It’s easy to think that these walls I live within are all that there is. Moore College sandwiches me comfortably between Carillon Ave and King St, so that I’m never forced to see Sydney University with it’s secular students and wild parties, or Newtown with it’s self-proclaimed freedom from Christianity and embrace of all things ungodly. It’s a safe place, within these walls.
And yet, my favourite parts of the week are when my head is dragged from the books I so dearly love to engage with people who have no idea what aorist means, or who N.T Wright is and why people so often thing Wright is wrong. These people pull me back to the deep truths of Christianity; to Jesus’ love for all people, but especially those others had cast aside. They remind me that God’s call is more than words, but a call to life lived in a new way, and some of them are fighting hard to walk in this new way.
They’re plodding slowly along this narrow path towards the only Saviour who will never forsake them like all their other saviours had. They’re fighting to trust the God that they wish would just rescue them from this mess of the world.
And these people, outside of these walls I write from within, are God’s beloved. They are His. Jesus unites us by His blood to be one people, and every Thursday I am reminded of this as we scramble to serve food. Tonight, I dropped a whole tray of desert and found no anger in response. Tonight, I spoke words reluctantly that it would have been easier to swallow.
Tonight, I stepped outside these precious walls of mine, and I am so glad that God tears them down each week. I am blessed by this simple grace, because it reminds me of His grace.