Several Forms of Christians in the School of Christ

Table of Contents

01. Introduction
02. A Motley Crew
03. Quaker Meets Prayer Book
04. Jewish Roots
05. EpsicOrthoEvanPenteNazJew
06. Pounding Nails

01. Introduction

While we did not talk much about faith, it was the tie that bound us together over dinner. Thinking about our conversation that night reminds me that we are not all called to be the same type of Christian, and that’s okay. While pondering that, I remembered some words of seventeenth century mystic Isaac Penington:

[O]h, how sweet and pleasant it is to the truly spiritual eye to see the several sorts of believers, several forms of Christians in the school of Christ, every one learning their own lesson, performing their own peculiar service, and knowing, owning, and loving one another in their several places, and different performances to their Master, to whom they are to give an account, and not to quarrel with one another about their different practices. Rom. 14:4. For this is the true ground of love and unity, not that such a man walks and does just as I do, but because I feel the same Spirit and life in him, and that he walks in his rank, in his own order, in his proper way and place of subjection to that. And this is far more pleasing to me, than if he walked just in that track wherein I walk.An examination of the grounds and causes which are said to induce the Court of Boston, in New England, to make that order or law of banishment upon pain of death against the Quakers, 1659, pp. 83–84; repr in Isaac Penington, Works, 1681, part 1, p. 240; 1761 edn, vol. 1, pp. 320–321; 1784 edn, vol. 1, pp. 443–444.

Dinner that night was just one example of how I am blessed to “see the several sorts of believers, several forms of Christians in the school of Christ” throughout my life.

02. A Motley Crew

Religiously speaking, my friends comprise a motley crew. One is a Lutheran who used to be Quaker. Then there’s the Quaker who used to be Lutheran. And the United Methodist who was raised Southern Baptist. The Southern Baptist convert to Judaism. There are Episcopalians, Nazarenes, Jews, non-denominational folk, and on and on.

Besides our many theological differences, we also live out our faith in different ways. Some of us believe in just war; others are pacifists. Some are pro-life; others pro-choice. We have all sorts of differences—politically, socially, culturally. Each difference, based in faith, is potentially divisive.

Or potentially instructive. Through my friends, I’ve quickly learned that every one of them feels called to follow God. Each of their spirits—like mine—is hungry for the Divine.

And so I’ve chosen to learn the ways of faith from them. Listening to them talk about faith and watching them practice theirs teaches me new ways of hearing Scripture, of praying, of talking about and relating to God. Observing in this open, non-judging way helps me unplug my ears and opens my mind to the idea that there is just might be more than just one right way (mine!) to be faithful.

By listening with love and attention, my friends and I have come to respect the stories we’ve heard and the people who told them. This respect grows from faith in God and faith in the people who are our friends. Listening has taught me that all of them love God as much as I do. Even those who look or talk (religiously and ethnically) different from me.

04. Jewish Roots

Likewise, my life as a Christian has been enhanced by what I’ve learned of faith from my Jewish friends. While such a place of learning should be obvious, I find I often think of my faith as having sprung in full with Jesus’ birth, rather than being a continuation of that which began with the first chapter of Genesis. The lessons of faith I’ve learned from singing Jewish hymns, hearing Torah readings, studying what it means to keep kosher, and participating in Seder meals have not made me Jewish, but rather have taken me deeper into my Christian faith’s roots. My soul was particularly enlarged when I learned of tikkun olam.

That’s a concept I first learned from my little Jewish brother (why we are brothers is long story, but trust me, we are), Rabbi Aaron Spiegel. Aaron told me that tikkun olam means “repairing the world” or “healing and restoring the world” and ties to the Jewish belief that we have a shared responsibility to work with God in healing and transforming the world.

What an amazing thought—that we are called to work with God in the healing of the world. We are called to this wonderful work that, besides repairing the world, repairs us. As I’ve learned more, I’ve seen that my life as a Christian life led me toward tikkun olam—and invite me, as the apostle Peter wrote, to participate in the Divine nature. Peter says,

“His divine power has given us everything we need for a godly life through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness. Through these he has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature”2 Peter 1:3–4

I find that when tikkun olam is present in my relationships, ministries, vocations, life choices, then I am much more likely participating in the Divine nature and living more deeply than when it’s not. It feeds my soul with nourishment necessary for me to grow fully into the Christian I believe Christ desires me to be.

05. EpsicOrthoEvanPenteNazJew

My Orthodox friends have opened me to the mystery of icons and invited me into their ancient faith. My Pentecostal faith companions teach me that my faith could be a bit more spontaneous and joyful than I am often willing to let it be. Evangelical friends remind me of the importance of Scripture and Bible study. Reformed folks invite me to recall God’s sovereignty over all things and see the implications of God’s creation of all things. I could go on and on about the lessons I’ve learned from people whose faith is different from mine.

Though I’ve learned much from my faith friends, the services they’ve invited me to, the books and saints they’ve introduced me to, I remain solidly in my faith tradition. Their instruction has not made me into an EpsicOrthoEvanPenteNazJew. Rather, they have deepened my experience of the faith tradition to which I hold—the Quaker way. It’s a way rooted in silent listening for the voice of and instruction from God. And often in the silence, the voice of God comes to me couched in the voices and lessons I’ve learned from my faith friends. That happened to me on Good Friday almost nine years ago.

06. Pounding Nails

I spent that day hammering the nails out of pieces of wood from pallets that the outside walls of our new house had come on. Our home is made of timbers recycled from old factories and exterior walls constructed on jigs on the factory floor. These were then put on pallets and shipped from New Hampshire to our Indiana home site. “The wood we use in the pallets is better than most builders use in their homes,” said one of the people building our house. “You’ll want to salvage as much of it as you can. Don’t let the framers burn it up.”

Quakers are nothing if we’re not strong on grace and redemption. If something can be saved and used again, it is. I hoped to see these used 2 x 4s born-again as a woodshed or workshop. So, the sun blazed and I pounded nails out instead of in. A few yards away, four framers worked at pounding nails in, hanging the walls and roof panels. While I drove 16 commons [framing nails] out of 2 x 4s, they drove 10- and 12-inch spikes through 2 x 6 walls into 6-inch posts and beams with 3-pound sledgehammers. The sound of hammers on nails rang through the Good Friday afternoon. That ringing was accompanied by the church bells from St. Thomas More Catholic Church just a couple of miles away, drifting on the spring breeze.

This symmetry with the holy day was not lost on me, even though Friends, being non-liturgical, don’t celebrate holy days or seasons. Still it was easy to recall other nails driven long ago—not through walls into posts, but through outstretched hands into rough wood. Even while carpenters yelled to each other, rough voices calling out measurements and grunting and cursing to set panels in place, I found silence in my soul. I was not sitting in a congregation listening to the last words of Jesus. Nor was I following the Stations of the Cross. But I was, in my soul, remembering, alongside those congregants. My arms grew weary of pounding and pulling nails. In, but at the same time apart from, the noise I pondered Jesus’ tiring journey that day. In spite of the noise, silence swathed my soul. Here I am, I thought, spending Good Friday in the company of carpenters. How fitting. I prayed for them. I prayed for me. I prayed for the world.

I heard a car pull up our long lane. It was my friend Aaron. A rabbi. My soul laughed—how right, how good. Carpenters and a rabbi on Good Friday. I thanked God for the silence of my soul that helped me see that day that was holy because God breathed life into it and brought all these faiths together to enrich my soul. I was led into the holy that day, while hammering out nails and visiting with rabbis and framers. Arms weary, back bent from stacking reclaimed wood, it was a Good Friday.

Footnotes

J. Brent Bill is a Quaker minister, photographer, and writer. His most recent book is Awaken Your Senses: Exercises for Exploring the Wonder of God (co-written with Beth A. Booram), available from InterVarsity Press.

Conversatio Divina