Key points:
- The Gospel was never meant to defend privilege or power. Its inclusive ethics call us to move toward a faith rooted in compassion and courage.
- The biggest threat to Christian witness today is fear masked as faith. This includes fear of cultural changes, diversity and losing influence.
- The courage to love is the purest test of discipleship. It means crossing borders, breaking chains and believing that reconciliation is stronger than resentment.
Photo courtesy of the Northern Illinois Conference.
Commentaries
We live in a time of deep polarization — politically, socially and even within the church. The name of Christ is used to justify ideologies that conflict with the core of the Gospel.
In many countries, Christian identity has been reduced to party allegiance. Instead of healing divisions, the language of faith often becomes a weapon that makes them worse.
However, this crisis is not new. History shows that whenever faith is controlled by empire, nationalism or moralism, the Spirit calls forth voices of renewal — prophets, reformers, mystics and disciples — who reclaim the radical message of Jesus. From Francis of Assisi to John Wesley, from Sojourner Truth to Gustavo Gutiérrez, the Spirit continues to draw the church back to the core of the Gospel: love that both liberates and reconciles.
The Gospel was never meant to defend privilege or power. Jesus’ ministry challenged social hierarchies, healed those who were excluded, and restored human dignity. The Kingdom of God he preached was not an escape from the world but its renewal. In that Kingdom, holiness and justice, mercy and truth, come together (Psalm 85:10).
The inclusive ethics of the Gospel call us to move beyond fear and ideology toward a living faith rooted in compassion and courage. They encourage us to embody love not just as a feeling but as the guiding principle of Christian life and moral thought.
The roots of Christian ethics
At its core, Christian ethics are relational rather than regulatory. They are not a list of moral rules but a covenant of love — love for God, neighbors and all creation. From Genesis to Revelation, the story of Scripture focuses on restoring relationships: God walking again with humanity in the garden, justice flowing like a river and creation groaning toward redemption (Romans 8:22).
In the Hebrew Scriptures, prophets condemned injustice not as a violation of ritual but as a disruption of community. Amos thundered against those who trampled the poor; Isaiah envisioned swords turned into plowshares; Micah summed up the faith: “Do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8).
Jesus stays true to the prophetic tradition. His ethics are practical, not just theoretical. He doesn't make rules for holiness; he lives it. He heals, forgives, shares meals with outcasts, and breaks down purity boundaries. In doing so, he demonstrates that divine law is fulfilled not through separation, but through solidarity with those the world neglects.
The Sermon on the Mount is central to this ethic, not as a list of moral rules but as a picture of the new humanity created by God’s grace. Turning the other cheek, loving one’s enemies and praying for persecutors are acts of spiritual resistance against fear and violence. In this sense, ethics means discipleship — a daily participation in God’s compassion.
Beyond a politics of fear
The biggest threat to genuine Christian witness today isn’t secularism but fear masked as faith. This includes fear of cultural changes, diversity and losing influence. Fear fuels authoritarianism and religious extremism. It justifies exclusion while claiming to defend the truth.
But fear cannot lay the foundation of a Christian ethic because fear shows a lack of trust. As the Apostle John reminds us, “Perfect love casts out fear” (1 John 4:18). Fear seeks control; love seeks connection. Fear divides the world into “us” and “them,” while love builds community.
When the church allows fear to influence its mission, it becomes a fortress rather than a community. The Gospel’s inclusive ethics call us to dismantle these fortresses and cross boundaries of race, class, gender and belief. The early church exemplified this when it welcomed Gentiles without insisting on conforming to Jewish customs. Paul’s declaration in Galatians 3:28, that in Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek, enslaved person nor free, male nor female, remains a revolutionary statement for radical inclusion.
Fear-driven religion favors the powerful and blames the poor. It confuses moral authority with holiness. Jesus never established a movement based on fear; he built a community of faith where love is stronger than death and hope exceeds despair.
Overcoming fear doesn’t mean ignoring evil but facing it bravely. Courage, as theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, is “the readiness to act responsibly even when we are afraid.” The ethics of the Gospel call for such bravery — bravery to love the enemy, tell the truth and stand with the marginalized even when it is unpopular.
Ethics as liberation
An inclusive Gospel is inherently a liberating Gospel. Liberation isn’t a political goal added to Christianity; it is the core of the salvation Jesus announced. In the synagogue at Nazareth, his first sermon explained his mission: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me ... to bring good news to the poor, release to the captives and freedom to the oppressed” (Luke 4:18).
This liberation is thorough: spiritual, social and economic. It restores God’s image in those marred by sin and injustice. It declares that salvation isn’t just about souls reaching heaven but also about bodies and communities experiencing justice here on earth.
Liberation theology reminds us that sin is not just personal wrongdoing but also systemic evil: racism, sexism, economic exploitation and environmental harm. Therefore, talking about redemption means changing hearts, systems and societies alike.
John Wesley, in his own way, understood this when he said, “There is no holiness but social holiness.” He established societies that combined spiritual renewal with acts of mercy, such as feeding the hungry, visiting prisoners and educating those in poverty. His movement was both evangelical and revolutionary, blending personal piety with public justice.
Today, the call for liberation reaches beyond human society to encompass all of creation. Ecological ethics, deeply rooted in Scripture, urge us to see the earth not as property but as a sacred gift of God’s grace. Exploiting creation is a betrayal of our calling as stewards of life. Caring for it involves participating in God’s redemptive work of renewal.
The fallacy of moral superiority
Moral superiority is the oldest and most dangerous temptation of religion. The Pharisees, though devout, fell into it when they mistook purity for faithfulness. Jesus’ harshest words were not against sinners but against the self-righteous: “You load people with burdens hard to bear, and you yourselves do not lift a finger to ease them” (Luke 11:46).
Modern Christianity risks repeating this mistake by defining morality through prohibition rather than compassion. The church becomes a gatekeeper of worthiness instead of a channel of grace. When morality lacks mercy, it turns into ideology, and ideology is always aggressive.
Jesus replaced moral superiority with moral depth. His ethics were demanding because they were relational: “Be merciful, as your Father is merciful” (Luke 6:36). Mercy is not weakness; it is the power of love to heal what law alone cannot.
The inclusive ethic of the Gospel does not deny sin or truth; it places them within the realm of grace. Calling sinners to repentance is not about shaming them but about welcoming them into wholeness. The church’s mission is not to protect moral purity but to participate in God’s work of restoring humanity.
The church’s public witness
Christian faith is personal but never private. It has social implications. To proclaim Christ crucified is to announce the end of all domination because the cross reveals that God’s power is rooted in self-giving love.
The early church’s testimony was inherently public. It refused to worship Caesar, practiced economic sharing and cared for the sick during plague times. It showed an alternative society built on equality and compassion. That witness still is the church’s calling today.
The Wesleyan tradition calls this “practical divinity,” faith shown through tangible acts of love. In modern language, we might say the Gospel is public theology: It addresses how we live together, how we use power and how we care for the earth.
Following Christ means challenging systems that devalue human life. The Gospel must speak out against racism, poverty, war and all forms of violence. Remaining silent in the face of injustice is a form of complicity. However, prophetic witness must always be grounded in humility. The church proclaims truth not to judge the world but to inspire it toward love.
Theologian Gustavo Gutiérrez stated that being a Christian means siding not against people, but against injustice. God’s support is always with the poor. And when the church forgets this, it forgets Christ.
From exclusion to communion
The ethics of the Gospel move us from exclusion to community, from self-protection to shared belonging. In Christ, salvation is no longer just an individual reward but a collective experience of grace.
The early Christian communities understood this profoundly. Their fellowship broke down barriers of ethnicity, gender and social class. At the Eucharistic table, enslaved and free, rich and poor, male and female, Jew and Gentile, all shared one bread and one cup. That table remains the most radical symbol of inclusion in the Christian faith.
Communion is not about sameness but about unity in diversity. It recognizes that differences do not cause division when love guides us. The Apostle Paul’s image of the body of Christ, many members, one Spirit, provides a moral example for society. Every voice, gift and life has dignity.
An inclusive ethic prompts us to ask tough questions: Who is missing from our table? Whose pain have we overlooked? Whose humanity have we denied in the name of doctrine or fear? The answers to these questions show whether we genuinely follow the crucified Christ or defend a cultural Christianity.
Moving from exclusion to communion means rediscovering the church as a sacrament of reconciliation, a living sign of God’s desire to unite all creation into one family of love.
The courage to love
The inclusive ethic of the Gospel is not permissive; it is costly. It is radical. It demands the courage to love beyond comfort, to hope beyond reason and to forgive beyond fairness.
Reclaiming this Gospel means resisting the reduction of Christianity to just ideology. It involves saying no to fear and yes to freedom, no to exclusion and yes to grace. It also recognizes that holiness and justice are two parts of the same divine love.
The courage to love is the purest test of discipleship. It involves feeding the hungry, welcoming strangers, standing up for the oppressed, embracing all lovers and speaking truth with humility. It embodies mercy not as charity but as solidarity. It means crossing borders, breaking chains and believing that reconciliation is stronger than resentment.
In a world wounded by fear and division, the church’s role is not to dominate but to serve; not to judge but to heal; not to retreat but to engage. As theologian Jürgen Moltmann reminds us, “The opposite of faith is not doubt, but fear.” To live by faith, then, is to live without fear, trusting that love is stronger than death and grace greater than sin.
The Gospel’s inclusive ethic is not just an alternative morality; it is the very core of God’s nature. It transforms ethics into praise, justice into worship, and service into joy. It calls the church to be not a fortress for the pure, but a home for the broken.
May we, as followers of Jesus, live this faith with both courage and tenderness — a faith that recognizes God's image in everyone, celebrates creation’s diversity as a gift and trusts that even now, the Spirit of Christ is making all things new.
Junker is senior pastor of Friendship United Methodist Church in Bolingbrook, Illinois.
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