Why Should I Care about Unity?

In only a few hours he'd be arrested. A terrible death would follow. Concerns of utmost importance to His life and mission—the very heart of His heart—crowded His thoughts, spilled from His lips as He prayed to His Father. Among those most critical concerns was the unity of His followers.

My prayer is not for [those you gave me] alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. . . . May they be brought to complete unity.

With death breathing down His neck, it was unity that occupied the mind of Christ. When He pictured in His mind the life He longed His followers to live, it was a life of unity.

Are we willing to cooperate with the desire of Jesus' heart and to "make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace" (Eph. 4:3)? Will we be an answer to Jesus' prayer?

Perhaps we need to begin our quest for unity by understanding why it is so important to Christ.

In that same priestly intercession on the night He was betrayed, Jesus asked His Father, "May they be brought to complete unity to let the world know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me" (Jn. 17:23, emphasis mine). How can the world come to believe the gospel if those who already believe it are battling among themselves?

The world is cruelly shattered. It has no need of yet one more reason to divide and fight. When it sees Catholics and Protestants dueling over power and territory in Northern Ireland—or young and old members of the same neighborhood congregation dueling over worship styles—it says, "Thanks, but no thanks."

When the world sees Christian television preachers battling over the interpretation of a Bible verse, or denominational leaders competing jealously on the mission field, it says, "If you can't even agree on the truth among yourselves, how could you possibly teach us the truth?"

Disunity is not merely a scandal for unbelievers; it's also a stumbling block within the church. Congregational splits often send those who are weak in faith out the door and back into the world.

In fact, such dissension is a sign that the church as a whole is weak in faith, still operating according to the principles of the world. Paul sharply rebuked the Corinthians for that reason: "For since there is jealousy and quarreling among you, are you not worldly?" (1 Cor. 3:3). The Christian community that can't overcome its divisions can't expect to be fed "solid food" from the Lord; it can't expect to grow up.

Consequently, divisions keep the church from achieving its full mission—from "attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ" (Eph. 4:13). When Paul urged the Ephesians to seek this fullness, he challenged them to find in their diversity a source of strength rather than an excuse for division, reminding them that "the whole body . . . grows and builds itself up in love, as each part does its work" (Eph. 4:16). If the hand is busy fighting the foot, or the eye arguing with the ear, the resulting loveless chaos prevents the body from doing its appointed tasks.

"Divide and conquer" has long been Satan's strategy to paralyze the church. Angry divisions, said Paul, "give the devil a foothold" (Eph. 4:27). The works of the flesh, after all, aren't all about sensuality; the apostle's list also includes "discord," "dissensions" and "factions" (Gal. 5:20).

"Do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God," Paul warned. "Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice" (Eph. 4:30–31). We who are parents know the pain of seeing our children in conflict. Look around at the Christian community today, and you must conclude that the heart of God is broken with grief over His fractured family.

That word family points toward what is perhaps the most serious offense in our schisms: Division is actually a lie, a sin against the truth, because the truth is that we are indeed one—one family, one household of faith, whose dividing walls of hostility have been torn down by Christ's sacrifice (see Eph. 2:14–19). When we see ourselves as divided, we're failing to see aright; we're ignoring and denying reality.

There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to one hope when you were called—one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.

—Eph. 4:4–6

We are one, whether we like it or not. Paul's rhetorical question to the Corinthians put it succinctly: "Is Christ divided?" (1 Cor. 1:13).

This oneness does not require bland uniformity. When Paul rebuked congregations for their lack of unity, he didn't demand that their members become utterly alike. Instead, he pointed out that their differences were often a gift of God to enrich the church as a whole:

Just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others.

—Ro. 12:4–5

For Paul, then, unity is not a matter of homogeneity, but of harmony. Christians are not all to be alike, but they must find ways to integrate their differences into a symphonic whole—to create a singleness of spirit, of identity, and of purpose whose unifying center is Christ.

In short, we are to resemble a symphony. We will be skilled at coaxing music from a variety of instruments. We may play different notes from the person sitting next to us. But our variety and diversity will create a more magnificent sound than if we were all on the same instrument, playing the same note. Unity exists amid diversity because we all follow the same musical score.

In the early church, as now, troubles arose when Christians allowed their differences to become sources of division. It was no sin for some members of the Roman church to eat meat and others to refuse meat; sin entered the picture when the meat eaters looked down on the vegetarians, and the vegetarians condemned the meat eaters (see Ro. 14:2–3). It wasn't wrong for some in the church at Corinth to speak in tongues and others not to do so. The problems came when some insisted that everyone speak in tongues (see 1 Corinthians 12), while others forbade anyone to speak in tongues (see 1 Cor. 14:39).

In cases such as these, disunity arises from our attitude toward our differences. Three particular attitudes account for most divisions within the church: anger, fear, and pride.

When one person or group is offended by another, anger results. A pastor fails to recognize publicly a volunteer's hard work. A mother overhears the Sunday school teacher criticizing her child's behavior. A choir member complains about the director's choice of hymns. Anger!

Sometimes the offenses are much more serious and may involve larger groups. The estrangement between Eastern and Western Christians in the Middle Ages, for example, was hardened when Western crusaders pillaged the holy sites of the Eastern church in Byzantium. And in more recent times, entire denominations were born out of the mistreatment of African-American Christians, who had to segregate themselves in order to find church homes that would welcome them.

The solution to divisions caused by offenses is clear, but not easy: repentance and forgiveness. Paul summed it up this way: "Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you" (Col. 3:13). "As members of one body," he added, we'e "called to peace" (v. 15).

Even offenses from long ago may need to be addressed if we'e to restore Christian unity. After nearly a thousand years of separation, the pope—representing the Western church—and the patriarch of Constantinople—representing the Eastern church—finally came together in our lifetime to seek reconciliation. Not long ago, after several years of dialogue and confession, prominent leaders from black and white Pentecostal churches in America assembled to overcome past divisions. Many wept while pastors confessed the sins of their people, asked and received forgiveness, and washed one another's feet.

Disunity also arises from fear. We'e afraid of the unknown. We distrust strangers. We'e suspicious of people whose viewpoints and motivations we don't understand. We'e threatened by change, because we can't always know what its consequences will be.

Our fears of those who are different from us ultimately drive us to distance ourselves from them—to divide along the lines of our differences.

The early Jewish Christians in Jerusalem apparently had their share of fears about the Gentiles who soon began flooding into the church. Their fear of these cultural strangers, whose pagan past was an exotic mystery to orthodox Jews, led to deep anxieties and repeated conflict: Wouldn't God be displeased by the influx of these uncircumcised pork eaters?

The outcome was "sharp dispute and debate" (Acts 15:2). To overcome their divisions over this issue, the congregations appointed representatives to sit down and talk over their differences, to come to some kind of mutual understanding (vv. 2–29). Their solution should serve as our model. Since fear of the unknown feeds on ignorance, the most important strategy for tearing down this barrier is to get better acquainted, to explore one another's minds and hearts—in short, to turn the "strangers" into friends. The truth is that in Christ we are "no more strangers and foreigners" (Eph. 2:19, KJV), and we must work to make that reality apparent in our midst.

In a university course I teach called "Religion in America," a primary objective is to help students better understand the religious backgrounds of their neighbors. I require each student to visit and report on the religious service of a tradition other than his or her own. Even these brief personal encounters with believers of other denominations and ethnic backgrounds frequently shatter spiritual stereotypes. Lutherans learn that Baptists can preach without pounding the pulpit. Methodists find out that Catholics read the Bible. Pentecostals discover that a well-crafted Presbyterian sermon can be edifying. And little bridges of mutual understanding begin to grow.

In the midst of Paul's counsel to the Roman Christians about what was necessary to "live in harmony with one another," he admonished them to "practice hospitality" (Ro. 12:16, Ro. 12:13). In a sense, to invite into our lives the stranger who is actually our Christian brother or sister is another way of obeying that biblical admonition. When we "practice hospitality" with believers of other denominational, racial, cultural, and socioeconomic backgrounds, we'e tearing down the walls of fear and sitting down to a common table of God's grace.

The third attitude that hinders unity is perhaps the most fundamental; it sometimes lies beneath the other two. Often it's our pride that has offended others in the first place and keeps us from repenting and asking forgiveness. Pride may also intensify fear: We'e threatened by those who do things differently from our "right" way.

Pride is the root of our prejudice and the soil that nourishes our lust to dominate others. When we arrogantly raise ourselves above our fellow Christians, we separate ourselves from them and block the way to any restoration of unity that is not on our own terms. In the early Christian community, for example, James had to rebuke the haughtiness among certain wealthy Christians, which had led them to show favoritism, exploit the poor, and fragment the church along lines of economic class (see Jas. 2:34).

The Apostle Paul warned against pride for the same reasons. "Live in harmony with one another," he reminded the Romans. "Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited" (Ro. 12:16).

Pride has been a perennial source of schism in the church. When 18th-century English parishes, for example, rented their pews to the wealthy and demanded that the poor stand in the back of the church, the poor, not surprisingly, felt unwelcome and were reluctant to attend. That kind of discrimination contributed to the eventual separation of the Methodist movement from the Church of England, because Methodist leaders sought to minister to the poor and powerless.

What's the antidote to such divisions? To overcome "fights and quarrels," says James, "humble yourselves before the Lord" (Jas. 4:1, Jas. 4:10). Perhaps the best way to humble ourselves is to serve the people who are divided from us.

I discovered several years ago in my doctoral research that 19th-century Savannah, Georgia, was spared the tragic Catholic-Protestant violence so common in other American cities of that time. Delving deeply into the records of the local churches there, I discovered that the two religious communities had learned to live in harmony in part because they had humbled themselves to serve one another in times of crisis and in ongoing charitable works. Catholic nuns, for instance, had cared for sick Protestant households in the yellow fever epidemics. Protestant teachers had staffed the free schools that educated the poor children of Catholic immigrants. That kind of humbling service continues today in my own town where Christians of every denomination join to feed the hungry and homeless at the local soup kitchen—and, in doing so, rediscover their unity both with their fellow servants and with the people they serve.

When we'e tempted to divide—for whatever reasons—then we must return to Jesus' prayer. There we learn that unity in the church is dear to the heart of God. If we love Him, we will love the harmony He desires. Christian unity is, after all, simply one aspect of corporate Christian holiness.

We must repent and forgive. We must seek to understand and appreciate. We must humble ourselves and serve. And if we must disagree, we must do it in a spirit of charity.

Paul Thigpen is an assistant professor of religious studies at Soutwest Missouri State University in Springfield, Missouri. He also serves as a contributing editor for Discipleship Journal and for The Joyful Newsletter, a publication of the Fellowship of Merry Christians. Paul has written 13 books. He holds a Ph.D. in historical theology from Emory University.