"Made Clean" (Acts 11:1-18)

There are stories, and then there are stories. Stories so big, so meaningful, that they give meaning to life. Stories that help shape societies and civilizations. Stories that explain what it means to be alive.

Scholars call stories like these myths. Now, you may have heard the word myth used to describe anything that isn’t true; you may have heard the word myth to mean the opposite of fact.

But scholars use the word myth very differently.

A myth may not be literally true, but a myth always contains a deeper truth. The literal, factual truth of the myth isn’t what’s important. What’s important is the meaning it provides to a society, to a culture, to generation after generation, and how it helps a society understand itself and its place in the universe.

Stories that fit this definition certainly include many from the Bible. The Creation. The Exodus. Babylonian Captivity.

We find them in other religions. The great flood that we read about in Genesis is an ancient story that is found in many near-eastern religions.

America has its myths. George Washington and the Cherry Tree, for example. Scholars debate just how factually true that story is. But there is no doubt that it is a story that helps us understand who we are as a nation and who we strive to be. It exemplifies the qualities we want in our leaders and in ourselves. And for that reason, it continues to be told.

It is mythic.

A number of American myths have given shape to Disneyland. The old frontier, for example, with Davy Crockett. Davy Crockett was a real person; but not all the stories told about him are factual. Yet for a long time in our country, they were mythic, because they helped us understand who we were as a people and who we wanted to be.

Sometimes, the stories that shape us change. You don’t see many references to Davy Crockett in Frontierland anymore. And Tomorrowland – well, the story told there today is not the story that was told in Tomorrowland a few decades ago.

My first visits to Disneyland were when I was a child in the 1970s. I remember entering Tomorrowland, which at the time my favorite of all the lands at Disneyland.

As I entered Tomorrowland, on the left there was the Circlevision theater showing “America the Beautiful.” On the right was “Adventures thru Inner Space,” which explored the mysteries and potential of

scientific discovery.

The buildings housing “America the Beautiful” and “Adventures thru Inner Space” were across from each other, and the exterior of both buildings featured beautiful murals by artist Mary Blair. The north mural showed children from different nations dancing and making music. Ribbons above their heads symbolized global communications. At the top of the mural were communication satellites, bringing the world closer together.

The south mural, on the Adventure Thru Inner Space building, was about energy, with nods to solar energy, wind energy, water power, and fire.

Walt Disney personally chose Mary Blair’s art to bring optimism and joy to Tomorrowland.

I didn’t realize it then, but these attractions, and the murals, all contributed to the story, the myth. Together, they created an epic story of our world’s present and future, a future of hope, of discovery, of cooperation among peoples and nations working together to create a better world.

The Mary Blair murals are gone. Whether they were removed or just covered up, I don’t know. And the rides are different, too.

On the left, where America the Beautiful used to be, is a ride called Buzz Lightyear’s Astro Blasters. Inside the ride, guests use laser blasters to shoot at and

defeat the evil Emperor Zurg.

On the right is Star Tours, a ride based on the Star Wars franchise.

And in place of the Mary Blair murals, we now have murals of outer space, of starships and space stations and the Death Star.

All this, taken together, tells a very different story.

Instead of Walt Disney’s vision of optimism and joy for a better world, we’ve left this world entirely for a universe of wars and battles in outer space.

It’s a very divided universe.

In Buzz Lightyear’s universe, it’s us vs. the evil emperor Zurg.

In the Star Wars universe, it’s the rebels vs. the Empire, the dark side vs. the light side.

The stories about our future have changed.

The myth of hope, discovery, and cooperation has transformed into a myth of good vs. evil, us vs. them.

I only mention this about Disneyland because Disneyland does so well at taking the big, epic, mythic stories of our time and presenting them to us in the form of entertainment. Disney didn’t create these stories. Disney didn’t initiate the shift from a future of earthly optimism and joy to a future of conflict in outer space. Disney is simply reflecting back to us our own increasingly dark, pessimistic vision for the future of this planet.

Today, many young people have given up hope for a future that is better than the present. Young adult fiction set in the future is most often dark and pessimistic. Young people know that climate change is real, and they know that they will be the ones who will have to deal with its effects. We don’t seem any closer to achieving peace today than we were  in the past. The problems of racism and prejudice, which many thought were becoming things of the past, we now know are still present, still tearing apart lives and societies. And economically, unless you happen to be among the very richest of the rich, it’s getting harder and harder to be able to afford things like housing and healthcare and college.

No wonder the stories we tell are shifting from hope for a better world to a more pessimistic story in which this world is beyond saving, and our best hope is to leave this world entirely for a new world in outer space, and even then, there will still be wars and battles and unimaginable terrors.

That’s the story that we now tell about our future.

Fortunately we in the church have another, alternative story. An epic story. A story of mythic proportions. A story we need to hear, again. A story we need to tell.

It’s a story of an earth that is good. Very good. An earth that is worth saving. An earth which is filled with all kinds of creatures and plants, all of which were created by God, all of which were pronounced good, all of which – together – constitute this remarkable, interrelated ecosystem in which we live, and move, and have our being.

In this story, we hear that – early on – people did divide creation into good and bad, clean and unclean. People defined boundaries that set them apart from each other. But in time, they learned to overcome those boundaries.

It’s the path we all take. The first great task of life is figuring out who we are; defining oneself, discovering what it is that makes one unique. Then, we move on to the second task, which involves learning that who I am is connected to who you are. The boundaries that define us are meant to be open boundaries, like the walls around a city that has many open gates that allow people and information to flow back and forth. We are all connected. All things, all people are good.

This discovery is made in the second half of one’s life journey.

Unfortunately, some people never get there.

Peter, one of Jesus’s disciples, might never have got there except for the prompting of God’s Spirit. Thank God Peter was open to listening for the Spirit’s voice. Recognizing that we are all one often requires the Spirit’s help. It doesn’t happen of our own initiative. All we can do is be open to it when it does happen.

For Peter, it happened like this. One day, he was meditating. Praying. Sitting in silence. Opening himself up to the Spirit.  It’s amazing how important times of silence are to a growing, maturing faith.

In his time of prayer and meditation, Peter saw a vision. A large sheet was lowered from heaven, and on the sheet were many animals that Jews considered unclean. Not eating these animals was one of the things that helped define Jewish identity.

And a voice said to Peter, “Get up, kill, and eat.”

This was a whole new story, and at first, Peter refused. Only non-Jews ate the animals that Peter saw. Only Gentiles. One of the things that distinguished Jews from Gentiles were their eating habits, and Peter had been well-trained to follow a strict kosher diet.

So he replied, “No, Lord; Nothing unclean or profane has ever entered my mouth.”

But the voice said, “What God has made clean, you shall not call profane.”

This happened three times.

Then Peter realized: this wasn’t about food. This was about the distinctions made between different groups of people. It was about the separation, the disconnection, between various groups of people who all desired to follow Jesus.

And Peter realized that no thing and no person that  God has made is unclean.

God created everything. God created everything, and pronounced it all good. As a growing, maturing person of faith, Peter knew who he was. He knew his identity. He knew that he was loved by God and called by God. Now that his identity was established in his mind, God was teaching him that everyone and everything else was also loved by God, and that all were connected.

There is no good or bad. There is no clean or unclean. All things and all people are made by God, and they are all connected. They’re all connected to each other, and to the earth from which they came.

And it is all good.

Peter had to be told this three times before he understood it. In our world today, even three times is not enough. We are all connected: to each other, and to the earth. Everything is created by God, and it is all good in God’s eyes.

If we truly understood this – if this was the story we told, the myth that shaped our world – what a difference it would make!

If we recognized the earth as sacred and holy and good, we wouldn’t limit our vision of the future to one in which we leave this planet for something else.

If we recognized the earth as sacred and holy and good, we wouldn’t pollute it and destroy it as we are doing now.

If we recognized the earth as sacred and holy and good, we would take care of it. All of it. Every plant, every creature, every lake and forest.

Every person.

Because everything is connected. All of it was made by God and pronounced good and clean. It is through our actions that God’s good, clean earth becomes spoiled and unclean.

Our addiction to fossil fuels is destroying the land, making our air toxic, and destroying lives. But we can end this addiction.

Our addiction to plastic is polluting our land and oceans. Whales and other sea creatures are dying because their stomachs are full of ingested plastic. Are whales not holy, sacred, and good in God’s eyes? But we can end this addiction.

The consequences of pollution and climate change pose the greatest risk to the world’s most vulnerable people: racial minorities and poor communities. A Native American community in Lousiana has lost 98 percent of its land due to rising seas. That community is now being assisted by the government to move their entire community to a new location, but many other communities and even nations around the world face similar predicaments.

But we can slow down our consumption and find more sustainable ways of living. We can reclaim the optimism of Mary Blair’s murals. We can reclaim the biblical witness of an earth that is good, an earth that is worth saving. We can tell the story of our God who created this earth, pronounced it good, and set us over it to care for it and protect it.

The future doesn’t have to be dark and pessimistic. All we have to do is tell a new story – create a new myth – and live out that story in our lives.

Welcome Table (Acts 11:1-18)

In December 1997, just a few days before Christmas, I graduated from seminary, hopped into the driver’s seat of a rented moving truck, and drove across the country.  The trip began in Indianapolis, took four days, went through nine states, and passed through one rather severe snowstorm.
Eventually I arrived back home in southern California, where my wife and five month-old son were waiting for me.  They had made the trip by plane.  And together we prepared to begin a new chapter in our lives in the small seaside town of Morro Bay, home of the first church I served as a full-time pastor.
One of the things we quickly discovered is that, in Morro Bay and the surrounding communities, there are a lot of great restaurants.  However, we discovered that not all restaurants are excited to see a couple walk in with their five month-old son.
 “Oh, you need a high-chair?  It’s over there.  You can get it yourself.”
I can’t say I blame them.  We always left a huge pile of crumbs under the high chair when we left.  We tried to leave a nice tip, but having just spent eight years in school and now starting out as the pastor of a tiny congregation, it wasn’t that easy.
The Galley was an exception.  It was a nice restaurant with a view of the bay, but the building in which it was located did very little to draw one’s attention.  I don’t think many tourists visiting Morro Bay were enticed to enjoy a meal there, but the locals knew it well.
And I must admit that other restaurants in town did have better-tasting food.  The food at the Galley was quite good, but it was pretty basic.  So, when people came to visit from out of town, we often took them to one of the other restaurants in town.
But when it was just us, or when we were dining with locals, we went to the Galley.
The first time we walked in, they eagerly greeted us and even included our son in the greeting.  They asked us his name – Ethan – and cheerfully brought us a high chair.  We felt very welcome.
A few weeks passed before we returned.  When we did, as soon as we opened the door, we heard a cheerful voice say, “Oh, look!  Ethan’s back! Welcome!”
After that, we were hooked.
It’s amazing what a little genuine hospitality can do.
Granted, there are some who say that, technically, what we experienced wasn’t hospitality.  We were paying customers.  True hospitality is given without expecting anything in return, and we, of course, were paying customers.  But even among places where a person is paying for some good hospitality, good hospitality can still be hard to find, and for a variety of reasons.
Some years later, Ginger, Ethan, Tristan and I – along with a few teenagers who had found their way into our family the way stray cats find their way into other families – all went for a camping trip.  We had reserved a site in advance at a privately-owned campground in the redwood-forested hills near Santa Cruz.
It was almost dark when we arrived.  We drove, quite slowly, through the campground looking for our reserved spot, but had a hard time seeing anything.  So we parked, everyone got out of the car, and I started walking around looking at campsite numbers.
The manager saw me and came over.  Oh, good, I thought; he can help me.  But before I could say anything, he started lecturing me about how this is a “family” campground.  He was rude and condescending.
I was so offended – and it was obvious that he didn’t want us there – that I asked him to refund the payment we had already made on our credit card, and we would gladly leave.  He agreed, and off we went, driving down the road until we came to a state park campground where the ranger at the entrance station greeted us warmly.
Reflecting back on that incident later, I decided that the rude campground manager was probably hostile to us because he didn’t like our eclectic mix of teenagers:  a couple of anglo kids, one Asian, and one Black.  People will find all sorts of reasons to be less than hospitable.
As you know, early Christianity began as a movement among Jews, who followed Jewish traditions and customs.  But when non-Jews expressed an interest in joining the movement, some among the Jews were less than hospitable toward these Gentiles.  Even after it was revealed that the Spirit had come upon them, there were some who found it hard to welcome these non-Jews into the movement.  This became the first major conflict of Christianity, and chapter after chapter of New Testament scripture deals with the issue.
Peter, the central character in today’s scripture story, wasn’t so sure that openness and inclusion was the way to go.  This part of the story actually began when a Gentile in Caesarea named Cornelius had a vision of an impending encounter with Peter.  Peter, meanwhile, had his own vision of various animals, both clean and unclean, and the voice of the Lord telling him to kill and eat.  Peter objected to the voice, saying he has never eaten anything unclean, and the voice replied, “What God has made clean, you must not call unclean.”  When Peter met Cornelius, he applied what he learned in the vision to his current circumstance, and said, “God has shown me that I should not call any person profane or unclean.”  Then Peter preached a sermon declaring that “God shows no partiality,” but accepts all people from all nations.
The controversy continued, but in the end, the push for openness and welcome and hospitality won out.  Which, of course, it had too, because the push for openness and welcome and hospitality is a theme that is consistently present throughout all of scripture.  As Martin Luther King, Jr., said, “the moral arc of the universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”  Showing hospitality and welcome is an act of justice, and that’s the direction the universe bends.
Not only that, but sometimes it is in the act of showing hospitality that God is revealed.
Peter’s experience is consistent with the plan laid out at the beginning of Acts, a movement that would begin in Jerusalem, then extend to the surrounding cities, eventually making its way to the ends of the earth.  In other words, the circle of inclusion grows ever wider.  One barrier after another is removed.
Of course, this movement of inclusion, welcome, and hospitality begins much earlier than that.  In Genesis, several strangers come by Abraham; Abraham does not hesitate to welcome them and show them hospitality.  He offers them a place to rest, prepares a banquet for them, and treats them like honored guests, even though they are strangers to him.  In the process, God is revealed in these traveling strangers, and Abraham is blessed.
In another story of strangers receiving hospitality, these same strangers – the scripture now refers to them as angels – travel on to the city of Sodom, where they are welcomed by Abraham’s nephew Lot.  Like his uncle, Lot showed great hospitality to these men, offering them food and shelter and a place to rest.
In the evening, however, a gang arrived outside Lot’s door and insisted that Lot hand over to them these strangers.  This gang had obviously had not learned the importance of showing hospitality and welcome, and had a real dislike for foreigners, for they wanted to abuse the two men staying with Lot.  But Lot would not turn back on the hospitality he had promised his guests, and even offered to the gang his daughters instead, just so he could not violate the code of hospitality.
If the story of Sodom were a story about sexual morality, as many people think, offering up one’s own daughters in place of two strangers would make no sense, and would be just as offensive, if not more so, than handing over the strangers.  But that’s not what this story is about.  It’s about the importance of offering hospitality to strangers, of welcoming and even protecting them.  Lot stood by that value, while the gang outside his door insisted on violating it in the most horrible way possible.  In the end, Lot is saved, but the city is destroyed.
Another story that lingers in my mind one month after Easter is Jesus welcoming his group of disciples, including the one who would deny him, including the one who would betray him, offering them welcome and hospitality, and even washing their feet, serving them the way a slave would serve his master.  He insisted on showing hospitality and welcome, even to those who he knew would turn against him.
My gosh!  It makes it hard to imagine Jesus ever saying to anyone:  this is my table, my banquet, and I get to decide who stays and who goes, who’s welcome and who’s not.  Every once in a while you hear in the news of a church that has decided to deny certain people communion because of their views on certain political or social issues.  To me, that is just so contrary to what the table is all about.  It is the complete opposite of what Jesus did when he dined with people.
It is Jesus’s table and Jesus’s banquet, and everyone who wanted was always welcome to dine.
It’s hard to imagine Jesus turning anyone away from his table because they have the wrong opinion on the role of the Roman government in the affairs of humans.  It’s hard to imagine Jesus denying a place at the table to someone because they face Samaria when they worship instead of Jerusalem, or Mecca instead of Rome.  It’s hard to imagine Jesus denying a place at the table to someone because they didn’t understand or didn’t agree with some of the official teachings of the temple.
What Jesus did at the table was truly remarkable and radical.  Imagine an early 19th century American plantation owner inviting his slaves to sit at the fancy dining table in the manor.  Imagine the real-life equivalent of Downton Abbey’s aristocracy telling everyone downstairs to come on up, put aside their aprons, and enjoy the feast as if they were honored guests.
It just didn’t happen.
That would be true, radical hospitality, turning-the-world-upside-down hospitality, showing extravagant welcome to those who, in the eyes of humanity, did not deserve it and could never repay it, were not expected to repay it.
It would be, as Isaiah puts it, “bringing the homeless poor into your house” hospitality.
It’s the type of hospitality we encounter at the Lord’s Table.
It’s the type of hospitality that comes to mind every time I hear Dustin Rogers – who now goes by the name “Doc” – tell his story of the first time he came as a guest to a youth group event at Bixby Knolls Christian Church.  As he describes it, he was this wild-looking kid with long hair.  Not someone who would fit in very well among “respectable” church-goers, at least in appearance.
And yet the welcome he says he received here changed his life, and planted a seed of spirituality in him that has blossomed and grown over time.  Now he is singing spiritual music and counseling youth at Loch Leven, planting more seeds, nurturing more spiritual lives.
And it all started with hospitality.  It all started with a welcome.
As we prepare to gather around the Lord’s Table, let us remember that that’s really what it’s all about.  At the very least, the hospitality and welcome that is central to this gathering is too often overlooked by many today.  And for those who do see it, they underestimate its importance and its significance.
Perhaps that’s because, as profound as it is, it’s also very simple; as simple as saying: “Welcome.”

"No Distinction Between Them and Us" (Acts 11:1-18)

I’d like to thank you all for helping me with today’s sermon. Today’s sermon comes out of many conversations that have taken place over the past few months in the life of our congregation. Conversations that I’ve had with you. Conversations that you’ve had with each other.


This sermon does not come out of any one particular conversation or event. I say this because at some point in the sermon you may hear something that makes you think, “Oh, he’s talking about that one conversation I had,” or, “he’s referring to that one time when…” Well, I’m not really responding to any one conversation or event; but I am inspired by the larger conversation that I have heard taking place over the past several months.

What I’ve noticed in this ongoing conversation is that the people of Bixby Knolls Christian Church want to talk about their faith. We want to share our faith. We want to let our community know just what a difference our faith has made in our lives. We want to share with the world just what it is about our faith and our church that brings wholeness to our lives, that makes our lives complete.

However, we often struggle to find the right words, don’t we? Know, then, that this struggle places us right into Christian history, following a long line of Christian thinkers throughout the centuries.

I know, from reading church history books by Justo Gonzalez and others, that way back in the fourth century, the struggle to put words to one’s beliefs was different … but not that different. Back then, the Jewish tradition from which Christianity originated was quite different from Greek wisdom and philosophy which was prominent in many areas where Christianity was expanding. The challenge for those fourth century Christians was to explain their faith in ways that those raised with Greek philosophy could understand.

This led to some changes in the way Christians think about God. The Jewish tradition emphasized a God who is good; but Greek philosophy emphasized perfection over goodness. Today, when we talk about God as being perfect and unchanging, those are more Greek ideas than Judeo-Christian ideas.

Another topic of conversation in the fourth century was how, exactly, Jesus was related to God. If God was perfect, and Jesus was, well, human – and humans were, by nature, imperfect – then how could Jesus also be divine? How could one being be perfect and imperfect?

Greek philosophy had the idea of the Logos, the Word of God, which was soon applied to Jesus. However, the question arose: is the Word, the Logos, equally divine as the Father?

Alexander, the bishop of Alexandria in Egypt, said yes: the Word has always co-existed with the Father. But Arius, another leader in Alexandria, said no, that the Word was subservient to God, that it was, in fact, created by God as the first of God’s creatures. The implication of this was that, since the Word was created by God, the Word itself was not God.

Well, both Arius and Alexander found numerous proof-texts in the Bible to support their arguments. Arius accused Alexander of worship two gods, since Alexander insisted that there were two divine beings: the Father, and the Word. Alexander accused Arius of denying the divinity of Jesus Christ, which the church had worshiped since the beginning.

Alexander, being bishop, removed Arius from all his leadership positions. Arius, in turn, led massive protests and demonstrations on the streets of Alexandria. As they marched, these Arians (as they were known) shouted their motto: “There was when he was not!” Arius also wrote to other bishops in other cities, who responded by writing letters of support and speaking in favor of Arius. Thus the controversy spread throughout the church.

And you thought debates and conflicts were only a feature of modern Christianity!

The controversy became so great that eventually, in the year 325, Constantine, the new emperor of Rome, called a great assembly or council of bishops to meet together to resolve the controversy. They met in the city of Nicea, and it was the first time in history that bishops and leaders from throughout the Christian world had come together. From three different continents they came, some of them still bearing on their bodies the evidence of torture, signs that the days of Christian persecution had only recently ended. It was an exciting and historic gathering.

However, they did have to resolve the Arian controversy, as it had become known. Arius himself was not allowed to be present, since he was not a bishop, but others spoke on his behalf. Most of the bishops present were upset that this controversy had erupted, especially at a time when persecution had finally come to an end. They just wanted it resolved.

After debates, arguments, accusations, and shouting, the council decided that it had to formally reject Arianism, and the way to do that was to come up with a creed that would express the faith of the church in a way that Arianism was clearly excluded.

What they came up with was this:



We believe in one God, the Father Almighty, maker of all things visible and invisible.

And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the only-begotten of the Father, that is, from the substance of the Father, God of God, light of light, true God of true God, begotten, not made, of one substance with the Father, through whom all things were made, both in heaven and on earth, who for us humans and for our salvation descended and became incarnate, becoming human, suffered and rose again on the third day, ascended to the heavens, and will come to judge the living and the dead.

And in the Holy Spirit.



This document has been adapted slightly over the years, and is today known as the Nicene Creed. In some ways it is similar to the Apostles’ Creed, which was itself written in response to theological controversy, in this case, the controversy surrounding Marcionism and Gnosticism.

When you know the history, it becomes clear that these creeds were written as a way to exclude people and ideas which did not conform to what was commonly accepted. It was a way of drawing a line between who was “in” and who was “out.” It defined who was a part of the group, and who was not.

Ancient Judaism, though quite different from Christianity in the fourth century, had its own ways of determining who was in and who was out. Those who were “in” followed certain practices that set them apart, some of which can be found in the eleventh chapter of Leviticus, which describes which foods can and cannot be eaten:



From among all the land animals, these are the creatures that you may eat. Any animal that has divided hoofs and is cloven-footed and chews the cud—such you may eat. But among those that chew the cud or have divided hoofs, you shall not eat the following: the camel, for even though it chews the cud, it does not have divided hoofs; it is unclean for you. The rock-badger, for even though it chews the cud, it does not have divided hoofs; it is unclean for you. The hare, for even though it chews the cud, it does not have divided hoofs; it is unclean for you. The pig, for even though it has divided hoofs and is cloven-footed, it does not chew the cud; it is unclean for you. Of their flesh you shall not eat, and their carcasses you shall not touch; they are unclean for you.

These you may eat, of all that are in the waters. Everything in the waters that has fins and scales, whether in the seas or in the streams—such you may eat. But anything in the seas or the streams that does not have fins and scales, of the swarming creatures in the waters and among all the other living creatures that are in the waters—they are detestable to you and detestable they shall remain. Of their flesh you shall not eat, and their carcasses you shall regard as detestable. Everything in the waters that does not have fins and scales is detestable to you.



Well, it goes on and on.



You know, a few weeks ago, I said in a sermon – I don’t know if you were listening or not – but I said that the kingdom of God is bigger than any religion. I don’t know if you were startled by that statement, but I was. I know I preached it, but I’m not quite sure where it came from. And I’ve been pondering it ever since.

Well, I think today’s scripture shows that it is a true statement. Peter – a faithful Jew – followed all the teachings of Judaism, including the dietary restrictions. But then he had this strange vision, in which all the animals that he was not supposed to eat were lowered down on a sheet from heaven, and a voice was heard saying, “Get up Peter; kill and eat.” Peter refused; he was a good Jew, after all. But then the voice said, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.” And then the whole vision repeated itself, a total of three times.

Eventually Peter understood: the kingdom of God is bigger than any religion. There is room for both Jews and gentiles, with no distinction between them. And since the apostle Paul wrote to the Ephesians that God is the father of every family in heaven and earth, one could even say that there is room in the kingdom of God for Muslims, Buddhists, and even atheists. The line between who’s in and who’s out, the line between us and them, does not exist in the kingdom of God.

I’m pretty sure that stories like these were important stories to Alexander Campbell, Barton Stone, and other leaders of the Restoration Movement. They were tired of the distinctions Christians made between each other. They insisted that all who believe in Jesus are one in the body of Christ. All who seek to follow Jesus are a part of the church.

So it’s not surprising that, when they planned their worship services, they did not include a reciting of one of the ancient creeds. They knew that creeds were historically used to make distinctions, to define who was in and who was out.

And it’s not surprising that, even today, many of us in the Disciples of Christ struggle to put words to our beliefs. Even if we don’t know the history of the church all that well, we do know that, among Christians, words have more often caused division than they have brought people together.

And many of us have been a part of organizations that required us to agree to a statement of faith; and even though the organization was one we believed in, one that did a lot of good, we signed the statement of faith reluctantly, because it seemed to us that the statement was designed to exclude, to make distinctions … to keep the gentiles out.

So what can we say? Rob Bell wrote a book called Velvet Elvis, which I’ve not read, but might have to just because of the title, and in that book he says: “The church must stop thinking about everybody primarily in categories of in or out, saved or not, believer or nonbeliever. Besides the fact that these terms are offensive to those who are the ‘un” and ‘non,’ they work against Jesus’s teaching about how we are to treat others… As the book of James says, ‘God shows no favoritism.’ So we don’t either.”

Maybe that, we can say.

I read recently the words of a Presbyterian pastor named Jon Walton, who said this:

“Christians have always struggled with two images that describe the church: is the church the Virgin Mother, pure, unsullied and unstained? Or is she an Earth Mother gathering her wayward children to her skirts? In the church of the Virgin, no eye is pure enough to see God, no tongue clean enough to speak God’s name. This church is vigilant in covering her children’s ears and tries to keep them from seeing or touching the world’s impurity. Its clergy are a model to the flock in morality, goodness, and self-control.

“In the church of the Earth Mother, however, the dirty hands and unwashed faces of her children are a delight. ‘I am come that you might have life,’ Jesus said, ‘and that you might have it abundantly.’ This church’s children gather to her like Ma Kettle’s kids come in from the barnyard, frogs in their pockets and grass stains on their jeans. What they lack in cleanliness they more than make up in joy. Her clergy are earthen vessels.”

Maybe that, we can say.

The Center for Progressive Christianity has a website, and on that website it says this: “We have a greater concern for the way people treat each other than for the way people express their beliefs. How we treat others is the fullest expression of what we believe.” It also says this: “We find more grace in the search for understanding than we do in dogmatic certainty.”

Maybe that, we can say.