Galatians 3:23-29; Luke 8:26-39
What’s the biggest church argument you can remember? Maybe it was here, or maybe it was somewhere else; maybe it was just between a few people, or maybe it pulled in the entire congregation. Every Christian, at some point in their life, is exposed to a church argument, and it changes their relationship with the church, and with organized religion, in a lasting way. If you’ve ever seen or been involved in one, you’ll remember it. When church people argue, emotions run deep, our vulnerabilities are exposed, and things escalate quickly. People get hurt and out of that hurt, hurt in return.
Church arguments are so awful because often, it’s with people who have cared for us, and so when arguments happen, there’s this emotional shock. How can this person, who came to visit me when I was sick, who has prayed for me, who has shared the peace with me, who has met at God’s table for Communion with me, be in such violent disagreement with me? How can they raise their voice at me? Or, how can they be giving me the silent treatment? Church arguments can expose a profound disconnect between the love we profess to have for one another, and indeed that we have shown each other, and the behaviour that we see emerging. This disconnect is deeply unsettling, all the more so because it’s happening in the church.
Our second reading for today, Paul’s letter to the Galatians, is rooted in a deep argument in the early church, one that changed the religious landscape of the entire world. The argument was whether or not Gentile Christians (non-Jewish Christians) were under the same obligations as Jewish Christians when it came to understanding their relationship with God. Remember, the very first Christians were all Jewish––even in Pentecost, all those thousands of people baptized in Christ were either Jews or non-Jews who followed Jewish ways of living under God. But within decades, non-Jews were learning about Christ, and gathering together to hear more about Jesus, and so the question very quickly arose about whether they could come to synagogue and learn about Jesus, and even be baptized in the name of Jesus, if they did not follow the obligations given to the Jewish people under Moses: if they did not follow the laws of the Torah, and if the men were not circumcised. In short, could people become Christians without becoming Jews? Paul said yes, while other Jewish leaders said no. This was a church argument on a level we have never seen since, not even in the Reformation. This argument split the Jews, and inaugurated a new religion (Christianity). Only now are we even beginning to heal from that argument and to accept that Christians first started as Jews, and it’s taken us two thousand years.
In any case, the Christians in Galatia were non-Jews. They did not gather in synagogue and the men were not circumcised. But they had Jewish Christians from Jerusalem coming into their midst telling them that they had to become Jewish, either literally or in practice. And so in our passage, Paul is reminding them that no, they do not need to be Jewish. He is reminding them that in God’s eyes, there is no difference between Jewish Christian and Greek (or Gentile) Christian. “There is no longer Jew or Greek, for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”
And here’s where I start wondering: the church has had these words for almost two thousand years, “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” So why do we still get into these hurtful, divisive church arguments? And I’m not trying to blame anybody, or say that it’s because we’re bad Christians, or not faithful enough, or shame anyone. I’ve been part of these arguments, I’ve tried never to hurt anyone but it’s possible, even likely, that I have, and so I’m not going to stand here and say, “Shame on you, we need to do better!” I believe that we’re all trying our best. And yet these hurts and divisions keep happening. So what is it about the way we’re applying these words, or interpreting them, that’s preventing us from truly being one in Christ?
It seems to me that it all hinges on how we understand being one. In one of our Thanksgivings for Communion, it says, “Pour out upon us the Spirit of your love, O Lord, and unite the wills of all who share this heavenly food.” It’s a curious phrase, “unite the wills of all.” The assumption here, operating on a particular interpretation of “one in Christ,” is that in order to be one, we all have to have the same will. We have to want the same thing. Makes sense. We can’t get anything done if we’re all going off in different directions. Stampede is coming, and we’ve all seen chuckwagon races where one horse is trying to cut around the barrel away from all the others––the driver is lucky if the rig even makes it to the finish line.
So how do we get to one will? We often think of our will as something that comes from rational thought, from arriving at agreement on the same understanding and, really, on the same thoughts. In our Hellenist-influenced word, we assume that one will comes from one way of thinking. We have long believed that differing thoughts, or ideas, or positions on an argument, cannot possibly bring us to one will.
But what if it doesn’t work that way? What if one will doesn’t come from one way of thinking, but from having one heart, regardless of how one thinks? You see, in Paul’s verse, he isn’t actually saying we all have to be the same. He isn’t advocating that people give up being Jewish or Greek. His whole background argument is that Jewish Christians should stay Jewish, and Greek or Gentile Christians should stay Gentile. No longer slave or free doesn’t mean he thinks there should be no more slavery––sadly for him, he argues in 1 Corinthians that slaves should stay slaves. No longer male and female doesn’t mean that men should stop being men or women should stop being women. He’s no feminist, as we know from his opinion in 1 Timothy that women shouldn’t speak up in church. Paul is not saying that one in Christ means the erasure of differences or that we all become the same thing. Instead, Paul seems to be saying that in Christ, God does not treat us differently based on the way we think, but treats us as one people because it is Christ who makes us one.
Which is really interesting. It’s not us deciding to agree on everything, to all think the same way, that make us one. You’ve probably experienced that people can say they all agree, there can be nothing but complete agreement in church with no arguments ever, but that everyone still isn’t “one.” In fact, sometimes “agreement” can mask deep division, and “unity” can deny deep hurts. It’s having one heart that makes us one people.
Christ is the one who makes us one in heart, and we see him modeling that for us. In several places, including in our Gospel reading for today, we see Christ reaching out to those who are very different from him, with compassion and love, healing them, and letting them continue on their own way. Today, for example, we see him healing the man from Gerasene, which was a Gentile community, embedded in the Roman Empire. (That’s why the demon is called Legion, after Roman troops, and they rush into the pigs, a Roman food source.) Jesus intentionally goes into this non-Jewish territory, heals a man who doesn’t agree with him about the God of Israel, and then, when the man asks to follow Jesus, tells him no, go home again. Jesus turns down the man’s request to, essentially, become the same as him religiously and culturally speaking, to think the same way as he does. Jesus does not demand that the man start thinking or behaving the same way he does. He accepts the man’s differences, and heals him.
He does that because heart is just as important as head, if not more so. Jesus finds God in love, rather than in logic. He doesn’t need someone to agree with him in order to love them, and therefore he doesn’t need someone to agree with him in order for he and them to be one. In the Gospel of John, Jesus doesn’t tell us to agree with one another. He tells us to love one another. He says that he and the Father are one in love, and that we are one in love with each other and with God. Love is a heart thing, not a head thing. We are to be one in heart, not necessarily one in mind.
Biblical interpretation is a tricky thing, and Paul’s words and intentions are harder to translate than most. “Neither Jew or Greek, slave or free, male and female,” is actually difficult to translate, because of the “neither” language. But given Paul’s context, and given what we have experienced ourselves in Christ, perhaps we might understand Paul as saying that, in the eyes of God, there is neither only Jew or Greek, neither only male and female, neither only pro-environment or pro-pipeline, neither only Democrat or Republican or Liberal or Conservative or NDP. We do not need to trust in having one mind, but in having one heart, “for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”
This doesn’t mean we never disagree. There is a difference between disagreeing and arguing. Church arguments happen when we try to enforce one mind, and that’s why they bring such hurt and pain. Church disagreements are a sign of passionate, engaged discipleship. Church disagreements acknowledge––and even welcome––difference because they recognize that we are all gathered in the heart of Christ who makes us one. Of course, this is easier said than done, and so two Sundays from now, we will talk more about how we can have one heart with those who disagree with us. But for now, do not be afraid of church disagreements. Christ has a heart for all of us, Christ is one with us, and so unites us––with all our differences––in one. Thanks be to God. Amen.
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