It was around bedtime for the kids. I was in their room, reading a book to Sam and Simone while Abe was playing with trucks. Sprawled and stretched out on the ground like a happy, rested dog. And then the text came. It was from a woman that had been a friend of my wife’s for many years. But a friend that had grown quickly distant since we moved back to Arkansas. I would have been surprised by the text, if not for the fact that we’d seen this snowball rolling for some time. An avalanche was coming. It just wasn’t how we ever envisioned our pastoral ministry among the church that raised us up.

– – –

In our first couple months back, I remember Amy asking me one Sunday after service if I had noticed how people were treating us differently since we’d arrived home. But she was most surprised by those who she’d known and loved for a long time.

We reached out to one of those families. Pursued them. Shared a table. Broke bread. And quickly dove into hard conversations.

This couple had been having a hard time with the way I preached about Jesus as a God who is concerned about us communally, and not just individually. I wasn’t just sharing the gospel message of personal “spiritual” salvation. And that was frustrating. And worrisome.

They also felt like we were focusing too much on race and privilege. And “social justice” as a whole.

Amy and I were open and honest, communicating our convictions without catering to their comfort. We held true to our truth, and aimed to remain composed and kind throughout.

I remember getting back into the car hoping that this couple could grab a glimpse of the Jesus I knew that cared not only about souls, but also bodies. On earth, in and through flesh, as it is in heaven. And not just our bodies — our very beings — but also the collective body. The Body of Christ.

Yet, months later, as I received the text from that friend, I realized just how far the chasm truly was.

– – –

I was tucking the kids in that night. And afterward, I was hoping to spend an hour to myself. Getting my heart ready. Because the next day I would be preaching for the weekend to 100+ students at the Middle School camp where I first heard and received the gospel myself as an 8th grade boy.

But before I could get the kids in bed, the text came:

Hey Bobby, hear you are camp speaker this weekend. I am confident you will do a great job! Praying the Spirit moves thru you to reach the hearts of those kids with God’s love and they are overwhelmed by Jesus sacrifice for them. They find their true value and worth in Him alone.

On a personal note…please please stick with the gospel and leave off the Social Justice Warrior slant. As an adult I struggle with buying into some of what u are preaching friend.

I am trusting my  influential child to you to your guidance and teaching. I don’t want him to be indoctrinated to anything but the gospel.

That’s my job! 😉

I wanted you u to know it’s a real concern and hear it directly from me. Please believe it’s shared with love.

– – –

It took me a minute just to get past the winky face emoji. But mama said there’d be days like this. There’d be days like this, my mama said. And mama, therapy, and a whole lot of Jesus had prepared me for days like this.

Deep breath.

Clear reply.

I thanked her for sharing her thoughts, while also telling her they were very hurtful and hard to receive. I let her know we would aim to talk in person after I got back from camp. And that was it.

I had no intentions of diving into critical race theory with energy-drink drunk middle schoolers, but the fact that a congregant couldn’t withhold that punch. They had to share their truth “in love”. But when they said: “please please stick with the gospel and leave off the Social Justice Warrior slant”, here’s what I heard:

– Please don’t share with my middle school son about a God who calls us to seek shalom in our struggling society…

You see, when we shun terms like “Social Justice Warrior” that shame the good work of God, we fail to see the Gospel thread we’re unconsciously unraveling.

Social. Justice. Warrior. This is a term that followers of Christ stand against?

What then of Micah 6:8?

He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
    And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God.

Is “acting justly” a progressive posture? Or a Godly one?

What then of Matthew 25?

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

Is what we do for the “least of these” not in line with a lived-out Gospel?

What then of Amos 5:24?

But let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream!

Is standing in the way of justice not equivalent to building a dam against God’s mighty river?

Isaiah 61:8 tells us, “I, the LORD, love justice!” Proverbs 29:7 reminds us: “The righteous care about justice for the poor, but the wicked have no such concern.” Matthew 12:18 shows us about Jesus:

Here is my Servant whom I have chosen, the One I love, in whom I delight; I will put my Spirit on Him, and He will proclaim justice to the nations. A battered reed he will not break off, and a smoldering wick He will not put out, until He leads justice to victory.

As the Body of Christ, are we not to be the hands and feet of Christ here and now? His Kingdom come, on earth as it is in heaven? What kind of discipleship forms followers of Jesus into believing that seeking justice in and among the world we live in (our society) is not something in line with the work of God?

Jesus did not come for the healthy, but for the sick (Mark 2:17). And he believed his missional vocation would be fulfilled through living out the prophetic Isaiah scroll in Luke 4:

“The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
    because he has anointed me
    to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
    and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free,
    to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

Our Savior spoke these words to a people that were actually poor, actually blind, actually oppressed. Do these words also convey an individual, spiritual sense? Of course. But is our faith only limited to God’s work in the individual, spiritual sphere? I don’t believe so.
Anyone working through the gospels or the book of Acts will be surely struck by the communal and physical nature of God’s salvation work as well. In fact, I encourage you, the next time you read through these sacred stories, to keep your eyes on the movement of God among people’s shared lives. Their societies.

Jesus tells us that he is the “Bread of Life”, but he also feeds actual bread to sustain life for a crowd of 5,000 and more. It’s both/and, not either/or. This must be what an actual expression of the gospel lived out looks like among us as well.

When the Apostle Paul calls out Peter in Galatians 2, because Peter abruptly switches seats from sitting among the Gentiles in the lunchroom, to moving among the Jews when they enter the room, what does Paul say to him? He tells this “Rock of the Church” he was not “living in line with the truth of the gospel” as he segregated from the Gentiles and further marginalized them in this new faith family. Was Paul a “Social Justice Warrior” because he advocated for social equity on behalf of his newfound Gentile brothers? I hope by now we could say “yes” to that question, while also seeing with un-scaled eyes that seeking such shalom in the social sphere is also “in line with the truth of the gospel”.

We’re restoring the humanity that’s been stolen by society. Re-envisioning the image of God that’s been shamed by society. Rediscovering the communal calling that’s been suffocated by society.

Surely this is holy work. Surely this is the work of God.

– – –

I spoke that weekend at middle school camp. And I began by sharing the story of the woman at the well in John 4, focusing on the gravity of pain all of us bring to the well when we first encounter Jesus.

And then I turned to the woman caught in adultery, the one set to be stoned in John 8. I highlighted Jesus’ willingness to fight for us, while also recognizing the nature of our shared sin as humans.

But to be honest, it’s impossible for me to teach those stories without also sharing what’s in the text. It was radical for a Jewish rabbi to speak one-on-one with a Samaritan woman in John 4. It was unjust for a woman to be dragged alone to her death in John 8 while not giving the same punishment to the man. The Bible exposes these injustices, and if we have eyes to see, we recognize Christ is not far from fighting for such shalom, but is actually right there at the center of the story. Could this be true for us as well one day?

– – –

A year or so later, I shared this story with a couple of our best friends in California. They’re a Jewish couple who practice hospitality and generosity and loving-kindness like few others I know. And as I stepped into their home, I saw a coffee-book table about the history of those seeking social justice in these United States. Women’s suffrage. Freedom riders. Worker’s rights.

When I explained how this kind of work had been used against me in my ministry back home, they looked at Amy and I with such confusion in their eyes:

“Isn’t this the kind of work Christians are supposed to be all about?”

“Yes, friends. Yes, I believe it is.”

Together, we all shook our heads some more. And then turned the page in the book. Wondering what the next movement for equity would be.

I was sitting in an elder’s meeting. 6 AM on a Tuesday. A small group of mostly older white men. One of them pulled out a stapled stack of printed paper. And began to pass the sheets around. They were printed copies of Twitter posts. None of them personally written by anyone on our church staff. But all of them “liked” or “retweeted” by either a staff member or a pastor we were supporting at seminary. And both of them, women.

Before the “evidence” made its way over to me, I first took note of the men’s faces as they perused the material. One thing was evident: they were not pleased. Their eyes squinted. Lips curled. Heads tilted and swayed. Like your dad’s when you had done something wrong. The disappointment. Disdain. Disgust.

As I held the printed social media posts in my hands (a strange experience all its own), I took in the damning material. Carefully. Thoughtfully. Open-mindedly. Both my education of exegesis and of journalistic exploration rising to the surface. Like a napping dog whose ear has awoken and is fixed on figuring out what was stirring enough to shake the sleep.

What I immediately saw was the immense distance between these two differing worlds. The middle child in me could swiftly gather how these older white men could be so quickly confounded and confused by the words set before them. While I could just as fully appreciate what would lead my sisters to share the social and theological statements they had re-posted online. But what I didn’t understand is what happened next.

This conversation was not open for conversation. There were stances to be taken. Lines to be drawn. Positions to be held. Consequences to be had.

But never, never in any of it, was there ever a Christ-like curiosity to consider the worlds of the women behind these words.

What would inspire one of these women to re-tweet another writer’s righteous anger toward John Piper, in response to Piper’s statement that women could never be police officers — because this would give a woman authority over men in certain situations?

That question wasn’t asked. Nor was whether or not Piper’s stance held up to the heart of God’s Word. And certainly there wasn’t a woman present (nor allowed) in this room to offer a potentially different perspective in these matters.

Instead, what I heard a man defiantly proclaim was, “And one of these posts is against John Piper? How could someone say something against John Piper?!” The look of incredulity on his face almost as great as the bewilderment brewing in my own inner dialogue:

“So John Piper is above rebuke? No matter what? That sure seems like a dangerous approach to employ toward anyone, especially a faith leader.”

I did my best to speak up, and a few others did, too. We knew silence substituted for agreement in situations such as these. But our voices were quickly drowned out in a sea of dismissal as the tides of discourse shifted to impact and implications.

Someone would need to sit these women down and set them straight. And if they didn’t change their course, then…well, then we’d need to have an even more serious discussion.

Perhaps seminary support would need to be cut off, even as this pastor was in her last stretch of seminary, 1,600 miles away from this meeting. No longer on staff at this church. Never given certain social media standards to abide by. But just like that…if we don’t understand what you’re re-posting, then we can make you pay. Period.

I pictured this Latina sister of mine there at her home. Her husband. Her son. Sitting at the dinner table. Potentially with financial assistance shut down and cut off because of decisions made by mostly older white men in a meeting at 6 AM on a Tuesday. None of these men had any idea of the costly sacrifice it took to uproot from one’s family, one’s hometown, all in order to follow the heart of God calling one to pursue a master’s education at one of the most rigorous theological and academic institutions in the world. Making it month to month on the generous blessing of those giving to you fully and freely.

I thought of that price, while also considering the cost of another:

Curiosity.

– – –

Curiosity is kindness. But curiosity requires courage.

The cost of curiosity is courage. Because inquiring about something you do not know nor understand means venturing into uncharted territory. The fear of the unknown. And the confrontation with another who passionately believes something far different than you has the potential to be both disruptive and disorienting. And it takes courage to step into such sacred spaces, the places where our experiential understanding crashes into its uttermost limits.

So when we find ourselves at such a catalytic crossroads, we have two options.
And both require building: will we construct walls or build bridges?

Condemnation carries with it the hardware to construct walls.
Curiosity bears the blueprints needed to build bridges.

– – –

As you look through the gospel, fix your eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith. What trails does he blaze? What pathways does he perfect? Over and over, Jesus is met by the religious leaders of his day with inquisition. But this is not the kindness of curiosity. No, this is condemnation cloaked by questions. Preconceived notions aimed at proving one wrong. Deep-seeded suspicion in action. These keepers of the law have no holy imagination to see things anew. All they see is things askew. And their job is to fix it. To bring back order. To keep things as they are. No matter the cost.

But these Pharisees are not the only ones with questions throughout the gospels. Notice how Jesus invokes earnest sincerity through curiosity.

In just a handful of chapters midway through the book of Luke, I hear Christ asking a handful of questions:

“I ask you, which is lawful on the Sabbath: to do good or to do evil, to save life or destroy it?”

“If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you?”

“What did you go out into the wilderness to see?”

“Who do the crowds say I am?”

“Who do you say I am?”

Each question, a Christ-centered encounter. No condemnations. Just opportunities. Possibilities. Faith steps to be taken. Journeys of introspection and interaction to be had.

Christ calling us to consider. And re-consider. Our motives. Our desires. Our beliefs. Our traditions. Our practices.

Why do we do what we do? Why do we believe what we believe?

As we hear the heart of Christ, we can discern the difference between interrogation and invitation. Tearing down the walls. Building up new bridges.

– – –

I volunteered to speak with both women. Knowing I could do so with care and compassion. These were dear friends. Sisters, even. We’d spent years serving together. Our families had shared time. Tables. We’d prayed. Laughed. Sang. Sat. All of life and all of ministry. And over the years, many a conversation that would challenge and stretch and provoke and illuminate.

But isn’t that what relationship is? Isn’t that what the Body of Christ is? Don’t we each bring different backgrounds that help us build up and support what one cannot see solely on their own? Couldn’t our world use more kindness and curiosity? Couldn’t the Church?

To the best of my knowledge, these elders never sincerely sought the “why” behind these women’s re-posts. They never did the hard work of having the hard conversation. Not once.

They were willing to talk about cutting off seminary funding without even a firsthand, kind-hearted, compassionate conversation with the woman they would stop sending support to. A woman who had served and led in that church for years prior.

I would say I was shocked. But I got the same treatment. Not once did one of these elders seek me out, either, for my differing beliefs regarding God’s design and desire for women and men to serve and lead together, side by side. As true equals. In all levels of leadership in the local church and beyond. Police officers included.

They would never a share a cup of coffee with the Word opened humbly between us and before us. Instead, one would go behind my back to demand my resignation after I voiced my beliefs at an elder’s meeting. Another would show up at a different meeting with another stapled stack of printed paper. Quotes from a conference where I shared my convictions about the Spirit’s divine empowerment upon sons AND daughters.

As a man, though, I had the privilege of presence. I was able to be there in person in the face of such accusations. To speak up for myself right there in the moment. A luxury my sisters were never afforded. Instead, all they got were hard stones thrown from a cold distance.

– – –

Church, there is such danger in leadership defined by condemnation and not curiosity. Conversations not open for conversation. Stances to be taken. Lines to be drawn. Positions to be held. Consequences to be had.

But there is such opportunity in a world of curiosity. Because curiosity truly is kind. Why do I say it’s “kind”? Because curiosity cares rather than convicts. It lets the person on the other end of the line know you find value in their worldview. Their opinion. Their belief. Their interpretation. Their experience. Their convictions.

This does not mean that any and everything goes. It does not mean that truth is whatever we want it to be. But it does mean that we each are limited by our own points of view. And more often than not, there is a greater blessing to be had in holding the heart of another.

When we do so, we let the person sitting across from us know that we’ll take the time to simply sit together. Learn together. See a new perspective. Share a beloved presence.

While a church, organization, and institution needs distinguishable boundaries, there also needs to be a different approach if and when those lines are clearly crossed. We must come to these critical conversations with such care. Compassion. Kindness. And curiosity. Knowing we know not everything. It might not be as clear as we thought. And often, what pierced their heart was an arrow that’s never been aimed our way.

There is always more to the story. And as we take the time to share our stories, and  humbly hold theirs, we receive the reward of having our eyes opened a little wider, our hearts stretched a bit more. And we are knit together, tighter, as the shared Body of Christ.

So set down the stones, Church. And pick up the phones.

Courageously call. With curiosity, kindness, and care. Seek and listen and learn. Open yourself up to hear something new. Offer yourself up with the compassion of Christ. The world needs your curiosity. The Church needs your courage.