The Divine Wrecking Ball—November 29, 2017
“For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both
groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility
between us.” [Ephesians 2:14]
The people who run the
garbage trucks on our street want me to separate my plastics from my metal cans
into separate bins for recycling. That’s
probably a good idea to improve efficiency for their employees.
The makers of my washing
machine want me to separate dark colored clothes from white undershirts and
tube socks when I’m doing laundry. That’s
probably a good idea, too, in order to avoid turning all my socks pink on
account of one rogue red pair of sweatpants.
The same thinking is
everywhere: the staff at the library insist that it is more orderly to keep
non-fiction books in one section, kept separate from the novels and the
children’s books in other areas. The
little dividers in my kitchen utensil drawer are designed to keep my spoons
from touching my forks. The algorithms
on Facebook, too, all have figured out that everybody can live in a pleasantly
blissful ignorance if people are kept in their own echo chambers of thought,
getting only articles, “news”, and posts from people who will reinforce what
they already think. Just all makes
things so much… simpler… neater… less messy… that way.
And then there is Christ.
In a world full of seemingly
sensible, purposefully placed barriers, Christ is the wrecking ball of
God. The messy messiah. The One who fulfills his divinely ordained
task by taking all of our neat and orderly separate piles and shuffling them
all together like a deck of cards. And
this, at least according to what we call the book of Ephesians, is God’s
surprising kind of peace. Jesus does not
make peace by putting walls between us and cutting us off from one another, but
by smashing down the wall and saying, “My love makes you all belong. You’re part of this family, and you are
blessedly stuck with each other!”
Parents may well separate their
arguing children from one another for a while, by sending them to their own rooms,
but that’s not peace. That’s at best a
cease-fire, and it is neither a long-term strategy nor a real solution. It just lets brother and sister keep fuming
at each other from a distance. Believe me—the
stewing bitterness keeps on simmering, and sometimes the shouting keeps on
going with a hallway between them.
Separation isn’t peace—it is sometimes the least-worst option, if it is
what keeps two warring siblings, or two warring sides, cooled down enough to
think rationally. But separation is not
peace. Genuine peace comes when I am able to embrace the ones I use to feel
hostility toward, and they embrace me honestly, too.
That means peace is decidedly
messy. The breaking down of walls always
is.
But it might just take us
aback to consider that this is precisely what the book of Ephesians is daring
to say about Christ. Christ is
messy. Christ has broken down the wall
that kept humanity separated into orderly piles. Christ brings this kind of peace… and this is
what God intended all along in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.
In the first century, the
division in mind was the separation between “Jew” and “Gentile,” within the
Christian community, categories which brought with them all sorts of
differences in language, culture, background, and original religion. The early church truly wrestled with the
question of whether one had to become Jewish first in order to belong to the
body of Christ—did you have to keep kosher, have your sons circumcised, and
follow all of the other instructions of the Torah, or could you keep your old
customs, diet, language, and culture and be a Christian?
I’ll be honest with you here—it
would have been a lot less messy if the answer had just been, “Yes, you have to
keep all of those regulations and leave behind the old culture if you want to
be a Christian.” It would have kept things uniform, regular, orderly, and
streamlined. No exceptions, no
variation, no different categories—just everybody having to learn the same
religious customs, speak the same religious language, and follow the same daily
regimen. There would only have been one
pile—but it would have been homogenous… and therefore, nice and tidy
still. Instead, Ephesians says, God did
the messy thing. Christ broke down the barrier that separated Jewish and Gentile
followers of Jesus, and Christ allowed them to both coexist, and to stay in the
same one collective pile. That meant—inevitably—the
Christian church has had to live, from
the beginning, with the messier arrangement of people who speak different
languages, wear their hair in different styles, eat different foods, come from
different countries, have different complexions and shades of color in their
skin, and even think differently on big questions. And it means that—by God’s design and
intention—God deliberately chose not
to avoid all of that mess, but rather to break the old barriers down.
This is how God does things.
Our history as human beings is marked by time after time of separating in the
name of neatness—keeping “white” water fountains away from “colored” water
fountains… keeping “undesirables” out of “our nice neighborhoods”… keeping my
mind from ever having to digest a piece of information it didn’t already agree
with. But God has never been fooled into
thinking that you could have “separate but equal” or even “separate but
peaceable.” Peace does not come from
putting spoons in a separate compartment from forks. Real peace comes when we are brought face to
face with “the other”—as messy as that makes things—and learning truly to
listen to one another, knowing that God already says we all belong because of
Christ.
I wonder—what differences
would it make in this day for you, to consider the way God has chosen to make
peace, versus the way we tend to settle for “order” and “neatness”? What barriers around you might need a
wrecking ball? What ways have we
continued to keep ourselves separated when God has put us all in the same pile?
What could be different…
starting today?
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