How Does the Body of Christ Learn?

Sermon preached for First Presbyterian Church of New Haven on August 5, 2018

Texts
Romans 12:1-8 (read by liturgist, prior to sermon)
John 14:1-12 (read by preacher, with contextual introduction)

Our reading from the Gospel of John begins just after the friends have shared the meal that has become our Communion liturgy. Jesus is still comforting his disciples and preparing them for his departure. It’s the passage including the well-known words: “I am the way and the truth and the life; no one comes to the Father except through me.”

Before we read the rest of it together, there are two things I’m obliged to mention.[i]

Number 1: I would like to hold space for a moment for all those whose previous encounters with this text were not always life-giving. For some of us, those encounters took place in settings where the intent was to close Christians off from the rest of the world, or to invoke fear or conformity without any real space to breathe, without the encouragement to perceive a God that was not spoken at us. Breathe in a deep breath of new air… and let it out again. I am not suggesting that our reading today will heal every hurt, but I want to offer the assurance that today’s word is not one of condemnation. You and your whole self are welcome here today, and especially to the Communion table. Take the time to notice what you are feeling in your body as we read the text together, and do not let your heart be troubled if any of it is difficult to name.

Number 2: While I have a map of something I’d like us to explore, let’s not assume that a wandering mind is a bad thing. Preachers and teachers like me believe that sometimes a listener hears something worth hearing that isn’t said aloud. There are a lot of questions to ask of this text—and a lot of good things to wonder that have little to do with it. If at some point later on you’d like to talk more with me or Pastor J.C. or the church community about anything that bubbles up, anything in your mind or heart, we are here as spiritual companions to do that.

But while I was preparing this message, I received a prophetic word from my Dove chocolate wrapper. It said, “You can do anything, but you can’t do everything.”[ii]




So this morning, at least out loud, we will focus.

I’d like to imagine what it may have felt like to Jesus to be reassuring these people who knew him in what was about to be their darkest hours without him—and what the story of this night means to a community now striving to teach and grow in Christian faith. How does the Body of Christ learn?

Let us hear from the 14th chapter of John, picking up shortly after the meal, and just a few chapters before Jesus’ death. Jesus is speaking:

14 “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. ² In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? ³ And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. ⁴ And you know the way to the place where I am going.” ⁵ Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” ⁶ Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. ⁷ If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.” 

⁸Philip said to him, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” ⁹ Jesus said to him, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? ¹⁰ Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. ¹¹ Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves. ¹² Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father.

The Word of God for the people of God.

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Let us pray.

Holy Spirit, you infuse this space. You fill our lungs, whisper at our ears, and breathe life into our curiosities. Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable to you, O God. Let this preaching moment be one not only for our minds, but for our bodies and spirits; and not only for ourselves, but for the ongoing creation of our communities of faith, that we might live fully into your promises and purposes. Through our faith in Jesus Christ and Christ’s faith in us, we pray. Amen.

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“Do not let your hearts be troubled,” he says, and for some reason when I read it this time I hear a tinge of frustration in his voice as he searches for the Right Words, because how on earth is he going to capture the enormity of what he wants to tell them in the Right Words? He says, “Believe in God. Believe also in me.”

This word “believe” sometimes carries with it a bit of baggage. Now that so many teachers over time have understood it in a specific way, it may be even more difficult to hear it differently.

Years and years and years of hearing this text as though it were a battle cry or a command or an indictment of non-believers.

It was a comfort.[iii]

Some translations of this text go like this, “You believe in God. Believe also in me.” Or, in my best Frustrated Jesus voice, “Well, you believe in God, right? Yes? Okay! Build on that. Go from there.”

Frustrated, you see, not out of anger or impatience with his disciples but because time is short. A teacher who knows that the dismissal bell is about to chime. A man on death row having his last visit with his friends. He cares about the people listening to him and what they take with them from their time together.

(How does the Body of Christ learn?)

So Jesus leans on what he knows of his friends and the knowledge they already have. He’s not talking to people who haven’t met him yet. And he isn’t weighing for them the likelihood of whether or not God exists. The Gospel writer of John more than any other chose words to emphasize Jesus’ divine being, but is that all that Jesus himself is saying?

What does it mean to believe in someone you know?

[to J.C.] I believe in you, J.C. I believe you are the Pastor and Teaching Elder God has called to us, for such a time as this, to lead us in our hearing of the Word and our communing at the Table, in offering Sanctuary to our immigrant neighbors, in learning all the new ways we will be Christ’s hands and feet and ears in this world. I believe in you.

[to the congregation now] At any point of that did it sound like I was telling J.C. that I think she exists?

See, we do understand on a deep, resonant level this use of the word “believe,” but whenever we start using it for Jesus or God it can take on this whole other connotation. A purity test of opinion or a creed to affirm as though it’s little more to us than a passcode into heaven. And none of this is necessarily what Jesus is saying.

He’s saying to those with him, those who already know him, those for whom he has been an access point, that they can believe in him and who he is to them.

To Believe is to trust; to Believe is to sense — not necessarily that something is verifiable fact (maybe because it is still in progress) — but that it is the ongoing fulfillment of a promise, or something hoped-for, or something worth witnessing.

Truth itself, as in the line where Jesus says “I am the truth,” is not a static noun, the Fact we crave in the so-called age of ‘Fake News.’ Instead, it’s that ongoing process, the fulfilling of the promise. One author[iv] writes that it’s as though Jesus is saying, “I am the unforgetting.”

The Unforgetting; the very act of not-forgetting. The act of remembrance. Yes, our remembrance of God, and also God’s remembrance of us and promises made to us. That is the truth we trust in. That is the truth we teach.

(How does the Body of Christ learn?)

Every time we gather for worship or study with faith or care for our neighbors, we participate in the unforgetting. When we join together around the Communion table today we will share Jesus’ message, “Do this in remembrance of me.” Be part of the unforgetting.

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Right up there with the words “believe” and “truth,” do you know what my favorite phrase of this Gospel text is? It’s when Jesus tells the disciples, “but if you do not.” The full line is: “Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves.”

By saying this, Jesus creates space for his disciples to breathe. To be unsure. To learn by some other means than the one he’s just presented. “If, after that explanation, it doesn’t make sense, then try this activity instead.” And then, like any good teacher, he provides the alternative that’s accessible in a different way. Witnessing the works themselves. And not only witnessing them but doing them.

He says, “Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these…”

People mixed up with Jesus are going to find themselves drawn to do some peculiar things, like sharing food with strangers. Proclaiming the sacredness of people the world degrades. Housing the guests that others build walls to keep away.  Singing in a crowd on a Sunday morning.

His death will shake them. His absence will test their faith. His resurrection and ascension will be an unforgetting that stays with them long after he’s gone.

And when he’s gone, they altogether will be the physical form of his Body on earth. Every time we gather as members of the Body of Christ, we are literally and figuratively “re-membering.” Resurrecting the Body in a living Church.

And the disciples will not know everything they need to know or do in an instant. They will lean, as even Jesus has, on discernment and prayer and the wisdom of the generations.

Then, to do the things that Jesus believes in them to do, they will need to trust their muscle memory. And to be able to trust their muscle memory, they will need to hone it. They will need to practice. Sometimes, the practice itself will be a comfort. During our confirmation class this past year, I was moved to hear how many of the youth talked about our traditions as a comfort to them—particularly the Doxology. The Sunday school children have said the same about lighting candles and the quiet of prayer.

And what does J.C. tell us in worship every week about passing the peace?

‘We practice this sign of peace here not so that we can keep it to ourselves, but so that we can take it with us out into the world.’

Practice. We don’t do this only for ourselves. We learn here how to greet our neighbors and reconcile with anyone estranged to us. And then we bring what we have learned, how we have been renewed and transformed, to those we meet. For non-believers, the Good News of this story is that they are not to be condemned for disbelief or belonging to another Body; they are to be invited as neighbors and friends of the resurrected Christ who lives on in a peace-filled people. Whether or not they ever sense themselves to be a part of this Christian Body, they will have occasions to know us. And if we study and practice well, we will be renewed and transformed into something worth trusting.

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In June, our Session voted for us to become a Sanctuary church, meaning we are prepared to open our doors to an immigrant or refugee and bear public witness if ever ICE tries to deport them before the person has the opportunity for legal defense. At three separate events before that decision, 70 people completed Sanctuary training here in this very room.

What did that training look like? We learned why the work mattered and what difference it could make to anyone we host. We voiced our concerns, reflecting on what troubled our hearts. We searched our faith tradition and our scriptures for guidance. Then we discerned together what kinds of practical help might be needed – a list of tasks that would be physically impossible for only one person to fulfill. We didn’t concern ourselves yet with who might have the gifts to do what. At that point it still wasn’t about each of us volunteering or being nominated to do a job. It was about saying, “What would it look like if ICE were to come to the door, looking for our guest? When one of us is responsible for hosting, what will they need to know? What should they do? When one of us is responsible for leading our crowd of witnesses in prayer and song to draw public attention to this injustice, what will they need to know? What should they do?” It would all be needed, if and when the time should come. And if we each did our best to prepare ourselves to do any role that might be needed, each of us would be ready to contribute anything. Together, we would be able to do everything.

And then we practiced it. We volunteered to “try on” a role and work together as one unit.

On the night that I was trained, Art had a chance to feel just how uncomfortable it might be to listen to an ICE agent on the other side of the door and practiced remaining steady under pressure.

Tim drew from his love of worship to lead the crowd of witnesses in singing, quickly recalling a song everyone could sing from memory.

One of the training instructors played a news reporter who was actually doing very little to help amplify our message and a whole lot more to get in the way of our witness. Sue, in a moment of outstanding inspiration, managed to distract her with food.

And we, a crowd with courage in our purpose and the confidence of prior instruction, answered J.C.’s call-and-response loud and clear.

All of this, you could say, was pretend. Imaginative play, not unlike the scripts that our children bring to life at church a few times a year. Our ideal situation, of course, is one where we never need to confront ICE agents in that context at all, and it’s possible that we will never need to.

But we are people of both prayer and preparation.

(How does the Body of Christ learn?)

It’s two chapters later, in John’s chapter 16, by the way, that Jesus and the disciples have an exchange that, to a teacher’s ear, sounds kind of like this: “Oh!!! We get it!” I mean, from some of the larger context it seems the disciples may only kind of get it, but still! They share a moment!

Back in chapter 14, the disciples are telling Jesus they don’t even know yet what he says they know. And unless they’re just stalling their teacher, they mean it. They need a new perspective. But by chapter 16, the disciples say to Jesus, “Now you are speaking plainly!”

And the Good News is this: Jesus teaches the Body in any way that will get us to those moments of assurance and understanding, no matter how much more there is for us to understand. Sometimes—sometimes he uses words.

(How does the Body of Christ learn?)

(1) By recognizing that troubled hearts can cloud our minds; by comforting our hearts enough that we are in a position to listen. Do not let your hearts be troubled.

(2) By building upon knowledge or resources we already have, and knowing that Jesus will always meet us first wherever we are. You believe in God, believe also in me.

(3) By trusting that Jesus himself is the ongoing fulfillment of his promises to his disciples, promises for abundant life and a directed path. I am the way, and the truth, and the life.

(4) By exploring alternate avenues of understanding, recognizing that a God who prepares a place for us would not prepare it somewhere inaccessible to us. But if you do not.

(5) By participating in the Unforgetting, in the remembrance, in the witness. Believe me because of the works themselves.

(6) And by receiving the Holy Spirit and entrusting her with opportunities to practice within us, honing the muscle memory of our embodied faith. The one who believes in me will do the works that I do, and greater works than these.

Creating a Christian community of faith like ours means we will recognize that not everyone will learn as we do, trust as we do, even believe as we do.

It means being patient and reflective, honoring one another’s wounds and giving those parts of the Body of Christ the care they need to heal before they can be asked to stretch, carry, lift, perceive, speak, sustain. Healing work is learning, too.

And creating a community of faith means humbly acknowledging that, no matter how much we may know alone, we must practice together. We promise to one another that we will show up – to share in our practicing whatever way we are able, so that the Body of Christ is wholly prepared to move as one.

And all the people of God said, “Amen.”

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[i] I learned the importance of such hospitality and embodied care from Heather Elkins, my professor for courses on the Church at Worship and Narrative Preaching; from Angella Son, my professor for Pastoral Care and a week-long intensive on the Spirituality of Joy; and from Lynne Westfield, my professor for Educational Ministries and a week-long intensive on the Holy Spirit, all at Drew Theological School (2010-2014).

[ii] Literally a Dove chocolate wrapper. First Presbyterian Church of New Haven (2018).

[iii] I draw mostly from ideas presented to me by Wesley Ariarajah in Interfaith Dialogue and Melanie Johnson-DeBaufre in New Testament at Drew Theological School (2010-2014) and Cameron Afzal in a course on the Gospel of John at Sarah Lawrence College (2009-2010), alongside other biblical and theological influences and meditation.

[iv] Author Stant Litore

Ten Rules of Peace

Peace activist Father John Dear has been arrested 75 times in acts of civil disobedience, and Archbishop Desmond Tutu has nominated him for the Nobel Peace Prize.




Ten Rules of Peace
according to Fr. John Dear, based upon the work of Henri Nouwen

1. Peace-making starts with prayer. Let Jesus disarm your heart.

2. Peace-making requires resistance to war and violence.

3. Peace-making creates community.

4. Peace-making requires serving the poor and marginalized.

5. Peace-making means accepting weakness.

6. Peace-making requires nonviolence.

7. Peace-making demands social justice.

8. Peace-making makes connections.

9. Peace-making leads to gratitude.

10. Peace-makers follow a nonviolent peace-making Jesus. Jesus was not passive.


Fr. John Dear is an excellent speaker and author who spoke at Drew last semester. Check out his website at FatherJohnDear.org and his autobiography entitled A Persistent Peace, among his other works.

'N Syncretism: The Boy Band of Religion

I'm increasingly interested in interfaith work, improving relations between groups of differing beliefs and traditions, and encouraging peace and collaborative efforts. (The environmental justice movement is a prime example of people seeking and discovering "common ground." Check out GreenFaith, Interfaith Partners for the Environment, based in New Jersey.)

But from discussion of interfaith collaboration often sprouts mention of syncretism.

Religious syncretism is the blending of different beliefs and practices into one new Assimilation Beast. The Melting Pot Model, if you will, rather than the Salad Bowl Model, which is my ideal edible analogy for religious peace - as well as for America, the context in which this imagery is more commonly used.



Syncretism has occurred countless times throughout history between all different traditions. It can be an element of exploration or inclusion of new ideas. It can be a result of cultural conquest - not necessarily even a reflection of strength in numbers and "majority rules," but of otherwise dominant, more "persuasive" culture.

Sometimes peace-seekers commend blending, perhaps the way that Boyzone wants the world to "turn out coffee-colored people by the score." Some appreciate the diversity and long for less nominal, homogeneous unity.

Sometimes people are "accused" of syncretism as an offense. In Shalom, Salaam, Peace, a great interfaith book for dialogue between the Abrahamic religions, Allison Stokes speaks of a minister who was thus accused and nearly lost his position in the church.

Judgment of that particular case is beyond the scope of my own ability and authority.

But here is what I think about syncretism:

It's the boy band of religion.

It seems like a good idea (at least to somebody), so they mastermind a group. Someone coaches them until they not only sound eerily harmonious but nearly indistinguishable from one another. Most of their music is in a major key and their lyrics never develop far beyond trite declarations of love. Cue cultic following and media attention.

Then the member bios come out, and you wonder who drew the short stick to get stuck with a favorite color that none of them actually like. Unable to morph into one cohesive entity, they have no choice but to exploit the individuality of the members. They follow unwritten laws like the Power Ranger Principle - that if they're a team whose members just happen to be differently empowered, brightly colored beasts, they will drum up a lot of interest. The Army Wives series and the Barbie company are similarly adept at this strategy.


(I had this realization thanks to an image on Tickets For Two.)


(Meanwhile - Mattel, can we talk?)

Anyway, after they've used their combined powers to defeat Lord Zedd, they suffer a schism. They annul their collaborative union and go their separate ways, and somebody works through rehab and somebody comes out of the closet and somebody goes on to make a solo album and somebody marries a fan-girl and even though no one remembers the last one's name they seem to recall that his favorite color was yellow and he liked liturgical dance.

In light of all that, or in spite of it, I have a theory.

I believe that every human alive or having lived has something to teach someone else - something significant, and often intensely personal for either teacher or taught. Or both.

I believe that interfaith and intercultural peace rest not in syncretism, but rather in learning itself. Learning just one thing from every other person one encounters. Learning one fact, one practice, one habit, one truth, one hope, one idea, one question that either transforms or informs one's perspective, if even just to fortify a view already held. Not necessarily taking up what is learned. Just learning it; respecting the person who taught it.

We need not all practice alike, believe alike, live alike. Some amount of influence and assimilation may happen, but it need not be forced.

In the film Chocolat, Père Henri preaches: "I think we can't go around measuring our goodness by what we don't do - by what we deny ourselves, what we resist and who we exclude. I think we've got to measure goodness by what we embrace, what we create and who we include."

But I don't think that entails syncretism: I think that would mean denying authenticity, denying ourselves the ability to believe in a way that Père Henri's message does not encourage. I think it is not about creating a single world religion that denies, resists, and excludes different expressions of spirituality. Rather, it is embracing, creating, and including others however we can, knowing that we may not understand them or agree with them perfectly well, and still accepting that as a foundation on which to build peace.

This is my personal interfaith creed: I believe I will learn something transformative or informative from every person with whom I share a conversation, and from many more with whom I may never speak.

Perhaps someone someday will prove it wrong.

But if that becomes the case, then I imagine that I will have much more to mull over than the basic idea that I had been wrong about this philosophy.

The Devil's Greatest Trick

Or, "At the Risk of Being Heretical"

Years ago, when I had frequent theological debates with a friend (or two) and was gradually restoring my faith, I also confronted the issue of whether or not the devil exists, and if so, in what form.


This would not have been my first guess.

Amidst her responses, my friend said, "The greatest trick the devil ever pulled is convincing the world he doesn't exist." (Which I now know to be a quote from The Usual Suspects, 1995.)

And I came to believe that. Perhaps not - as my church history professor would say - as a "True Truth," but at least acknowledging that - yes, it would even be logical that the devil (whatever that is) would stand to gain even more from people denying its existence.

It's more difficult to reject something if you do not recognize what it is. If you do not acknowledge that something exists at all, you may or may not exhibit it, follow it, experience it, or succumb to it from time to time; you depend upon its assumed nonexistence to validate the assumption that you have not exhibited it. Followed it. Experienced it. Succumbed to it. And if you did, how would you know? How would you recognize it?

I realize that's wordy and weirdly written. So take, for example, jealousy.

Suppose you believe that jealousy does not exist; never in your life before have you experienced or witnessed it. Then your sister receives a special award. Your brother succeeds at work. Your lifelong friend has only one extra ticket to an event and wants to invite... the new grocer. Why weren't you awarded, successful, or invited? Oh, but you don't want a logical answer! That would only add insult to injury. You simply indulge in the indignant feelings until someone tells you that you've been jealous.

Then it's up to you to decide again whether or not you believe that it exists (as opposed to deciding whether or not it exists). But because jealousy is a definable something, it would be difficult for you to convince others - who operate in a reality in which jealousy is not only existent but identifiable - that this is not the case.

Just for fun, try that line of thought on your own with something like "poverty" or "war." If only saying that they don't exist could be enough.

But I don't intend to debate on the existence of the devil. The examples here of jealousy, poverty and war have the advantage of involving "familiarly real" things. It would seem that the concept of the devil is more abstract, in a sense, than the range of human emotions and experiences that a majority of people (I venture to generalize) consider real. I don't presume to have proof that the rest of humanity hasn't been privy to. So allow me to take the liberty of not going there.

I would like to say, however, that I have a new perspective on this "great trick."

The devil's greatest trick is not convincing the world that it doesn't exist, though that's a mighty good one. Props, devil.

No. The devil's greatest trick is convincing people of Peace, those who believe that Peace is graciously given and not earned, that anyone who does not also practice a specific means of Peace is exempt from or undeserving of Peace.

Utterly defeated by the ultimate sacrifice of a Creator that loves the created world more than any language can articulate, the devil finds yet one more way to fight:

Allow humans to believe that this love, this act, this divinity can be contained. Let them receive guidance toward a life of Peace - fine. Ah, but then let them resist it at its core! Let them ask, "Which of us is first? Who will sit on your right and on your left?" (See Mark 10:35-45.) Let them develop hierarchies, both for the sake of power and even in an innocent effort to maintain order. Let them suffer disorder and divide in spite of themselves. Let them enjoy the wonder of spiritual exploration, the blessing of self-expression, the miracle of experiencing the sacred - and then let them organize it, categorize it, name it, and proclaim it for some and not for the rest! Let them honor the Word of God and in the same breath presume to comprehend it in its entirety! Let them commit over and over the first sin of humanity: wishing to be God, idolizing themselves, invoking without restraint the authority of God! Let them follow the Way and let them lose their way within it!

Following Christ is far more than following rules so as not to be chastised or punished. One must actively follow the way of Peace - the way of Christ - in order to create, nurture, and perpetuate that Peace. To fail to act in accordance with the all-encompassing love that Jesus Christ exuded and tried desperately to help us understand is to disrupt that Peace and create something lesser in its place. To claim the Peace of Christ for only those who proclaim his name is to reject and oppose the very Peace intended by Christ's life and death and resurrection; it is to assume the salvific authority of God. Perhaps the clearest way to "deny Christ" - as some would posit is means for separation from God (debatably contrary to Romans 8:38-39) - is to deny the very unconditional nature of God's grace. Perhaps one most directly rejects Jesus Christ by first believing in his existence and authority, and then refusing to accept everything that Jesus means.

And the most miraculous part of all of this? Not only does God, through Christ, initiate a covenant with all people, but God forgives those who deny the existence of that all-encompassing covenant, who seek God exclusively for themselves and the like-minded! Those who choose Christ yet lose the Way are nevertheless allowed the grace that they are afraid to extend to anyone else, the grace that God is practically bursting at the seams to give.

And that is the Good News of Jesus Christ.


Now, I must ask another question of you. Have I proof-texted? Have I made illogical claims or twisted the truth to placate my own deep-seated desire to reconcile people of all beliefs? If I'm wrong, I pray God forgive me. Please do not take anything I have said for authority beyond my own expressed thoughts - particularly my application of the Bible. I'm in theological school, yes - I am a student, and even when I am no longer a student I will only have all the more to learn. I never intend to have the divine understanding of God alone, but I cannot help but want to understand more than I do now.

So help me investigate!

Mutually Bound

Recently we have talked and read at length about inter-religious connections and ecumenism. This has long been an interest of mine and I wish to explore it much more during my time at Drew.

What follows is an excerpt from something I wrote earlier this year. I share it now as a background as to where I'm coming from - part of why I am here and some of the questions I have brought with me. Perhaps it will be something to refer back to as I learn more over the next few years.

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How do religions interconnect, and how do we rectify their intellectual aspects? Is it possible for people of different backgrounds to maintain their spiritual strength without breaking down that of their counterparts? This is the theological dilemma which I find most pertinent both spiritually and academically, particularly in the past four years while I studied at Sarah Lawrence, a religiously diverse college. In the final year, I conducted an oral history project on students’ beliefs, faith, and experience. I hoped to encourage both academic and personal dialogue between students and provide a relaxed and respectful atmosphere in which they can explore and express their beliefs. Diverse in every possible way, no two interviewees professed precisely the same faith, yet all shared much in common.

Such is true, I find, of Christian denominations. Can Christians be both spiritually catholic and protestant, if not nominally, socially, or politically? Catholic: broad or wide-ranging; having sympathies with all; universal. Protestant: protesting injustice and corruption; striving for improvement, reform, and objectivity; from the word meaning "to bear public witness." Did Christ not represent all of these qualities?

A Roman Catholic priest once told me that "God does not check your denomination like an I.D. card." In the past decade, the Vatican, the Lutheran World Federation, and the World Methodist Council came together in the Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification, stating that "by grace alone, in faith in Christ's saving work and not because of any merit on our part, we are accepted by God and receive the Holy Spirit, who renews our hearts while equipping and calling us to good works." In our doctrine and our divides, how do we differentiate the human from the divine? How does Christ bring unity and peace to a world in which Christianity creates further divisions and categories? Most significantly, must we erase these categories – must we be a reconciled Catholic church, or a Unitarian Universalist church, or a nondenominational church – or is it possible to respect human individuality while honoring the universality of the Divine?

As my project progressed I found inspiration and assurance that, though the journey for peace may be a long one, it is possible. It requires a willingness to speak and to be silent, a willingness to listen. With each interview, I learned not only to listen better but to listen to what cannot be heard.

Lilla Watson said, "If you have come here to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together." Her words transformed my entire perspective of outreach; although I had not reduced it to charity or good deeds, I had not fully comprehended the interconnectedness of humanity, our sufferings and our hopes. And not only has it affected my approach to serving the poor, the hungry, and the outcast, but it has convinced me that peace in every sense is a matter in which our liberation is mutually bound.