In the world of cancel culture, where blocking, unfollowing, and cutting ties is a badge of honour, it’s become easy to close the door on people. “You do you,” as they say. The world tells me that, if someone isn’t serving me, I can let them go. And sometimes, yes, that’s needed. There’s a time for healthy boundaries.
But what happens when your ‘brothers and sisters Christ’ are ‘enemies’ in everyday life?
It’s easier than ever to unfollow, to block, to pretend people don’t exist. And it seeps into the church. We walk into Sunday service, and there’s tension in the air. This person’s not talking to that person. That person dated this person’s ex. That person just got divorced. That person cheated on this person. Life gets messy, people fall out and sides get taken. It’s hard to feel like we’re part of the same body when we’re so divided. The enemy loves this, doesn’t he? He loves disunity. A divided church is his playground. The more we fall out, the more we hold grudges, the less the church looks like a family and the more it starts looking like every other toxic space.
We have all been in conversation where a friend starts dating someone, but person present knows how that guy or girl treated someone else in the past. And, of course, there’s this strong instinct to protect. ‘Girls protect girls,’ right?! We want to shield each other from the same heartbreak, from getting hurt again and that’s valid But then I wonder… what about grace? What about the fact that people can change? Isn’t that what we believe?
We scream from the rooftops “there is nothing too big for God”, we sing songs about a God who can change and transform yet there are individuals in our lives that we are convinced will never change and will always be that person that hurt us; their capacity to change forever limited by the ceiling of the hurt they caused.
And is because it is painful to believe that they’ve changed. It’s agonising to acknowledge their potential for growth while still bearing the scars they left behind when their behaviour was toxic. How can I trust they are faithful now when they once betrayed me? How can I believe they are a good friend when I still remember the sting of their gossip? How can I accept their newfound diligence when, as my colleague, they were lazy and took credit for my efforts? How can I see them as honest when deception seemed to be their second nature? How can I believe they truly love now when all they ever had for me was indifference?
In society, they say it takes years to build a reputation and only a second to ruin it. That kind of thinking has invaded the church too. I’ve seen leaders who’ve slipped up once and were immediately stripped of their titles. I’m not saying we shouldn’t hold leaders accountable—because we should—but sometimes it feels like the standard is still perfection, even though we know none of us can live up to that.
I’ve watched fallouts turn into sides being taken and the church growing more and more divided. But when I look at my Bible, I don’t see this as an option. It does not say, Peter betrayed Jesus three times and then Jesus rose again and told everyone what a fake friend he is. As valid as He would be to do so, the Bible is clear about how we should treat one another:
“They will know you by how you love” (John 13:35).
“Be united in love” (Colossians 2:2).
“Do not gossip” (Proverbs 16:28, Proverbs 11:13).
The standard is so high. And sometimes, it feels unachievable, it feels unfair, especially when others are not living by it. But here’s the thing. I realised is that I can’t stand before God and say, ‘But they weren’t doing it either.’ It doesn’t work like that. I’m still required to love, to forgive, to believe that people can change.
At the end of the day, we’re still family. Not because we’re perfect, not because we never hurt each other, but because grace binds us together. We don’t get to choose who is worthy of forgiveness, and we certainly don’t get to define someone’s potential for change. We are called to love beyond our pain, to forgive beyond our understanding, and to trust that God is still working in all of us, even when it’s hard to see. Because no matter how divided we feel, no matter how broken our relationships may seem, in Christ, we are still one body. We are still family.
The Harmony Edit 