If only it were that easy. But, history suggests otherwise—choosing sides is what we seem to do best: free v. slave, white v. black, rich v. poor, men v. women, Protestant v. Catholic. We are good at dividing people and assigning them a side, which is usually along the lines of: in v. out, right v. wrong, us v. them, God-with-us v. God-against-them.

Our history of constructing divisions between people goes way back—to Biblical times. The Bible is full of stories of people choosing sides and claiming God’s grace for themselves and threatening God’s vengeance on the other side. We seem to have this sense that grace is up for grabs by one side or another. But, that’s not how grace works. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. And yet, the game goes on. The need to be right and someone else wrong; the need to be in and someone else out; the need to be chosen and someone else cursed seems to be a human trait we have inherited well from our ancestors in the faith.

Way back in the 1^st century, Paul is writing to the church at Galatia. They were a divided church. The line was drawn. They were lined up on each side. Circumcised Jews v. Uncircumcised Gentiles. The issue at stake: the claim to God’s grace in Jesus Christ.

Paul steps into the midst of this battle and says: "You foolish Galatians! Who has bewitched you?" He goes on and on, as only Paul can. He ends his argument with this: "In Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus."

In essence, Paul calls both sides together and announces: Listen! Now it’s a new day. It’s a new game with new rules. There are no lines, no sides, no battles. God’s grace is no longer up for grabs—it is a gift—and it is for all, for now, we are all one in Christ.

This is the story—not just of the book of Galatians, but of the whole Bible. From the beginning, God has been at work, continually challenging our human divisions and calling those from both sides to participate in God’s reconciling work.

God called Abraham and Sarah, an old disbelieving couple from a foreign land to

God called Moses, a child of a slave, from under Pharaoh to lead Israel out of

God called Rahab, a prostitute, to hide and protect the Israelite spies;

God called David, a self-professed "sinner in my mother’s womb," to rule over

God called Mary, a young virgin, to bear the Christ child;

God called other women to witness first-hand the resurrection of Jesus;

God called Saul, breathing threats against the disciples of the Lord, to become

God called Jew and Greek, slave and free, men and women—all to be children of

God.

What a cast of characters! Not a team we might have called.

Clearly God’s thoughts are not our thoughts; God’s ways are not our ways.

Indeed God’s thoughts are higher than our thoughts; God’s ways higher than our ways.

By calling the most unlikely, by claiming those we might not choose for our side, by inviting all to participate in the promise, God demonstrates grace.

Grace that is not about us, but about God; grace beyond our deserving; grace beyond measure;

Grace that blurs dividing lines; grace that pours out onto both sides; grace enough for all;

Grace that calls, claims, and invites even the most unlikely—even you and me.

It’s a new day. It’s a new game with new rules. No lines, no sides, no battles.

God’s grace is no longer up for grabs—it is a gift—for all, for we are all one in Christ.

That’s how grace works. That’s how God works.

But, why, then, I wonder, do we still insist on playing our own way?

Over Christmas, I went back home to my parent’s Roman Catholic Church—where I was baptized. Growing up in the Roman Catholic church, I learned that most do not have an open Communion Table, that is to say, you must be a Roman Catholic—and one on good righteous standing (that is, been to confession recently)—in order to go to the table and receive the bread and cup. Even though I do not agree with this division, I have always respected their beliefs and when visiting have stayed away from the Table. But, this time was different.

When the priest said, "This is the Lord’s Table" I believed him. When he said Jesus said, "Come to me, all. ., I believed all meant all. When he said, Jesus said, "This is my body given for you," I believed that that meant me. When he held up the bread and cup, I saw a visible sign of God’s grace enough for all, even me. In his invitation, I heard God’s invitation. And so, I went up and took the bread. My children, who were not welcome at the Table, stayed in the pew, waiting for the bread I had promised them.

I broke the bread and gave them a piece, saying "The body of Christ given for you." Just then I noticed the woman holding the chalice of wine coming from her place in front of the church to our pew. In one hand she held the chalice and in the other hand she shook her finger at me, saying, "You’re not allowed to do that!" Then, she went back to her place, saying to others, "The blood of Christ shed for you."

I sat there stunned—remembering another such time—when I was a girl, and thought I heard a call from God to serve in the church. But, when I asked my priest about it, he said, "As a girl, you have two options: you can either be a nun or sing in the choir." Being an adolescent, I quickly crossed the first option off my list. And as far as the choir, I said to myself, "Obviously, Father has never heard me sing." So I concluded that I had misheard the call and it was really meant for the boy sitting next to me.

And for a long time, I believed that was true. Until years later, when I walked into a Presbyterian Church in downtown Washington, D.C. (where I was living and working) and heard a woman’s voice. I walked a little closer, and sat down, and to my amazement, I saw a woman in the pulpit—a black woman preaching, praying, and inviting us all to the Lord’s Table. And I believed she meant all. And so I went—along with many others—from both sides of every imaginable human division. All were invited; all were welcome; all gathered around the Lord’s Table; and all were given the body and blood of Christ. And for a moment, it seemed as if all divisions disappeared, and we truly were all one in Christ.

On that day I learned God was calling me to ordained ministry in the Presbyterian Church. And on that day I also learned something about God’s grace. Long before I knew anything about John Calvin’s theology, I saw the embodiment of God’s grace. I got a glimpse of what is possible when grace is at work in the church.

It was just a glimpse. A glimpse of a new day, with new rules, no lines, no sides, no battles, but where all are truly one in Christ.

If only it were that easy.

But, then again, maybe it is.

If the church were willing to be a place that preaches and embodies God’s grace in a world that insists on drawing lines and taking sides;

If the church were willing to invite those from both sides to participate together in the reconciling work of God;

If the church were willing to sometimes just get out of the way and let the grace of God work;

If the church were willing to play by these new rules and live into the reality of this new day that the Lord has made—that is:

We are all claimed in the waters of baptism—by God’s grace.

We are all called to ministry in the church—by God’s grace.

We are all invited to the table—by God’s grace—and only by God’s grace to join with all the others—

Abraham and Sarah, Moses and Rahab, David and Paul, Mary and the women at the tomb, Jew and Greek, free and slave, white and black, rich and poor, men and women, straight and gay, Protestant and Catholic, in and out, right and wrong, us and them, together with all the saints, to glimpse the heavenly banquet, when Christ will say, "Now, at last, you are all one in me."

If the church were willing, then maybe it just might be so—on earth as it is in heaven.

But, until that day, we keep on preaching God’s word and praying for the reconciliation of the world. We keep on embodying God’s grace and showing God’s love to all God’s people. And we keep on participating in the reconciling work of a God who does not take sides.

God does not take sides. .. I repeated it again to make sure I heard it right. Rebecca asked, "Mommy, you’re going to use that in a sermon, aren’t you?" And between my laughter and tears, I managed to say, "Yes, Your Mommy is going to use your words in a sermon because they are true and because I am called to preach—

by God’s grace—and only by God’s inviting, inclusive, abundant and amazing grace."

Thanks be to God.