Unity in Christ

Good afternoon, everyone. Happy Sabbath.
I want us to imagine something.
Imagine that every church building had a mirror at the entrance. But this was not an ordinary mirror.
It did not show our clothing, our appearance, or our smiles on Sabbath morning.
This mirror revealed something deeper.
It showed:

• Who we naturally move toward.
• Who we quietly avoid.
• Whose opinions we value.
• Whose opinions irritate us.
• Who we listen to.
• Who we dismiss.

It revealed whether our unity was truly centered on Christ—or whether we had built small places of belonging around personalities, preferences, and positions.”

“Now here is the difficult question:
If that mirror existed, would we be comfortable looking into it?”
“The reason this question matters is because Paul was not writing to people who had abandoned Christ.
He was writing to a church.

• A church that prayed.
• A church that worshipped.
• A church that had spiritual gifts.
• A church that believed it was following God.

Yet beneath the surface, there were divisions.
Some identified with Paul.
Some with Apollos.
Some with Peter.
And Paul had to ask them a question that still challenges every generation:
‘Is Christ divided?’”

“This week, the Corinthian church becomes our mirror.
The question is not only, ‘What was wrong with them?’
The question is:
‘What might Christ reveal about us?’
Because unity is not created when everyone thinks exactly alike.
Unity happens when everyone is becoming more like Jesus.”

Welcome to the Conversation Tree: Unity in Christ

Imagine walking into a church and hearing:
"I'm with Pastor A."
"We follow the old members."
"Our ministry is where the real work gets done."

That's exactly what Paul found in Corinth.
Some said, "I follow Paul." Others, "I follow Apollos." Others, "I follow Peter."
Paul asks one devastating question: "Is Christ divided?"

The issue wasn't that they had leaders. God gives leaders. The problem was that their identity had shifted from Christ to the people they admired. The moment that happens, the church stops being one body and becomes a collection of camps.

Isn't it natural for people to have close friends in church? Every church has groups. When does friendship become a clique?

Friendship is healthy. Jesus Himself had close friends.
A clique begins when a small circle becomes more important than the whole body. Healthy friendships build bridges; cliques build invisible walls. They don't usually intend to exclude others, but the effect is the same—newcomers and quieter members can begin to feel like outsiders looking in.

But sometimes people form groups because they feel unheard or think the church is making mistakes. Isn't disagreement sometimes necessary?

Yes. Unity doesn't mean uniformity. Paul corrected Peter. Honest disagreement can strengthen the church.
The danger comes when convictions become camps. Instead of asking, "What does Christ want?" we begin asking, "Whose side are you on?"

Sometimes "unity" feels like a code word for "Don't question anything."
If you raise concerns, you're labelled rebellious. If you don't belong to the influential circle, your voice carries less weight.
Could it be that some churches confuse unity with conformity?

That's an important challenge.
Biblical unity isn't everyone thinking alike. It is everyone submitting to Christ together. A church can appear united because no one dares to speak. That isn't the unity Paul was calling for.

I've noticed that believers can become passionate about defending their position but not always about loving one another. Why?

Because it's easier to defend an opinion than to crucify pride.
Paul points them to the cross because the cross destroys boasting. At its foot, no one stands higher than anyone else. We are all recipients of grace. Before long,we stop seeing brothers and sisters and start seeing categories

What are some subtle ways cliques can appear in a church without people realizing it? And what practical steps can we take to make sure Christ—not personalities, traditions, or groups—remains the center?

That's a question every church should ask itself honestly, because cliques rarely announce themselves. They grow quietly.

A clique begins the moment we unconsciously divide the church into "our people" and "the others."

It may sound like:

• "The youth don't understand."
• "The older members always control everything."
• "Those new converts are changing the church."
• "That's the pastor's group."
• "Those are the conservative ones."
• "Those are the liberals."

Notice what has happened. We no longer see brothers and sisters; we see categories.

Another sign is when people feel they need someone's approval before they feel they belong. A visitor should not have to discover which group is "important" before feeling welcomed. Neither should a new member feel that acceptance depends on joining the right circle.

Cliques also appear when information flows only within certain circles, when instead of cooperate, when the same people are always heard while others are merely tolerated, or when we defend people because they are our friends rather than because they are right.

So how do we keep Christ at the center?

First, we remember that our deepest identity is not elder, deacon, youth leader, choir member, long-time member, or new believer. Our deepest identity is that we are sinners saved by the same grace. The cross levels every one of us.

Second, we intentionally cross the invisible lines. Sit beside someone you don't usually talk to. Invite the visitor home instead of always inviting your closest friends. Ask the quiet member for an opinion before the outspoken one. If you're a leader, listen especially to the voices that are easiest to overlook.

Third—and this may be the hardest—we must rejoice when God works through someone outside our own circle. The disciples struggled with this. The Corinthians struggled with it. Sometimes we struggle with it. We secretly prefer God to work through our group because it validates us. But the kingdom of God is bigger than our circle.

Finally, we ask ourselves one searching question:
If someone visited our church for the first time, would they leave saying, "Those people really love Christ," or would they leave saying, "Those people already have their groups"?

The answer to that question may reveal more about the spiritual health of our church than the quality of the sermon, the music, or even the lesson study.
Because a church centered on Christ has many friendships—but no walls.

Yesterday we discussed cliques and divisions in the church. Today, Paul takes us deeper. He doesn't simply ask, "Why do Christians divide?" He asks a more searching question:
"What happens when something other than Christ becomes the center?"

Paul tells the Corinthians, "I appeal to you...that all of you agree with one another...and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and the same judgment." (1 Corinthians 1:10)

What do you think Paul means by that?

Does he mean everyone has to think exactly the same?

That is how many people understand unity. But Paul is not asking for identical personalities, backgrounds, or opinions on every matter. He is asking believers to have the same center.
The question is not, "Do we all think alike?"
It is, "Are we all submitting to the same Lord?"

But the church does have beliefs. There are teachings that members are expected to accept. Isn't unity affected when people believe differently?

A church is not built on the idea that truth does not matter. Paul himself corrected false teachings in Corinth. Unity does not mean that every belief is equally valid or that doctrine is unimportant.

The Church has a shared understanding of Scripture expressed in its Fundamental Beliefs. Those beliefs provide a common foundation.

But Paul is showing us that agreement on beliefs alone does not automatically create Christian unity.

Are you saying a church can have correct doctrine and still have division?

Exactly.
Corinth had truth. They had spiritual gifts. They gathered for worship. They claimed Christ. Yet Paul still had to address jealousy, rivalry, and factions.
A church can be united in its statements of faith but divided in its spirit.

So what is the difference?

There is unity in truth and unity in Christlike relationships.
Unity in truth means we share the essential beliefs of our faith.
Unity in Christ means those beliefs produce humility, love, patience, and grace.
Truth tells us what we believe. Christ teaches us how we treat each other.

Could someone defend the right doctrine but still not reflect the character of Jesus?

Yes. And that is one of the dangers Paul is addressing.
The Corinthians were not arguing because they had no faith. They were arguing because their identity had become attached to people.
"I follow Paul."
"I follow Apollos."
"I follow Peter."

Today, the names may be different, but the temptation remains.
Our identity can quietly become attached to our favorite preacher, our ministry, our traditions, our theological positions, or even our reputation as "faithful believers."
None of those things are wrong. The danger comes when something good replaces Christ as the center.

How do we know if something has replaced Christ?

Ask this question:
What gives me my deepest sense of security and belonging?
Is it Christ?
Or is it my church position?
My knowledge?
My history?
My group?
My ability to prove that I am right?

Whatever becomes the foundation of our identity will eventually influence how we see others.

That sounds connected to yesterday's lesson on cliques.

It is connected, but today we are looking deeper.
Cliques are a symptom.
The deeper issue is misplaced identity.
When Christ is not the center, we naturally create smaller centers around ourselves.

Paul says we should have "the same mind." How can people with different personalities and different gifts have the same mind?

Paul himself answers that later when he describes the church as a body.
A body has many parts. The eye is not the hand. The foot is not the ear. They have different functions, but they all receive direction from the same Head.

Christ is the Head.
Unity does not mean every part becomes the same. It means every part belongs to the same body and responds to the same Head.

So disagreement itself is not always the enemy of unity?

Correct.
The danger is not diversity. The danger is when our differences become more important than our shared commitment to Christ.

We can have different personalities, different gifts, and different approaches while still asking the same question:
"What honours Jesus?"

Let us close with a challenging question.
Suppose every member of our church agreed perfectly with every Fundamental Belief. Would that automatically mean we have the unity Paul describes?

Not necessarily. We could believe the same things but still treat each other badly.

Exactly.
A church does not only reveal Christ by what it teaches. It reveals Christ by how its members love, forgive, welcome, and serve.

Final Reflection
Before we leave, consider this:
If someone spent six months worshipping with us, would they conclude that our greatest identity is that we belong to Christ—or that they must first belong to our circle, our tradition, or our way of thinking before they truly belong?

Paul's solution to division was not simply, "Agree more."
His solution was:
"Return to the center."
And the center is Jesus Christ.

Good morning. Suppose two children are arguing.
"My father is the mayor."
"Well, my mother is the principal."
Neither child is discussing what is right. They're borrowing someone else's importance to feel significant.

Paul says the Corinthians were doing exactly that.
"I follow Paul."
"I follow Apollos."
Instead of saying, "How mature!" Paul says, "You are still infants."

That sounds harsh. Is it wrong to admire a pastor or Bible teacher?

Not at all. Paul admired Apollos. The problem wasn't appreciation—it was identity. When our identity is tied to a leader, we stop asking, "What does Christ teach?" and begin asking, "Whose side are you on?" The leader becomes more important than the Lord he serves.

But why does Paul call that immaturity?

Because the issue isn't really leaders. Leaders only expose the real problem. Paul says they were "carnal." Think about that. We usually associate worldliness with obvious sins. But Paul's evidence wasn't drunkenness or immorality. It was envy, rivalry, and division.

A church can be morally respectable, doctrinally sound, and still be worldly if pride and competition control its relationships.

That's uncomfortable. Some churches measure maturity by how much Bible knowledge you have.

Yet the Corinthians had knowledge. They had spiritual gifts. They were gifted enough that Paul later spends three chapters discussing them. Still, he calls them infants. Why?
Because maturity isn't measured by what we know or even by what we can do. It's measured by whether the cross has changed us.

Then what does Paul mean by "milk" and "solid food"?

Many people assume milk means the simple gospel and solid food means advanced doctrines or prophecy. But Paul's argument suggests something deeper. The Corinthians already knew the gospel. What they couldn't digest was its implications.

The cross calls us to humility, self-denial, and putting others before ourselves. That's solid food—not because it's difficult to understand, but because it's difficult to live.

So the wisdom of God isn't simply information?

Exactly. Paul says God's wisdom is revealed in the crucified Christ and understood through the Spirit. The Spirit doesn't merely fill our minds with truth; He reshapes our hearts. We become less concerned with winning arguments and more concerned with reflecting Jesus.

But Paul also says, "Imitate me." Doesn't that encourage following leaders?

Notice the rest of the sentence: "as I imitate Christ." Mature leaders never gather disciples around themselves. They point people beyond themselves.
A good question is this: Does this leader make me more dependent on Christ—or more dependent on the leader?

Some leaders fail badly. People are hurt and sometimes lose their faith.

And the pain is real. Paul isn't saying leaders don't matter. He calls them "God's fellow workers." Leaders should be respected, but never idolised. When a leader falls, we grieve. We also remember that our foundation was never the leader. It was Christ.

At the same time, genuine love for Christ means holding leaders accountable. Neither blind loyalty nor constant suspicion reflects the wisdom of the cross.

So how do we know if we're growing?

Ask yourself: When someone disagrees with me, do I become defensive? When another person's ministry succeeds, do I rejoice or secretly compare? Am I easier to offend than I was a year ago? Am I more humble? More teachable? More willing to serve?
Those questions often reveal spiritual maturity better than asking how much Bible knowledge we've accumulated.

Paul ends this section by reminding the Corinthians that together they are God's temple. Think about that. Every act of jealousy, every rivalry, every unnecessary division damages something sacred.

Christian maturity is not simply knowing more about Christ; it is becoming more like Christ. The wisdom of the cross slowly replaces pride with humility, competition with cooperation, and self-interest with love. When Christ becomes our deepest identity, we stop building camps around people and start building His church together.

Imagine a company where the caretaker begins acting as though he owns the building. He rearranges everything to suit himself, dismisses advice, and resents anyone who questions his decisions.
Then one day the owner arrives.
In an instant the caretaker remembers: I was never the owner. I was only entrusted with what belongs to someone else.

Paul says that is how every Christian leader—and indeed every Christian—should think. We are servants of Christ and stewards of His household.
But before Paul ever speaks about servants and stewards, he says something even more important: "We have the mind of Christ."
Why do you think Paul starts there?

Because you can't live like Christ until you begin thinking like Christ.
The world teaches us to climb higher, gain influence and be admired.
Jesus had all authority, yet chose the path of humility.
His way of thinking was completely different.

Exactly.
Philippians tells us that although Jesus was equal with God, He emptied Himself and took the form of a servant.
He didn't serve because He lacked power. He served because love, not self, governed His heart.
Christian leadership isn't about position; it's about disposition. It's not about being above people, but being available to them.

Does that mean Christians shouldn't seek leadership or promotion?
Sometimes it sounds as though ambition itself is wrong.

The Bible never condemns leadership. It condemns selfish ambition.
Ask two questions:
Why do I want this position?
And once I have it, Whom am I trying to benefit?
Selfish ambition asks, "How can this bless me?"
Christlike ambition asks, "How can God use me to bless others?"

Then why do churches sometimes admire exactly the opposite?
We celebrate the most popular preacher, the largest congregation, the biggest offering, the most influential leader.
Yet Paul never says the steward must be famous. He says the steward must be faithful.
Could it be that the church sometimes measures success by numbers while God measures it by character?

That's a searching question. A steward owns nothing.

• The church belongs to Christ.
• The truth belongs to Christ.
• Our gifts belong to Christ.
• Even the people we serve belong to Christ.

Stewards don't build personal kingdoms. They faithfully care for what belongs to the Master until He returns.

Maybe that's why it's so easy to say,
"My church."
"My ministry."
"My class."
"My department."
Without realizing that nothing is really ours, could ownership quietly replace stewardship?

It certainly can. Ownership seeks recognition. Stewardship seeks faithfulness.
Owners ask, "What do I deserve?"
Stewards ask, "What does the Master require?"

And that brings us to the hardest part of today's lesson.
Paul says we must have the mind of Christ. That isn't a change of vocabulary.
It's a daily surrender of self.

Can I be honest? Even when I serve, I still hope someone notices.
If no one says "thank you," I feel disappointed.
Sometimes I wonder whether I'm serving Christ—or serving my own need to be appreciated.

Maybe that's why dying to self is so difficult. Self doesn't disappear when we become Christians. It simply learns new disguises.

• It preaches.
• It teaches.
• It sings.
• It gives generously.
• It serves faithfully.

Yet all the while it quietly whispers,
"Did anyone notice me?"

Perhaps the cross isn't only where Jesus died. Perhaps it's also where our hunger for recognition must die.

Perhaps that's the real test of spiritual maturity.

• Not how much Scripture we know.
• Not how many years we've been in the church.
• Not how many positions we've held.

But whether, day by day, there is less self and more Christ.

• The world says, "Make a name for yourself."

Jesus made Himself nothing.

• The world says, "Protect your rights." Jesus surrendered His.
• The world says, "Be first." Jesus chose the lowest place.

If we truly have the mind of Christ, we won't spend our lives asking, "How high can I rise?"
Instead, we'll ask, "How faithfully can I serve the One to whom everything already belongs?"

Today's lesson isn't really about leadership.
It's about the Cross.
Leadership simply reveals whether the Cross has changed us.
The Corinthians believed in Christ's death, but they still measured greatness by the world's standards—status, influence, eloquence, popularity, and success. So Paul asks them, in effect, "If the Cross truly shapes your thinking, why are you still competing the way the world competes?

Here's my question.
Can we preach the Cross faithfully while quietly resisting its way of life?

That sounds uncomfortable.
Are you saying it's possible to believe the right doctrines about Jesus and still think like the world?

Exactly.
Paul says, "We have the mind of Christ."
The mind of Christ isn't simply knowing what Jesus taught. It's seeing greatness the way Jesus saw it.
The world says greatness is climbing higher. Jesus showed greatness by stooping lower.
The world seeks recognition. Jesus emptied Himself.
The world protects its rights. Jesus surrendered His.
The Cross doesn't merely save us; it teaches us how to live.

Then why does Paul spend so much time talking about apostles?

Because leaders expose the values of the church. A congregation usually celebrates the kind of leadership it secretly admires.
If we admire charisma more than character...success more than faithfulness...
celebrity more than servanthood...we reveal that the Cross has not yet reshaped our thinking.

Paul refuses every worldly title. He simply calls himself a servant and a steward.
A servant obeys the Master.
A steward manages what belongs to Someone else.
Nothing belongs to Paul. Everything belongs to Christ.

Maybe that's still our struggle.
Churches often compare pastors by attendance, buildings, baptisms, budgets, or social media influence.
Paul never mentions any of those.
He says the steward must be faithful.
Could it be that we've adopted the world's scorecard while still preaching the Cross?

That's one of the hardest questions in this lesson.
Faithfulness isn't always impressive.

• Sometimes it looks ordinary.
• Sometimes it looks like years of unnoticed service.
• Sometimes it looks like remaining kind under criticism.
• Sometimes it looks like refusing to compromise when compromise would make life easier.

Heaven's measurements are often invisible on earth.

Paul also says, "Judge nothing before the appointed time."
Does that mean we should never evaluate leaders?

No.
The Bible calls leaders to accountability.
Paul is warning against something deeper.
We can evaluate actions by Scripture.
We cannot judge motives.
Only God knows whether a sermon was preached to glorify Christ or to glorify self.
Only God knows whether a sacrifice was offered out of love or ambition.
The final verdict belongs to Him.

Paul's description of the apostles surprised me.

• Hungry.
• Poorly clothed.
• Homeless.
• Insulted.
• Persecuted.

Treated like the refuse of society.
Then he says, "We are fools for Christ."
Maybe that's because people who live by the Cross will always seem foolish to a world chasing success.
Forgiveness looks weak.
Humility looks like losing.
Serving without recognition looks pointless.
Yet those are the very qualities that look most like Jesus.

Exactly.
The Cross reverses every human definition of greatness.
God's greatest victory looked like history's greatest defeat.
That's why Paul warns the Corinthians.
They wanted the crown without the Cross.
They wanted resurrection without crucifixion.
They wanted glory without surrender.
That temptation still exists.

Then should Christians expect suffering?

Not because suffering is virtuous in itself.
People suffer for many reasons.
Paul suffered because faithfulness to Christ placed him in conflict with the values of the world.
The real question isn't whether we've suffered.
It's whether following Jesus has ever cost us anything.
Has it cost us popularity?

• Promotion?
• Convenience?
• Pride?
• Comfort?

If our Christianity demands nothing from us, perhaps we should ask whether we're carrying a cross at all.

That's the question I can't escape.
Many of us say we'd die for Jesus.
But are we willing to die to ourselves today?
Will we forgive when it's painful?
Serve when no one notices?
Give without recognition?
Yield when our ego wants to win?
Maybe that's where the Cross does its deepest work—not in dramatic moments of martyrdom, but in the ordinary deaths of pride, selfish ambition, and the need to be first.

Perhaps that's Paul's greatest lesson.
The Cross is more than the place where Christ died for us.
It is the place where our old way of thinking dies.

• Our pride dies.
• Our craving for recognition dies.
• Our obsession with status dies.
• Our determination to have the last word dies.
• Only then can the life of Christ truly be seen in us.

The greatest danger facing the church is not that we stop talking about the Cross.
It is that we admire the Cross from a safe distance while refusing to carry it ourselves.

It is dangerously comforting to read 1 Corinthians 1–4 and think, "We don't have that problem. We don't name factions after pastors named Paul or Apollos."
But that is precisely where the subtle danger lies for the Seventh-day Adventist experience. The enemy doesn't need blatant heresy to divide a remnant church. He only needs to take good things—our doctrines, heritage, health message, prophetic gifts—and subtly reposition them alongside the Cross rather than flowing from it.

When Paul wrote to Corinth, he wasn't fixing a social squabble. He was performing spiritual surgery on a church that had confused human admiration with divine transformation.

Today, let's hold up Paul's scalpel to four specific subcultures we have tragically normalized.

Danger 1: The "Present Truth" Clique

Paul's Point: "Jews demand signs and Greeks seek wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified" (1 Cor. 1:22-24).
The deepest wisdom is not an eschatological timeline, but a tortured, dying Savior.

The SDA Danger: We are the people of the "Three Angels' Messages." We understand the Sanctuary, the Mark of the Beast, and the Close of Probation with startling clarity. But doctrinal correctness can become a substitute for spiritual transformation.

Have you noticed how easy it is to evaluate a member's "faithfulness" based on whether they agree with your interpretation of the Daily in Daniel 8?
We form cerebral cliques around theologians or prophetic seminars.
Paul thunders: "While one says, 'I am of Desmond Ford,' and another, 'I am of Ellen White,' are you not walking in mere human fashion?".

The Cross humiliates the intellect. You do not know God because you have the right prophetic timeline; you know God because you have been crucified with Christ.

Danger 2: The "Spirit of Prophecy" Gatekeepers

Paul's Point: "What then is Apollos? What is Paul? Servants through whom you believed... God gave the growth" (1 Cor. 3:5-6). Paul radically demotes human leaders to gardening tools. The tool is irrelevant; the Gardener is everything.

The SDA Danger: We have a profound gift in Ellen G. White's writings. Yet a subtle danger arises when she is wielded as the arbiter of a person's worth rather than the pointer to Jesus.

We have all seen the "Spirit of Prophecy" clique—members who quote Testimonies vol. 9 at the drop of a hat and subtly look down on members who haven't read 'The Desire of Ages.' Paul would weep: "Was Ellen White crucified for you? Were you baptized in the name of the Spirit of Prophecy?"

When we use the prophetic gift as a weapon, we are doing exactly what the Corinthians did—taking a divine instrument for building up the body and using it as a hammer to fracture it.
The true measure of a "Spirit-filled" member is not how many EGW books they own, but how they react when personally slighted.

Danger 3: The "Health Message" Pharisees

Paul's Point: "All things are yours... and you are Christ's, and Christ is God's" (1 Cor. 3:21-23). Christian identity is exclusive to being "Christ's." Nothing else qualifies or disqualifies you.

The SDA Danger: Our beautiful health message—the temple of the body, clean eating—was given to enhance spiritual perception. But we have twisted it into a visible badge of superiority.

The potluck table becomes a social minefield. The member who eats cheese or drinks coffee is quietly judged as "carnal." The vegetarian clique forms around "clean" recipes. We divide over vegan versus ovo-lacto, or gluten-free alternatives.
Paul asks with heartbreak: "Does the Kingdom of God consist in food and drink? Why are you dividing the body of Christ over digestive preferences?"

At Calvary, the vegan and the omnivore are equally guilty sinners saved by the same grace. When dietary choices become a litmus test for "true" Adventist fellowship, we have abandoned the theology of the Cross for a theology of dietary works.

Danger 4: The "Traditionalist vs. Progressive" Worship Wars

Paul's Point: "Let a man regard us... as servants of Christ and stewards of the mysteries of God" (1 Cor. 4:1-2). Faithfulness is defined not by style, but by stewardship of the Gospel.

The SDA Danger: Perhaps the most visceral division today is the battle over worship style. The "I am of the classic hymns" clique versus the "I am of the contemporary praise band" clique.
We fight over drums, screens, and emotional tone.
Paul's point is devastating: We form these cliques because we are spiritually immature infants who cannot handle solid food. Infants need to be entertained; mature adults feast on Christ. The traditionalist is not holier for preferring the organ; the progressive is not more "relevant" for preferring the guitar. Both are equally "carnal" if their primary attachment is to the aesthetic rather than the presence of the Servant.

The Unforgettable Takeaway: The "Only" Test

Paul gives us a checklist in 1 Corinthians 1:30: "Christ Jesus, who became to us wisdom from God, righteousness and sanctification and redemption."

Here is the practical test for your Sabbath experience. Ask yourself as you walk into the sanctuary:
"Is this person, who disagrees with me on prophecy, who is not a vegan, who enjoys different music—is this person still in Jesus?"
If the answer is yes (and it is, because they are baptized into His name), then they are indissolubly your brother or sister. The Cross that saved you is the exact same Cross that saved them. There is no "premium" Cross for the ultra-conservative and no "discount" Cross for the liberal.
Unity isn't achieved by getting everyone to agree on non-essentials. Unity is achieved by so fixating our gaze on the Suffering Servant that our peripheral disagreements lose their power to offend us.

When we truly see Jesus as the only Wisdom, Righteousness, Sanctification, and Redemption, we stop finding our identity in our subgroup. We find our identity in the Lamb. And when we are all looking at the Lamb, we stand shoulder to shoulder, facing the same direction—incapable of stabbing the person beside us, because our hands are raised in surrendered worship.

That is the unity Paul died for. That is the unity the remnant must embody.