Jesus, of course, was highly political.

Jesus read from scripture, taught in the synagogue, demonstrated relationships with God and fellow persons. And all of this was highly political.

In the ancient world, and in most of time until relatively recently, political was religious. Religious WAS political. Separation between the state and religion is a recent figment of government and law. The Caesars were Gods, and they ruled the country. Henry the 8th fixed his problem with the pope by declaring himself the head of the church in England (and thereby forming the Anglican church): King and head of the church, all rolled into one. Political decisions were made on behalf of the church. Decisions of the church were made because they were good politics.

When Jesus stood up to read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written:

"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor."

Despite the fact that Jesus read from the scroll of Isaiah, this is a very political reading. Subversive. How else can one explain release of captive, recovery of sight--whether it is literal or symbolic, setting the oppressed free, proclaiming the Lord's year--the year of Jubilee when debts are cancelled and property returned to its original owners. This passage is sometimes called Jesus' first public sermon--and an amazing, subversive, political message it is--a clear mandate to work in the public arena, to use our faith principles to contribute to the common good. However one may interpret the separation of church and state--the principle does not separate the church--faith and religion--from society--not only free, but obligated to contribute.

So, if the mandate is so black and white: release the captives, bring good news to the poor, let the oppressed go free--how is it that persons of good faith end up in so many distinctively different (and dramatically opposing places) in the public arena?

And then I look at the same scripture passage again--with different eyes, reading with different emphasis.

Jesus stood up to read, "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor."

Sure, this is a passage about social justice... And it is also a passage emphasizing Jesus' call to ministry--called by the Spirit, which is upon him, who has anointed him, who has sent him to proclaim.

And I am reminded that even with a short, straightforward scene, changing just that much emphasis takes the direction from social justice to religious positioning--not earth-shatteringly different for Jesus, who lived in both realms honestly and articulately. Harder, however, for some who have been damaged, or threatened by those with theological views different than our own.

Harder still, perhaps, for those who have lived with the notion of separation of church and state means a solid wall between our religious selves and our political selves--as though our governmental bodies have no moral or faith basis, or our churches have no politics themselves, or influence in the wider arena of public politics. --But that is really an issue for another day.

The change in emphasis brings us to one of the many uneasy places where we recognize the breadth of experience within this body we call Christian. We who look to Jesus as Christ do so with many beliefs, examples, and expectations. And those deeply held beliefs sometimes take us to conflict.

We know it is more comfortable when we put ourselves in the company of those who are like minded. Whose agendas are similar to our own, who understand priorities such as our ow

The Los Altos UMC sits on the corner of Magdalena and Foothill Expressway across the street from a small shopping center, and a cross a creek from a similarly large, Southern Baptist church. These two churches are both large, financially strong, excellent programs for youth, and perhaps as far apart theologically as one can imagine. When I was a member of the Los Altos Church, both churches used the shopping center for overflow parking. We would joke about how we could predict who would turn off at the Methodist church, and who would continue walking to the Baptist church from the overflow parking: Obviously those with casseroles were the Methodists, those with Bibles were Baptists. That is the Old joke. Occasionally I thought a more telling indicator would be bumper stickers: "Jesus is the Only way" and, "Many paths to God". The Baptists, of course, are the "one way" variety.

In my years in that church, I was a member of an adult Sunday school class. Fifteen to 25 of us would meet on Sunday mornings. Usually we would have wonderfully, deep meaningful discussions. Some mornings, one of our elderly members would join us and our deep and meaningful conversations would take entirely different directions: not all of the conservatives were next door at the Baptist church. We investigated the most minute details of obscure passages. We heard about his bible-thumping background growing up in Arkansas, we heard more about literalism in the Bible than anyone perhaps ever should. Some mornings were--well, painful. And I wouldn't have missed them for the world. Clayton opened up a window into a conservative world of thinking that I had never seen--never perhaps been allowed to see, or never taken the time to see. My assumptions were challenged. The things I held dear and believed about the Bible, about Jesus, about God, were brought into question. I saw my own beliefs though Clayton's eyes--sometimes through Clayton's experiences. Sometimes I was able to glimpse why it didn't make any sense to him--and why it makes so much sense to me. I was encouraged, and sometimes forced, to backup and really stretch to figure out how the parts fit. It was clear that Clayton and I worship the same God, read the same Bible, hear the same gospel and proclaim the same Lord. I wouldn't have given up Clayton for the world. But that doesn't go for many of the Methodist conservatives which whom I have held discussions in my life.

"I suspect that even those of us who hate the idea of an outright split [schism] have a secret hankering for a church in which the most irritating of the others won't be around to make our lives miserable. If we can hammer the other side long enough, perhaps it will be cowed into silence, give up or go away. And then we will have an improved if not purified church." [1]

Of course, it seems like it would be so much easier that way, but then along comes Paul:

Indeed, the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot would say, "Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body," that would not make it any less a part of the body.

But, of course, we don't very often self-select ourselves out of the club. That might have been the issue with Paul in Corinth, "I'm not the hand, so I don't belong?" We're a little more straightforward today: "You're not a hand, You're not part of the body."