I’m never sure how to explain how thoughts coalesce in my brain. Usually, it’s topics that keep coming at me from different angles. In this case, those angles are various discussions we’ve had lately at church, with fellow authors about topics in books, and also about some reactions and “demands” authors have been getting about their books.

I’ve written plenty on here in the last year about the “outrage” culture, and this is part of that. But where it concerns me most is where it’s found a home within the church–and not just in recent years. This aspect has, I think, been a part of us for a long, long time. That when we latch on to a belief or a point of view, so often we feel that in order to uphold that, we must tear down the other. 

An example from history (into the present) is the ongoing tension between Catholic and Protestant. These groups have found ways to disdain, persecute, vilify, and tear each other down for centuries. And it never ceases to sadden me. There are things on which the two sides don’t agree, yes. Sometimes those are big things. But what is achieved by arguing about it, pointing fingers, and accusing each other of not being Christian because we don’t agree?

Another example is that there’s a movement I just became aware of that is claiming (not for the first time in history) that the church and certain ministers and authors have been trying to keep them down. They’re getting in touch with authors and ministers and demanding apologies for the work that “hurt” them. They’re mounting smear and bad-review campaigns. They’re spending hours, days, months of their lives actively trying to tear down people that they’ve decided are their enemies. Within the Christian community. Why?

See, here’s the thing. Christianity is revolutionary. It always was. It always will be. It challenges us to leave behind the old, the assumptions, the religion-for-the-sake-of-it and embrace a Christ who says, “No, look deeper. Action isn’t enough–motivation matters too.” It is always new, always fresh, for each generation. But when each generation realizes that, they all to often assume they’re the first to do so. We forget sometimes that the insights we’ve come to were already realized before–countless times. We don’t understand that our mothers, our grandmothers, our great-grandmothers had quietly (or not so quietly) come to realizations of their own. We only see ours. And so we think it’s necessary to push this “new” thing out into the world so it can find its place.

But the world is already crowded with ideas, right? How do you find a place for yours? Well, if it’s a really good one, I think it will just find its home alongside other truths. But all too often, people decide they have to push it…which means pushing out something else. They have to tear down that other thing in order to build theirs. Progress, right?

When I hear of these sorts of movements, I’m always part angry and mostly sad. Because they don’t seem to realize that they’re tearing down their own foundations. You don’t have to agree with every teaching you’ve ever heard from someone or some group or some denomination. I know I don’t. But I’m also definitely not willing to say God wasn’t with them. That they didn’t believe. That they weren’t really of the faith. I’m not willing to say, “The work you spent a lifetime achieving is awful and deserves to be torn down.” I’m not willing to say God wasn’t in it.

Because if God was in it, even a little, even in just some of the details…who am I to tear it down? Do I honestly believe I have every detail right?

I know a lot of protestants who refuse to read the early church fathers’ writings because they deem them “Catholic.” Even though they were written a thousand years before there was a divide–in a time when “Catholic” literally just meant “the Church.” Though they’ve never read them, they usually have a lot to say about them, and about why they won’t read them. Things that tear down. Things that try to paint anything Catholic as bad, unchristian, misguided, weird, or downright evil.

But those are the very foundations of our church, the Protestant church, too. If you tear it down…where does that leave you? When you dig out the bedrock on which you’re built, how long can the house stay square?

The same is true of all these modern movements, both inside and outside of the church. How can we blissfully dig away at everything we disagree with, without thought to the consequences? When you tear at the fiber of something–churches, families, religions, politics, communities, cultures, countries–you know what you end up with? A lot of holes. A weakened fabric. Something ready to fall apart.

We’re never all going to agree. But you know what? Unity isn’t about agreeing on every detail. It’s about agreeing on what’s most important and deciding to value the stance of your neighbor in everything else. It’s about saying, “I want you to grow and be strong,” rather than, “I think you’re wrong.” And this goes not just for your neighbor in today’s world, but for your neighbor in history too. Those theologians we enjoy debating about–they were people who dedicated a lifetime to working for God too. When we tear apart their writings, what if we’re tearing apart something God inspired?

We’re all wrong about things. We’re all right about other things. Most of us are a pretty good mix of listening to God and listening to our own wants. But you know what I don’t ever want? For the Lord to say to me, “Why did you tear down the work I was doing with them over there? Don’t you think I’m big enough to work there with them and here with you?”

He’s so big, my friends. So big that He can’t be confined to one denomination or movement or culture or time period. He’s so big that He can work in different ways and show people different parts of His truth. We’re not that big–we can’t focus on it all. But that’s okay. You work where you’re called. I’ll work where I am. Each of us only needs to seek after Him. And when our paths cross and even clash, let’s not think we’re in competition for the Lord’s favor and we need to push each other aside to gain the prize. Let’s instead come alongside each other and cheer each other on.

Because never once did God tell us to tear each other down–certainly not fellow Christ-followers, but not even our enemies. He tells us to build each other up. To pray for our enemies and those who persecute us. And maybe it’s because of this:

If we spend all our time in demolition, we never actually build anything for Him. And so, at the end of our lives, what do we have to show for all our efforts but a pile of rubble?

Let’s build something together, friends. Let’s #BeBetter. Let’s focus less on where we disagree and more on the God who calls us all to Him.

The sunrise down my driveway

We live in the mountains. Specifically, the Appalachians in West Virginia. Our home is nestled up against the side of one of these mountains, in a little bit of a valley. It’s wooded–the sort of area where it’s more remarkable to see open fields along this road than trees.

Ever since moving out here eight years ago, I’ve noticed the wind. Windy days (and nights) are nothing new. But only here have I ever had this particular experience–one I noticed again just last week.

When I’m outside on a windy day, I become keenly aware of the nature of those really big wind gusts. Because I can hear them coming. I’m talking 30 seconds before it arrives, I can hear this mighty whoosh from the north. I can hear those mighty blasts of air traveling over the mountains, down the valleys. Shaking the trees, stirring the leaves.

A force of nature. Giving me warning.

This isn’t something I can hear from inside–safe in the comfort of my kitchen, I never know the gust are coming until I see them hit–see the limbs of the trees bending, the garden ornaments toppling, the tarps go flying.

But outside. When I’m there in it, I have time to react. Generally, there isn’t much I choose to do, other than turn my face to the north and wait for it to hit, so I can marvel at the power of it. But sometimes I’ll run to secure the laundry or to put down the sun umbrella, or I’ll just zip up my sweatshirt.

Wind is one of those invisible forces often used as an example of spiritual things, isn’t it? Something we can’t see but still experience–like God. And the Spirit is likened to a rushing wind, right?

But as I pondered this anticipation of wind, I realized something else about our Father. Something pretty amazing.

He doesn’t move without warning.

There’s a verse in the Old Testament about God never acting without first telling one of His prophets. But even the New Testament church, even today, I think the same thing is often the case. When God moves, it’s with preparation. He stirs His people first. He prepares them for what’s coming. He moves hearts and minds so that they’re ready.

Ready for when the gusts of His Spirit come. Ready for when mountains shake. Ready for when anything not tethered down goes flying.

But we don’t always hear His warnings, do we? When we’re safe inside our comfort zones, perhaps, we don’t even listen for them. We’re content to just sit there, right where we are, and watch Him move out there.

Lord, I don’t want to be sitting here inside my bubble when You move. I don’t want to be “safe” from the power of Your Spirit. I don’t want to just watch You stir others.

I want to be out there. In it. Turning my face to the north and waiting.

Waiting to experience Your power.