Midweek Musing- 4/8/26

Last Sunday, coming home from church, we were listening to NPR on satellite radio. The news mentioned Easter celebrations taking place around the world, and during the report the journalist noted that it was a day of joy for the approximately 2.5 billion people who call themselves Christians.

That number really struck me.

Because I am sure that scared band of eleven disciples, along with perhaps fifty or sixty other devoted followers, many of them women, could never have imagined that their little movement of folks who followed the Way of Jesus, would one day become a people on every continent, numbering in the billions.

And it got me wondering: how did that struggling, oppressed movement, with no money, no power, and no social clout, not only survive but thrive? And what might the church in the United States, whose numbers continue to shrink, learn from them?

So, I started reading. And for once, the research was not hard to find as historians and scholars have long asked what accounted for such explosive growth. Indeed, what would take Christianity from a small, frightened group hiding in an upper room on that first Easter in Jerusalem would spread so immensely that within a few centuries even the Roman Emperor Constantine would publicly align himself with the faith.

Now, scholars generally agree the Christian faith grew in large part because those who became followers loved people. And that love was not in word only. The early church cared for the poor, the forgotten, the sick, the hungry, and the marginalized.

Now of course love wasn’t new. It was not some new emotion Christians created. But it seems the love demonstrated by those in the early church was unique. And according to historians, one of the most unusual aspects of this love was that Christians cared for the poor differently.

In the Roman world, most groups took care of their own. Families helped families. Religious communities looked after their own members. That was expected. And the Jewish people were further known for taking care of other Jews even outside their primary circle.

But Christians did something altogether more radical. They cared not only for their own poor, but for everybody else’s poor as well. They fed the hungry whether they were Christian or not. They tended the sick whether they believed correctly or not. They cared for widows, orphans, prisoners, and strangers. They served across race, status, tribe, and creed. In doing so, they offered the world a living picture of the love of Christ.

And it was so effective that even the enemies of Christianity noticed.

One story which having read I have fallen in love with is of Flavius Claudius Julianus. He is better known as Julian the Apostate.

Julian was the last non-Christian emperor of Rome, dying in 363 A.D. He had actually been raised a Christian, but when he came to power, he rejected the faith and tried to restore the worship of the old Roman gods. He believed pagan religion could help reunite the empire. But in the midst of his efforts to roll back Christianity, Julian ran into a problem. Christians were simply too good at loving people.

In one of his letters, Julian complained that the Christians, whom he rather snarkily called “the impious Galileans” were making the pagan establishment look bad. Why? Because they were caring for the needy better than Rome was. He wrote with frustration that the Christians supported not only their own poor, but pagan poor as well. Imagine that. One of the most powerful men in the world looked at the church and essentially said, “We are losing ground because these Christians are better at compassion than we are.”

That says something, does it not?

It says that charity is never just charity. Love is never just sentimental. Mercy is never merely an accessory to the faith. Compassion is a witness. It is proclamation. It is evangelism in its truest form.

Long before there were church growth strategies and branding plans and social media campaigns, there were Christians feeding hungry people, tending the sick, clothing the poor, visiting prisoners, and making room at the table for those the rest of society had pushed aside. And the world looked on and said, “What kind of people are these?”

It turns out that “they will know we are Christians by our love” is not just a nice song lyric. It is a truth that once changed the world.

I think that is why Julian’s complaint still matters. In many ways, we are living again in what some have called apostolic times.

We cannot assume Christian values will simply be absorbed from the culture around us. We live in a society that often teaches suspicion more readily than mercy, outrage more quickly than humility, and condemnation more easily than love.

Alas, we live in a moment that is fractured, divided, and often hate filled. Public life seemingly trains people to sort, label, dismiss, and condemn.

But the gospel calls us to something holier. It calls us to love our neighbor, care for the poor, and see the image of God in every single human being.

That is where the witness of the church and its love of all matters most.

Now to be very clear, Jesus never said to love only the deserving poor. He never said to feed only the hungry people whose life choices you approve of. He never said to offer compassion only once someone had cleaned themselves up morally, socially, or politically. He simply said to love. To feed the hungry. To welcome the stranger. To care for “the least of these.” To love even your enemy.

That is what makes Christian love and charity so difficult and yet so beautiful.

We are not called to love people because they have earned it.

We are called to love because God has loved us.

Now to help my own understanding of this concept I have always found hope in modern examples of radical love, grace, and mercy, even when it causes controversy.

One such example of this came during the pandemic. It seems that at the pandemic’s peak Pope Francis authorized aid for a group of transgender sex workers in Rome who were left hungry because of a lack of business.

Predictably, some religious voices and cultural commentators were scandalized. Or more accurately put they lost their minds.

Since people know I serve the church as a pastor they came to me and asked my opinion.

The best I could do was say say that I do not want to belong to a church that would refuse food to a hungry person.

Now that response shocked the person asking the question. So much so I was able to walk away before they could ask anything else. Or begin debating.)

Now please understand my response does not condone these individuals' professions. Actively serving others in love absolutely does not mean we support or believe all folks actions are good or healthy or holy.

We as a church do not believe exploitation is acceptable. And serving others does not mean that we as individuals or the church must bless every part of human brokenness.

However, it does mean that when we encounter human need, our first response must be compassion. Before judgment. Before analysis. Before even trying to change their behavior.

Before any of that we must see that there is a person there. A person made in the image of God. A person for whom Christ died. A person who is hungry, hurting, vulnerable, desperate, or in danger.

If the church cannot respond to that with mercy, then what exactly are we doing?

The early Christians understood that.

Emperor Julian certainly understood that, even if he resented it. He knew that this kind of love was powerful. He knew it was persuasive. He knew it was changing the world. The empire had armies, money, power, and authority.

But the Christians had something stronger: agape. Servant love. Cross-shaped love. Samaritan love. Enemy-loving love. The kind of love that kneels beside the wounded. The kind of love that shares bread with the hungry. The kind of love that sees not just moral circumstance, but human dignity.

And I still believe that kind of love can change the world.

Maybe not overnight. Maybe not in ways that make the headlines or create quick results. But over time, love changes communities. Mercy reshapes hearts. Compassion opens doors that arguments never could. The church is at its most beautiful not when it is grasping for power, but when it is bending low in service.

So, I believe the question for us is this: will we be known by that kind of love?

Will our churches care for the poor in ways that make the world stop and notice? Will we serve people who can give us nothing in return? Will we love beyond “our people,” ideology, politics, religion, and comfort zone? Will we dare to believe that generosity toward the forgotten is not a distraction from the gospel, but one of the clearest embodiments of it?

The witness of the early church suggests that when Christians live this way, people notice. Even emperors notice.

So may we, in our own way, be as faithful as those “impious Galileans” of old. May we care for our modern-day Romans better than Rome does. May we feed the hungry, clothe the poor, welcome the stranger, and radically love without calculation. And may the witness of such grace shine so brightly that the world catches a glimpse, however faintly, of Jesus Christ himself.

In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Alleluia Amen.