This year, on the first night of my first Exponential, I sat in the back row of the top balcony. My face was wet with tears, and I was sobbing – almost uncontrollably. After more than two decades in ministry, my spirit cried out a single, aching question: What are we really building?
Our world – both inside and outside the church – is experiencing deep unrest and upheaval. Sometimes, unrest is necessary. Non-violent resistance, especially by marginalized groups, is a vital way to confront injustice. And upheaval – overturning anything that does not reflect God’s character – can be exactly what’s needed to make space for healing and hope. Jesus did this often. He challenged norms and disrupted the status quo for the sake of those who had been silenced or shut out.
The tension in and around the church often comes from the pressure of long-ignored truth. These disruptions are often the natural consequence of long-standing injustice within and beyond the church.
When people cry out, it’s because they’ve been ignored. When systems shake, it’s because they weren’t built on equity. Political loyalty has taken priority over gospel witness. Our immigrant neighbors are often treated with suspicion rather than compassion. Women called and equipped to lead are still sidelined. People who serve children and youth are undervalued, underpaid, and overworked. And too many churches have covered up or ignored the abuse of power – especially by male clergy.
These were the realities I was wrestling with as I began to cry. I was reckoning with the fact that this church that I love has not always looked like Jesus. This church that taught me that “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world…” sometimes decides which children deserve to be treated with love and which others we can disregard.
This church that I saw women toil to build up too often refuses to take seriously the preaching and leading abilities. This church that taught me how to pray, serve, and teach has sometimes looked like power, like control, like performance, like silence. It has looked like exclusion. It has looked like fear. And in that moment of raw honesty, I wasn’t sure I could keep building if I didn’t know that it could be different.
But then came the whisper of Ephesians 4 – a chapter I’ve known for years, but that hit my heart in a fresh and urgent way. The unity Paul wrote about isn’t a vague aspiration or just an extra strategy for church growth. It’s what Jesus prayed for.
In John 17, Jesus prayed not only for the disciples beside Him but for all who would come to believe through their message. He prayed, “That they would all be one, just as you and I are one… so that the world will believe you sent me.” (John 17:20–21, NLT). Unity wasn’t a side note – it was central to His vision for the church.
When it comes to this idea of “one” universal church, the visions are many – and the methods are often competing. We chase unity through doctrinal gatekeeping, cultural sameness, or strategic silence. But what if we looked instead to Jesus’s prayer and allowed it to be interpreted through Paul’s teaching in Ephesians 4? What if we let Ephesians 4 guide us to bridge breaches, mend what’s been split, and walk toward a unity that is honest, Spirit-formed, and rooted in Christ? In the following sections, we’ll explore how Paul’s vision challenges our postures and calls us toward healing – especially around the issues that have too often worked against the unity Jesus longs for.
Posture: How We Show Up Matters
(Ephesians 4:1–3, 29-32)
Sometimes we can feel inundated with strategies and systems, but I think it’s ironic that Paul starts this chapter with posture. Paul writes, “Live a life worthy of the calling you have received… with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love.” (vv. 1–2). Unity begins with daily decisions about how we carry ourselves in community. In this moment of division – political, theological, and generational – how we show up matters.
When we enter conversations with humility, curiosity, and a willingness to listen, we begin to walk in a manner worthy of the calling. This posture doesn’t just reflect Christ – it nurtures unity and makes room for growth. This posture lowers the inequities of power and promotes those who have been silenced to use their voice to make us healthier. This humility affirms women who are equipped to lead and opens the way for us to live out the call in real-time. A posture of humility and gentleness invites us to engage with conviction, listen without defensiveness, and honor the Spirit’s work in all people.
When it comes to how we treat our immigrant neighbors, humility invites us to admit what we don’t know and to listen to stories that challenge our assumptions. This gentle and intentional listening is not passivity – it’s choosing to give voice to those our world too often tries to silence. It’s saying Scripture valued the voice and the contribution of the immigrant. Joseph saved Egypt. Ruth and Boaz crossed cultural lines to be the ancestral line for our Savior. And the early disciples spread the gospel as they migrated from Jerusalem to Judea, Samaria, and the outer parts of the world. Posture affected the spread of the gospel and resulted in saving lives!
And our posture is just as important when addressing abuse of power. Churches that prioritize reputation over people are not bearing with one another in love – they’re perpetuating harm. Humility says: We were wrong. Gentleness says: We will not retaliate when truth is spoken. Patience says: We will take the time to rebuild trust. Love says: We love the violated and the violator too much to look away.
Paul closes this section with practical words: “Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths… Let all bitterness and wrath and anger… be put away from you… Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” (vv. 29–32). These are not soft words, and they are certainly not easy to live by. Instead, they are strong enough to hold a divided church together – if we choose to abide by them.
Priority: Centering What Matters Most
(Ephesians 4:4–13)
After calling the church to humility and love, Paul shifts to what holds us together: our shared foundation. “There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to one hope… one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all…” (vv. 4–6). Before leadership roles or theological debates, Paul reminds us what we all share.
Unity can be built while acknowledging difference. We build it by anchoring ourselves in what’s truly central: Christ. Things fall apart when we center tradition, power, or personality. When we center the truth of the love of Christ, we are better able to equip and grow mature people, and reflect Jesus together.
“Christ gave… the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up…” (vv. 11–12). Leadership exists to equip, not to elevate. The goal isn’t a platform – it’s participation. The whole body grows when the whole body is engaged.
As a woman in ministry, the barriers to living out our place in equipping the Body have been numerous. However, the call to do so is still so loud! Seeing the fullness of Christ is only possible when we live out the fullness of His Spirit at work in our lives – in every role! This matters when women are told they can serve but not lead. The body is not built up when immigrants are welcomed into the pews but not into leadership. When schools, organizations, and ministries that serve children and youth are under-resourced, we fail to invite the next generation to participate. And when abuse by male clergy is hidden instead of addressed, we’re not equipping saints – we’re enabling harm.
Paul is clear: The church is meant to grow into maturity, “attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ” (v. 13). That means we must evaluate what we’re building – not just in size or reach, but in integrity, fruit, and faithfulness.
If unity is the goal, equipping must be the priority. And equipping means making space, telling the truth, and sharing power – so that every part of the church has what it needs to grow.
Practice: Walking It Out With Integrity
(Ephesians 4:14–28; 5:1–2)
By this point, Paul turns to how unity is lived out. What does unity look like in practice? It looks like truth. Yes, theological truth, but even more so in our lived realities. It looks like restraint. And it looks like love with its sleeves rolled up. It looks like justice lived out in public ways that helps everyone live up to be everything that God created them to be!
Paul calls for a new way of living: put off falsehood, tell the truth, deal with anger, work with integrity, share with those in need. These concrete ideals are choices we repeatedly make to build a solid foundation of community that can be trusted when the world is hostile and divisive.
Practicing unity means refusing to reduce people to talking points. It means truth over narrative and accountability over applause.
In how we treat immigrants, it looks like building structures of welcome – not just slogans. It’s choosing to notice who’s missing from the table and making room.
When it comes to leadership, practice includes ensuring that women are not just present, but empowered – trusted with real responsibility, fair compensation, and visible affirmation of their gifts.
With the next generation, it looks like consistency – keeping promises, listening deeply, and honoring their spiritual depth now, not later.
And in addressing abuse, it looks like embracing transparency, clear policies, survivor care, and a commitment to long-term change..
Paul closes with a charge: “Follow God’s example… and walk in the way of love, just as Christ loved us…” (5:1–2). This is a call to real discipleship. If love is our way, then truth, justice, and mercy will be our practice.
Conclusion: What Are We Really Building?
We are building something, whether we admit it or not. If we’re careless with our posture – harsh instead of gentle, proud instead of humble – we’ll build a church that divides rather than unites. If we center the wrong priorities – celebrity over calling, comfort over growth – we’ll build something that looks polished but is spiritually shallow. And if our daily practices are rooted in image management instead of Christlike love, we’ll keep repeating cycles of harm rather than becoming a witness to healing.
To be fair, no one sets out to build a church with hurtful postures, misplaced priorities, or harmful practices. I refuse to believe that the pain we’ve felt – or even caused – was ever the original intent. No, I choose to believe the best about the church, about my brothers and sisters in Christ.
I believe the cracks we see have simply widened over time. But deep down, we all still care about building on the solid foundation: Christ Jesus. I believe the best about us. No one starts with the wrong priorities. And there’s no shame in recognizing where we’ve gone off track. The goal is simply to shift our posture, reorder our priorities, and renew our practices – so we can begin building differently.
Here’s the hope: We can build differently. We can grow into the church Jesus prayed for in John 17. A church where immigrants are treated as family. Where women lead with freedom and honor. Where youth are seen as spiritual leaders, not just future ones. Where abuse is not hidden but confronted with courage and compassion. Where every part of the body matters, and every voice has space to speak.
That night in the balcony, I wasn’t just grieving. I was also yearning – for something deeper, something truer, something more like the heart of Jesus. And I believe that’s exactly what God is calling us to.
So, what are we really building?
By God’s grace, we are building a church that tells the truth, makes room for the whole Body, and walks in love. Slowly, steadily, honestly – we’re becoming what we were always meant to be.
