Slice of American Pie

“How can you be as nice as me?

You’re not from the same slice as me.

Where do we go from here my friend?

Is this the way our story ends?

Hey, man, sing me a song

When we were everyone

We were more than just a slice of American Pie.”

—“Slice” by Five for Fighting

     Think of words that you would use to describe yourself. What are they? Young, old, “millennial,” “boomer,”  rich, poor, black, white, Republican, Democrat, American, Japanese—we all take pride in some way. We all, whether in our head or out loud, define ourselves by labels. Even if it’s just “girl” and “boy,” we all have labels. 

     And labels are not inherently bad.

     They can give us a sense of identity. “Well, I’m a writer.” “I’m a doctor.” To me, the most important label of all that I wear is “Christian.” That defines so much about me, and I’m proud of it. I wouldn’t want to be anything else. I’ll also proudly wear the “girl” label. (I also love admiring cute guys.) I love being a girl. I love femininity. Okay, there are a few downsides—looking at you, Eve—but I wouldn’t want to give up my “Christian girl” label for anything.

     But did you notice how, already, just by claiming to be two things, I’ve put a mental picture in your mind, haven’t I?

     You’re already drawing conclusions about me. Maybe you’re already formulating an argument about me. Maybe you already disagree with what I said.

     In a sense, maybe you’ve already got a stereotype against me.

     Whether it’s positive or negative (and most stereotypes are negative), you’ve already got your preconceived notions about me.

     See, that’s where labels can be destructive. When we start labeling “us” vs. “them.”

     I’m not saying that everyone is always going to agree. I’m not going to say “TOLERATE EVERYONE,” which is such a trigger word and already so deeply misunderstood and twisted that it’s just noise in an already noisy culture. All I’m saying is—there’s a war going on, “us” vs. “them.”

     And there doesn’t need to be.

     “Now, wait a second! I don’t agree with them at all! They’re” (caution, trigger warning, don’t shoot me, okay?) “abortionists. They’re Democrats. They’re Republicans. They’re black. They’re racist. They’re sexist! How can I agree with them? Do you want me to just sit down and shut up? Ok, boomer. IS THAT WHAT YOU MEAN, SNOWFLAKE??”

     Nope. That’s not what I mean, but thanks for drawing that stereotype in your head! (I’m smiling. I’m not angry. Please don’t shoot, okay?)

     Instead, I’m going to pull out my Bible. 

     I’m going to open up to John 4, and I’m going to smooth the pages, clear my throat, and in a soft voice, I’m going to paint you a picture.

     Firstly, I want you to ruminate over John 4:9. “The Samaritan woman said to Him, ‘You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you ask me for a drink?’ (For Jews did not associate with Samaritans).”

     Do you see what’s happening?

     “Us” vs. “them” is not a new concept.

     It was even in the Bible!

     The Jews vs. the Samaritans. They did not associate with each other. I’m sure they hated each other.

     Men vs. women. In ancient society, men and women were not supposed to talk to each other unless they were married.

     Jesus was Jewish man. She was a Samaritan woman.

     But did you see what Jesus did? He talked to her. He asked her for water. Not only that, He engaged her in conversation. He didn’t back away when He found out she was a Samaritan (well, for one, because He already knew), but He treated her like a real person. 

     A real person.

     He didn’t just see her as a label, even though, from farther on, we see there are a lot of labels He could have judged her by: adulterer, sinner, outcast, Samaritan, woman.

     Though the Bible doesn’t tell us her name, I will stand here and tell you that I am positive that the Jesus who created the universe, who could heal a little girl without being in the same house, who could raise Lazarus from the dead, knew her name. And He saw her as a precious child of God, with a name, an identity, with a face.

     She was not some faceless lump in a crowd. 

     He probably remembered the day that God “knitted [her] together in [her] mother’s womb” (paraphrase of Psalm 139:13-18). 

     “So, what? Am I just supposed to tolerate and accept everyone as they are, because they were born this way? Because they’re a hateful bigot? Because they’re ‘a boomer who ruined the economy and environment,’ because they’re ‘a snowflake millennial who can’t do anything without melting’?”

     I’m going to clear my throat and read the next set of verses.

     John 4:39-42: “Many of the Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, ‘He told me everything I ever did.’ So when the Samaritans came to him, they urged him to stay with them, and he stayed two days. And because of his words many more became believers. They said to the woman, ‘We no longer believe just because of what you said; now we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this man really is the Savior of the world.’”

     I know that I skipped a lot—but what happened was that Jesus basically called her out and told her what she was doing wrong...in the gentlest way possible. He basically just said, “hey, I know what you’re doing.”

     But you know what the beauty part of it was?

     He had already seen her as a person. He had already seen her as a friend. He had treated her with empathy and humanity. 

     And then He shared the Gospel.

     And He called her to repent.

     He didn’t flaunt her sin in her face or declare, “I don’t know how I, the perfect Son of God, could ever talk to you! Sinner!” He also didn’t just pat her on her head and say, “Well, you’re mostly good enough. Just go and only sin sometimes, okay?”

     No. He called her to come find her salvation in Him and turn away from her old life—but He did it with gentleness. With love. And above all, He didn’t argue her down to her knees for repentance.

     He just loved her.

     “Okay, but—but Jesus did do a lot of angry things! He hated the Pharisees!” 

     Is that true?

     Or did he hate the sin, the legalism, the hypocrisy of the Pharisees? 

     Now, I’ll flip back a chapter to John 3. In it, we’ll find one of the best known Pharisees: Nicodemus.

     Nicodemus came to Jesus and genuinely wondered about His teachings. He wanted to know more.

     Did Jesus rebuff Nicodemus? “Well, you’re just a stupid little Pharisee. You hypocrite!”

     No. Jesus accepted Nicodemus, accepted his questions, and answered them kindly, with probably the most famous Bible verse in all of history: “For God so loved the world that He gave His one begotten Son, and whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.” 

     Isn’t that funny?

     The most famous verse in the Bible, about how deeply God loves us and how to come to Him for salvation, was said to a Pharisee.

     Jesus didn’t hate the Pharisees as a whole because they were Pharisees. He knew them as individuals. He knew their sin, their flaws, their hearts, their strengths. And He wasn’t afraid to call them out on it, but He also wasn’t afraid to love them.

     Love them so deeply that He would die for them, even though they murdered Him.

     I think that brings up another interesting point:

     Not only did Jesus see past stereotypes to true humans, but He also did not define anyone by their past mistakes.

     Jesus did not think that the woman at the well or Nicodemus were too far gone to offer salvation to. In fact, as far as we can read, it seems like both of them became followers of Jesus after their encounters. Another prime example is found in John 8. The Pharisees are trying to trap Jesus and stone a woman that was caught in adultery. Jesus tells them that “let he who is without sin throw the first stone” (John 8:7). Of course, by this definition, only Jesus could throw the first stone—and He would have every right to.

     But He didn’t.

     He only held out his hand to her, and, in John 8:11, says “Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more.”

     He didn’t just say “neither do I condemn you” and accept her sin with a pat on the head, a “just keep at it, bud.” No. He said that she had the ability to move past her sin. She had the ability to overcome her demons, to move into salvation and not be defined by the mistakes she made in the past.

     The drunkard does not have to stay drunk.

     The adulterer does not have to be caught in adultery.

     The woman who had an abortion does not have to remain an abortionist.

     They are all welcome to “go and sin no more.” 

     And, as Christians, we have to be able to have the grace to extend to them. To see past the stereotypes, to see past the sin, to see the real, hurting person underneath. Because no matter the façade we perform online and offline, we all have things that grieve our hearts. We are all just hurting, broken humans, trying to understand life as we have learned.

     We’ll all get things wrong.

     We all, at one time or another, are wrong. 

     And it takes a very humble person to swallow their pride and listen with an open heart. A person like the woman at the well. A person like Nicodemus. A person like the adulterer. They could have blown up at Jesus, said “there’s nothing wrong with what I’m doing!” They could have.

     But they didn’t. They listened with humility, came to Jesus with repentance…

     And they went and sinned no more. 

     And that’s the story of the Gospel. 

     So the next time we’re tempted to paint with broad stripes, to lump together people in stereotypes, to have an “us” vs. “them” mentality, to be fixated on one mistake or one facet of a person: let’s remember what Jesus did instead.

     Let’s love them as a person.

     Let’s love them to Jesus.