A few years ago, a speaker at a conference painted a picture of the church in modern day Jerusalem. He said that when the church comes together, the membership is drawn from the demographics in the region. Such can be said for many and probably most churches. You plant a church in a certain community, and that church is a cross section of that community (or at least it should be). So what do the members of a growing church in Jerusalem look like? He said, their membership is comprised of Christians whose backgrounds include Jews, Palestinians, Israeli’s and Muslims.
I think it’s hard for us to get our minds wrapped around a church comprised of so many different, if not volatile, backgrounds. We’ve bought into the American belief that the best way to grow a church is through minimizing differences and maximizing commonalities. White Christians have their white churches, while black Christians have theirs. Rich Christians have their churches, while poor churches have theirs. Christians to the “so-called right” have their churches, while Christians to the “so-called left” have theirs. Such a mindset is so pervasive, we cannot imagine another option for building churches.
The more I reflect on this church in Jerusalem, the more intrigued I am about the inner-workings of this church. What do they talk about? How do they manage separating their national heritage from their spiritual reality? We’re looking at Christians whose national people have shed blood over a God-given land, and over a city where his Name resides. In a region so divisive, holding peace together by a thread, how does that church not tear itself apart? Surely, individual members want a piece of the action!
In the final chapter of Romans, Paul issues greetings to almost thirty individuals (more so if you count the households and house churches). Scholars will tell you that the list of names include Jews and Gentiles, slaves and freedmen, men and women. The core problem in Rome was primarily the Jewish Christian and Gentile Christian trying to come together as one. In an over simplified illustration, when they came together to eat, were they serving ham sandwiches or kosher fish sticks? So as Paul was encouraging the church to apply his rich theology of the previous chapters, he tells them to “greet one another.” More so, the commonality for their greeting was not their Jewish or Gentile heritage, but in the One who saved them. Four times he tells them that their relationship is rooted in Jesus Christ (Rom. 16:3,7,9, 10), while five times he says it’s rooted in the Lord (Rom. 16:8,11,12a,12b,13). What brings Christians together is beyond one’s ideology, but is found in our relationship to the Risen Savior. He’s the common point of reference.
Beyond Christ, everything of importance becomes a reason to divide, and it fuels our passions to have a piece of the action. Fans defend their sports teams, and even turn a blind eye to the unscrupulous conduct of the players, coaches and schools/ownerships. Christians mark off denomination territories to defend their doctrinal positions, at the expense of justice, mercy, and humility. Citizens take their personal political views to draw a line in the sand daring someone to cross or to hold an opposing viewpoint. And when sports, religion and politics converge, it’s always combustible. We’ve witnessed this as if we’re sitting in box seats: instead of seeking peace, everyone wants a piece of the action.
So how do you counsel members of the church in Jerusalem, whose background includes such divisive political perspectives, and where unity is frail? Do you tell them to stand their ground? Do you help fuel the fires of division, or help bridge the gap by seeking the one commonality they can hold on to? After offering your counsel to them, what advice do you bring back home? Do you really want a piece of the action, or a peace in the midst of the action?
Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e. Only God is Glorified!)