’t that what Jesus said discipleship would look like?

Discipleship is costly, Jesus is very honest about that. But he asks nothing of us that he hasn’t already done for us.

Maybe that’s why he would have been a terrible pastor — but the perfect Savior. And thank God for that. Amen.