Sex God: Exploring the Endless Questions Between Spirituality and Sexuality. Rob Bell

to the place where these people are from here and those people are from there. Different locations, skin colors, languages, and cultures come much later in the human story.

      What we often do is reverse the creative process that God initiated. We start with different cultural backgrounds and skin colors and nationalities, and it’s only when we look past these things that we are able to get to what we have in common—that we are fellow image-bearers with the shared task of caring for God’s creation. We get it all backward. We see all of the differences first, and only later, maybe, do we begin to see the similarities.

      The new humanity is about seeing people as God sees them.

      When They Become We

      I was having lunch in September of last year with a group of people I had just met. We were discussing the kind of work we each did and places we had been, and one man started telling stories about being in the marines. He had led one of the first groups into Iraq during the Gulf War in 1991. He talked about what it was like to enter enemy territory and to be shot at—about the complexities of war—and he had us all on the edge of our seats. During one battle he and his marines won quickly, they had to arrest the soldiers who had just been shooting at them. They lined them up and were handcuffing them when one of them ran up to him waving a letter, begging to have it sent immediately. The man was frantic and starting to cause a scene. He kept repeating that this letter he was holding had to be sent immediately. He then looked the marine in the eyes and said, “Please mail this letter for me. It’s to my father, and he must know that I love him.”

      The man telling the story paused, looked around the table at each of us, and said, “He had no idea about the troubled relationship I had with my own father. Here I am, out in the middle of nowhere in the desert of Iraq, trying to arrest a group of soldiers who moments before were trying to kill me, staring at a man who wants me to mail a letter for him, thinking, I could be him.”

      Several years ago a woman called the church where I was a pastor because she wanted to talk. We set up a time to meet, and when she showed up, I asked her how I could help. She said that she was a prostitute and didn’t want to live anymore, so she had made a plan to kill herself. She described in detail how she was going to do it, when she was going to do it, and where it was going to happen. She was very thorough. She said she was telling me all of this because she had to know whether she would go to heaven or hell when she died. Somewhere in the course of telling me her plans, she mentioned that she had a daughter because one of her clients had gotten her pregnant. She was confident that a family member would raise her daughter when she was gone.

      I asked her to tell me more about her daughter. She gave a few details. Then I asked what her daughter’s name was.

      She replied, “My daughter’s name is Faith.”

      Faith.

      There are these moments when the enemy all of a sudden becomes just like me.

      When a soldier becomes a son.

      When a prostitute becomes a mother.

      When they become we.

      When those become us.

      When he becomes me.

      Moments when all of the ways that we divide ourselves and rank each other and convince ourselves of how different, better, and unalike we are disappear, and we are faced with the fact that first and foremost, we are humans. In this together. And not that much different from each other.18

      Jew. Gentile.

      Marine. Iraqi.

      Orphan. Family.

      Pastor. Prostitute.

      We could be them.

      Thirty Years Later

      When I was five, my family visited my grandparents in California during Christmas vacation. They lived in an apartment building with an alley beside it—very exciting for a boy who lived on a farm in Michigan. At some point in my exploration of the alley, I decided to make a Christmas present for my dad out of the things I had found there. So on the morning of the twenty-fifth, my father had the privilege of opening a gift of a piece of black and green drainpipe glued to a flat gray rock with little white stones resting on the inside of it.

      A masterpiece, to say the least.

      The reason I remember this is because I visited my dad at his office a few days ago, and while I waited for him to finish his meeting, I wandered around looking at the pictures on his walls and the papers on his desk and the things on his shelves. On one of his shelves sat the drainpipe and rock sculpture, thirty years later.

      He still has it.

      He brought it home with him and put it in his office in 1977 and hasn’t gotten rid of it.

      We know why he kept it. How you treat the creation reflects how you feel about the creator.

      When a human being is mistreated, objectified, or neglected, when they are treated as less than human, these actions are actions against God. Because how you treat the creation reflects how you feel about the Creator.

      To be a Christian is to work for the new humanity. Jesus commands his followers to feed and clothe and visit and take care of those who need it. They’re fellow image-bearers, they’re just like us, and when we love them, we’re loving God.

      A church exists to be a display of the new humanity. A community of people who honor and respect the poor and rich and educated and uneducated and Jew and Gentile and black and white and old and young and powerful and helpless as fully human, created in the image of God.

      These bonds we have with each other are why, for many, there is so much power in the Eucharist, also called Mass or the Lord’s Supper or communion. We take the bread and dip it in the cup to remind ourselves of Jesus’s body and blood.19 To reflect on the truth that we’re all in this together, one body, and that his body being broken and blood being spilled are for our union.

      It isn’t just about our relationship to God as individuals. Often communion is seen as a time to reflect on God’s love for us in Jesus’s dying on the cross. Which it is. But it was originally just as much about my desperate need to be reminded of your humanity and the humanity of all the people around us.

      When I respect the image of God in others, I protect the image of God in me. When Jesus speaks of loving our neighbor, it isn’t just for our neighbor’s sake.20 If we don’t love our neighbor, something happens to us.

      And in trying to protect the image of God in them, we just might be protecting the image of God in ourselves in the process. Because with every decision, conversation, gesture, comment, action, and attitude, we’re inviting heaven or hell to earth.

      I have a new hero. Her name is Lil, and I would guess she’s in her late fifties. I met her earlier this year when she introduced me to her daughter, whom she was pushing in a wheelchair. Early in their marriage, Lil and her husband21 decided that they would adopt two children. As they became familiar with the family services system, they learned that there were kids in the system nobody wanted. So they went to the local adoption agency and asked for the kids with the most pronounced disabilities, the most traumatic histories, and the most hopeless futures. They asked if they could have the kids nobody wanted. Over the past thirty or so years, they have raised well over twenty children, raising their biological children alongside their adopted children.

      When Lil got to this point in her story, she reached down and patted her daughter and said, “This is Crystal. She’s twenty-seven years old but will be about six months old developmentally for the rest of her life. She can’t talk or walk or move or feed herself or do anything on her own. She will be like this, totally dependent on us, until the day she dies. And I love her so much. My family and I, we can’t imagine life without her. She makes everything so much better.”

      What is Lil doing?

      She’s