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Jim McCrory

How Is Your Congregation Handling Your Sin?

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Tuesday, 21 Jan 2025, 18:45


"If he refuses to listen to them, tell it to the assembly. 

If he refuses to hear the assembly also, 

let him be to you as a Gentile or a tax collector."

Matthew 18:17 (WEB).


"If he refuses to hear them, appeal to the Church

and if he refuses to hear even the Church, 

regard him just as you regard a Gentile or a tax-gatherer."

Matthew 18:17 (Weymouth New Testament).



Image generated by Microsoft Copilot



Chemla and Compassion: Rediscovering Mercy in Modern Christianity


We have come a long way in Christian congregations in dealing with sin, or, have we?  In reflecting on mercy, the Aramaic word Chemla provides a beautiful foundation. This ancient term from Talmudic texts embodies a compassionate kindness that flows not from obligation but from pure benevolence. It’s mercy extended not based on merit but as a gift, a gesture rooted in a generosity that goes beyond what is earned. In a world quick to judge and condemn, Chemla reminds us of the value in sparing judgment and offering kindness to those who may not “deserve” it. This sense of undeserved compassion finds its echo in the teachings of Jesus, especially in Matthew 18, where he lays out a path for dealing with interpersonal offenses—a path that focuses not on retribution but on restoration.

Matthew 18 emphasizes the unique worth of each person, particularly when they are in a vulnerable position. Jesus begins by stressing a deep responsibility to protect others from harm. In verse 6, he warns of the gravity of causing someone to stumble, illustrating the serious duty we hold to uphold one another’s well-being. This responsibility extends not only to protecting others from physical harm but from the emotional and spiritual damage that harsh treatment or judgment can inflict.

When Jesus addresses how to handle wrongdoing, he diverges sharply from the “cancel culture” or public humiliation we often see today in the press and media. Rather than exposing faults in a public forum, Jesus teaches us to approach the individual privately in verse 15. This private meeting is an act of compassion; it respects the person’s dignity and offers them a chance for redemption without the weight of public disgrace. It’s a step grounded in mercy, meant to open the door for healing and reconciliation.

If this first private attempt fails to bring understanding, Jesus offers a next step that is, again, full of gentleness: involving one or two other people. This approach is not intended to coerce or shame but to bring supportive witnesses, creating a space where understanding can grow without escalating tension or fostering resentment. The goal remains restoration, with all parties working together to preserve the individual’s dignity and support them in finding their way back. This approach stands in stark contrast to religious practices that employ harsh, procedural punishments. 

There’s something uniquely powerful in this way of handling sin that resists judgmental tendencies. Unlike religious methods that may rely on public penance or social isolation to correct, the pathway Jesus outlines is marked by patience and a commitment to mercy. Forgiveness, he reminds us, is not to be limited. In his conversation with Peter, he illustrates the boundless nature of mercy with his “seventy times seven” response, a call to forgive endlessly with no "question of the person's repentance " . Mercy, in this sense, becomes an ongoing commitment to view others through a lens of compassion, seeing their worth rather than their faults.

Even when efforts to reach reconciliation fail, Jesus does not abandon the path of mercy. Only after every attempt has been made does he suggest involving the larger community, the congregation,  and even then, not as a means to ostracize or condemn. Instead, the community’s involvement serves as a final collective effort to restore the individual. Rather than casting someone out, this step is a last, loving appeal unlike the formal stool-of-repentance- type of judgement. 

Matthew 18 offers us a different kind of road map for addressing wrongs. It’s a path steeped in the spirit of Chemla, that divine compassion that doesn’t judge but offers undeserved kindness. How different our communities could be if we followed this example, holding onto mercy as our guide, letting compassion outweigh condemnation, and valuing each person’s dignity even in their lowest moments. It’s a vision of mercy, not just as a response to sin, but as a way of life.

If your congregation is not handling sin un the compassionate way Jesus prescribed , your in the wrong place.



"Scripture taken from the NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE®, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission."

















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Jim McCrory

Has Your Religion Forgot What it Means to be Human?

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 "I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ." 

Mahatma Gandhi 



The ancient stool of repentance generated with the assistance of Microsoft Copilot



But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to stumble, 

it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck 

and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.

Matthew 18:6 (BSB).



Has Your Religion Forgot What it Means to be Human?


In an era that cries out for understanding and unity, legalistic religions stand as silent monuments to a rigid past, where adherence to the letter of the law often eclipses the spirit of compassion and empathy. This stark contrast between the law and love is most poignantly illustrated in the teachings of Jesus, particularly in his interactions with the Pharisees and religious leaders of his time. Their practices and mindset offer a cautionary tale of how legalistic fervour can obscure the fundamental human values of empathy and justice.

The Pharisees, notorious for their stringent observance of the law, frequently clashed with Jesus over issues where legalism conflicted with mercy. One such instance is their rebuke of Jesus for performing healings on the Sabbath—a day when no work was to be done according to their strict interpretation of the law. In their eyes, the act of healing, an undeniable good, was subordinated to the sanctity of their legal codes. This prioritization of law over compassion reveals a troubling disconnection from the very essence of faith, which is to aid and uplift the vulnerable.

Moreover, the Pharisees' practices of shunning and exclusion starkly contradicted the inclusivity that forms the bedrock of many religious teachings. By labelling tax collectors, women, and Samaritans as sinners or unworthy, they not only marginalized these groups but also fortified barriers against them, thereby contradicting the profound biblical principles of forgiveness and acceptance. This exclusionary behaviour fosters a community that is insular and uncharitable, rather than open and understanding.

Such legalism also extended to the Pharisees' public demonstrations of piety. They prayed loudly at street corners and adorned themselves with symbols of devoutness, yet their actions were often hollow, devoid of the sincere faith that moves one to love unconditionally. Jesus decried this hypocrisy, highlighting a facade of religiosity that hid a core lacking in true spiritual substance. This disconnects between outward show and inward belief sows seeds of spiritual disillusionment, both among adherents and observers.

In adhering rigidly to the minutiae of the law, the Pharisees neglected more pivotal virtues such as justice, mercy, and faithfulness—qualities that Jesus emphasized as foundational to a life of faith. Their focus on trivial legalistic details at the expense of profound moral imperatives resulted in a practice of religion that was not only incomplete but often fundamentally misguided. They led others astray, not closer to spiritual truths but further into the labyrinth of legalistic dogma.

This historical reflection serves as a stern warning against the dangers of a legalistic approach to religion today. When laws become idols, and rules override mercy, religion loses its transformative power and becomes an agent of division and rigidity. Such an environment stifles the growth of genuine compassion and empathy, leaving adherents ill-equipped to navigate the complex moral landscapes of human existence.

Therefore, for those who find themselves in the confines of legalistic belief systems, it is imperative to revisit the core messages of their faiths—messages that likely advocate for love, compassion, and community over rigid adherence to dogma. Engaging with sacred texts like the Gospels, particularly with Jesus' words in Matthew 18, can illuminate the disparities between the spirit and the letter of the law, guiding believers back to a faith that truly enriches and fulfils the human spirit.

 


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Jim McCrory

Reclaiming Spiritual Autonomy

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Friday, 27 Dec 2024, 12:13



John said to Him, “Teacher, we saw someone else driving out demons in Your name, and we tried to stop him, because he does not accompany us." 

"Do not stop him,” Jesus replied. “For no one who performs a miracle in My name can turn around and speak evil of Me. For whoever is not against us is for us. 

Mark 9:38-40. BSB


Image generated with the assistance of Microsoft Copilot



Reclaiming Spiritual Autonomy

Leaving a high-control religion to reclaim a personal relationship with God can feel like walking away from a part of yourself—something that’s shaped your identity, your sense of belonging, and even your family relationships. For the person who’s leaving, it’s a deeply emotional and often painful journey. But the ripple effect doesn’t just impact them—it can shake up family dynamics in ways that might feel harsh or even hostile.

One of the hardest things to understand is why family members can react with such strong feelings of anger, betrayal, or hurt. For many, religion isn’t just a set of beliefs—it’s a lifeline, a way of defining who they are and how they relate to the world. When someone steps away from that shared identity, it can feel like a personal rejection. The family may love the person, but they can’t reconcile that love with the idea of abandoning something so central to their lives.

On top of that, there's the fear. In many high-control religions, leaving isn’t just a change of heart—it’s seen as a spiritual danger, even a ticket to damnation. So when a loved one walks away, it’s not just a heartbreak; it’s seen as a crisis. Family members might feel desperate to “save” the person, but instead of reaching out with understanding, their fear can turn into anger or judgment. They might say or do things they never would have in normal circumstances, driven by the belief that it’s their duty to bring the person back.

Another pressure point is the community. These religions often place enormous weight on the image of the group—how people are seen by others. When one family member leaves, it can feel like a public shame. The family might worry about their reputation, their place within the community, and how others will view them. That external pressure can fuel feelings of embarrassment, making it even harder for family members to separate their personal pain from their religious duties.

Then there’s the internal struggle of cognitive dissonance. When someone in the family leaves, it’s like a crack in the foundation of everything they’ve believed. It’s hard to keep the peace when the very beliefs that have held everything together are now being questioned. The reaction? Defensiveness. It’s easier to blame the person who left than to admit that maybe, just maybe, there’s room for doubt.

This emotional turbulence often leads to a breakdown in communication. Instead of talking openly, misunderstandings build up. The person who leaves might feel abandoned or misunderstood, while the family members might feel betrayed and helpless. The emotional pain can create a cycle of anger, confusion, and guilt that’s tough to break.

I know it’s not always easy to make sense of why things can get so tense. I’ve seen friends and family go through similar struggles. It’s easy to get caught in the feeling that you’ve done something wrong when others react so strongly. But when you step back and understand the layers of fear, tradition, and emotional investment at play, it becomes a little clearer.

The journey of leaving a high-control religion isn’t just about the decision itself; it’s about navigating the emotional and psychological fallout that comes with it. It’s not easy for anyone involved. But if we can bring some empathy to the table, acknowledging that fear, confusion, and old wounds are part of the picture, healing can begin. It might take time, patience, and open-hearted communication, but reconciliation is possible—even when deeply ingrained beliefs are involved.

Ultimately, it’s about finding a way to hold onto love and respect, even when life’s hardest decisions put everything to the test. The journey may be messy, but it doesn’t have to break the family bond. With empathy, there’s always room for understanding and growth.


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Jim McCrory

How Do You Know If You’re in a Cult?

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Tuesday, 17 Dec 2024, 08:25




“The mind enslaved by fear or blind faith is a prisoner that builds its own cage.”
— Unknown


Image generated by Microsoft Copilot


 "I am the way and the truth and the life. 

No one comes to the Father except through me."

John 14: 6


People don't join cults for their darkness, they join for their apparent warmth. And those who express that warmth, don't realise they are in need of light. You see, many cults indulge in good works and this is why It can be surprisingly hard to recognize when you’re caught in the web of a cult. 

The term itself conjures images of secretive rituals, fanatical devotion, and bizarre beliefs, but most cults are far subtler. They operate under the guise of legitimate organizations, offering hope, community, or answers to life’s deepest questions. If you’re wondering whether you’re in a cult, you may already sense that something isn’t right. Recognizing the signs often begins with asking hard questions about the group’s practices and your own feelings of freedom and individuality.

At the heart of many cults lies absolute authority. Cult leaders claim to hold exclusive truths—truths that no one else can access. Their teachings and decisions are not to be questioned. If you find yourself unable to voice doubts or challenge leadership without fear of backlash, that’s a significant red flag. Healthy organizations welcome accountability and foster critical thinking, while cults demand unquestioning loyalty.

Another hallmark is isolation. Cults often create an “us versus them” mentality, painting outsiders as threats or enemies. You may be encouraged to limit contact with friends and family who don’t share the group’s beliefs. Over time, this isolation can erode your support network, leaving you increasingly dependent on the group for emotional, social, and even financial needs.

Speaking of finances, cults frequently make extreme demands on members’ time and resources. Whether it’s through monetary contributions, volunteer labour, or total control over your daily life, the group’s needs are prioritized above your own. If you’re constantly sacrificing your well-being or struggling to meet the group’s demands, it’s worth considering whether those sacrifices are reasonable.

Control often extends into the realm of emotions, too. Fear, guilt, and shame are powerful tools in a cult’s arsenal. You might be made to feel unworthy or sinful if you fail to live up to their standards. Fear of leaving—whether due to threats of divine punishment, public shaming, or the loss of community—is another common tactic. Such emotional manipulation can leave you questioning your own judgment, making it harder to see the group’s actions for what they are.

Cults also insist on exclusivity of truth. They claim to have the sole path to salvation, enlightenment, or fulfilment. Other perspectives are dismissed as dangerous, and critical thinking is discouraged. This creates a closed system where the group’s beliefs become self-reinforcing, shutting out alternative viewpoints that could challenge their authority.

Manipulation often begins subtly, with an initial period of love bombing. This is when you’re showered with attention, praise, and affection to draw you in. Over time, however, this warm embrace can turn cold. Public criticism, humiliation, or even shunning may be used to enforce compliance. Members who leave are often ostracized, painted as traitors or failures.

Secrecy is another key feature of cults. You may notice that certain practices or teachings are only revealed once you’re deeply involved. Financial dealings, leadership decisions, or the true extent of the group’s demands might be hidden. Transparency is a hallmark of trustworthy organizations; secrecy is not.

So, how can you know for sure? Ask yourself some honest questions. Do you feel free to leave the group without fear of punishment or loss? Are you encouraged to think critically and ask questions? Does the group’s leadership live consistently with the values they preach, or do they seem to benefit disproportionately from your contributions? Most importantly, do you feel more empowered or diminished by your involvement?

Recognizing these patterns isn’t easy, especially if you’ve invested a lot of time, energy, or emotion into the group. But stepping back to evaluate your situation objectively is crucial. Reach out to trusted friends or family members outside the group for their perspective. Professional counsellors and organizations like the International Cultic Studies Association can also provide guidance and support.

https://www.icsahome.com/

Being part of a community can be a beautiful thing, but true community is built on mutual respect, freedom, and trust. If those elements are missing, it’s worth exploring why—and whether you’re in a place that truly has your best interests at heart.


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Jim McCrory

Finding God in the Wilderness: A Journey Beyond Religion

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"If conscience leads you to shadowed paths, take heart; prophets trod there first."



Image generated by Microsoft Copilot



Leaving a religious group can feel like stepping into an unknown and often lonely space, where the familiar rhythms of community are replaced by silence and questions. It’s an act of courage, born from a longing for something truer, something better. But this journey is rarely straightforward. It’s often marked by a deep desire to find belonging again, to feel part of something meaningful. Yet, in that very search, it’s easy to stumble into the same patterns that led to frustration before.

When we leave, we often carry with us a longing for the ideals we once believed the group could embody—authentic love, shared purpose, and connection. In that longing, the pull toward a new community can feel almost irresistible. At first, it might seem like you’ve found what was missing—a fresh start, free from the old flaws and disappointments. But over time, familiar dynamics can emerge: rigid expectations, hierarchical control, or a sense of obligation that chips away at the freedom you sought. It’s not a failure to find yourself here; it’s human. We all yearn for connection, even when it comes with compromises.

This cycle can feel exhausting, even defeating. You might wonder, Why does this keep happening? And as that frustration builds, it’s natural to look back at the group you left with anger or bitterness, revisiting every hurt, every disappointment, as if doing so might finally release you. But often, this focus on the past becomes a trap of its own. Instead of freeing us, it ties us to what we hoped to leave behind, consuming our energy and keeping us from fully stepping into the present. 

Psalm 146:3 reminds us of a profound truth: “Do not put your trust in princes, in human beings, who cannot save.” These words, written thousands of years ago, still speak powerfully to us today. They remind us that human leaders—whether in the groups we leave or the ones we’re drawn to—are fallible. When we place too much trust in them, we set ourselves up for disillusionment. True peace doesn’t come from finding the perfect group or leader; it comes from anchoring our trust in God, who alone is constant and unfailing.

Jesus himself warned against relying on human authority to mediate our relationship with God. In Matthew 23:9, he says, “And do not call anyone on earth ‘father,’ for you have one Father, and he is in heaven.” These words aren’t about rejecting community—they’re about freeing ourselves from the idea that our faith depends on any one person or group. Christ’s invitation is to find belonging in Him, where our worth isn’t measured by conformity but by the deep, unshakable love of God.

This doesn’t mean that community isn’t important—it is. We thrive when we’re connected to others who encourage us and walk alongside us. But a healthy community should support your personal relationship with God, not replace it. When we approach relationships with discernment, anchored in the confidence that our faith rests in God, we’re free to engage without losing ourselves.

The wilderness seasons of life—the times when we feel alone or untethered—are often where God meets us most intimately. Elijah discovered this when, after fleeing into the desert, he found God not in the noise of wind or fire but in a gentle whisper. It’s in these quiet spaces, stripped of distraction, that we can hear God’s voice most clearly, feel His presence most profoundly.

C.S. Lewis once described pain and solitude as God’s megaphone, awakening us to truths we might otherwise overlook. It’s in these moments of stillness that we’re reminded of a love that doesn’t demand performance or conformity but simply invites us to be. The journey away from a group isn’t just about leaving—it’s about discovering who you are in the light of God’s love, a love that doesn’t change or falter.

If you find yourself walking this road, know that you are not alone. The void you feel isn’t a sign of failure—it’s an opportunity to encounter God in a new and personal way. As Psalm 23:4 promises, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.” This comfort isn’t distant or abstract; it’s the steady, quiet assurance that God walks with you, even in the uncertainty.

One day, you may look back on this season and see it not as a time of loss but as a chapter of growth—a time when your roots of faith stretched deeper, unshaken by the winds of disappointment. And as you move forward, you’ll carry with you a faith that is freer, truer, and stronger, rooted not in any human institution but in the boundless love of God.


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Jim McCrory

Am I Sinning Against God If I Question My Religion?

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"It is better to take refuge in the LORD than to trust in man."

Psalm 118:8






Religion is deeply personal. For many, it shapes how they see the world, make decisions, and find purpose. But what happens when doubts creep in? Is it wrong—maybe even sinful—to question your beliefs? Or could it be a sign of faith, a desire to seek truth and draw closer to God?

People question their religion for all sorts of reasons. Some do it out of a sincere longing to understand and to ensure their faith aligns with God's will. Others, admittedly, may use doctrinal issues as a convenient excuse to throw off moral accountability. But the act of questioning itself isn’t inherently wrong. What matters is the motive behind it.

When my wife and I decided to step away from our religion, it wasn’t an impulsive choice. We wanted to return to the core of our faith, so we turned to the Gospels and the Book of Acts. We asked ourselves, What do God and Jesus actually require of us? That journey wasn’t easy, but it brought us a profound sense of freedom.

For three decades, I felt trapped, always busy with religious obligations, spinning like a Sufi whirler who never stops to reflect. I couldn’t sit down and enjoy a movie without guilt or take a day for leisure without feeling I was neglecting something. Once we stepped back, though, I found myself with time to study God’s word independently, free from outside pressures. It was refreshing in a way I hadn’t experienced before.

Around that time, I read Nothing to Envy by Barbara Demick, a book about life in North Korea. It opened my eyes to how people can hold two conflicting beliefs at the same time. North Koreans are taught that Kim Jong Un is a god, but deep down, they see the lack of evidence. Speaking those doubts aloud, however, could lead to isolation or worse.

I saw unsettling parallels with my own experience. In my religion, questioning the system was frowned upon, even dangerous. Isolation wasn’t physical imprisonment, but it was emotional and social. Doubts were equated with disloyalty, and leaving could cost you everything.

Contrast that with the example of the Bereans in the Bible. In Acts 17, Paul and Silas share the gospel in Berea, and the people there don’t just take their word for it. They eagerly examine the Scriptures daily to see if what they’re being taught is true. That’s what makes the Bereans noble—they don’t blindly accept; they investigate.

When I started examining my own beliefs in that way, I realized how many of them didn’t hold up. It wasn’t a sinful rebellion against God; it was a return to Him. I wanted to know Him more deeply, not through the filter of human rules and traditions, but directly through His word.

It does sadden me when I see others leave religion and lose faith entirely, often blaming God for what they endured. But the Bible warns us not to put our trust in men. People can fail us, but God remains constant. Leaving a religion doesn’t mean abandoning God. In fact, it can be an opportunity to grow closer to Him.

I often think about the issue raised in Eden: Will humanity remain loyal to God, or will we go our own way? That question is just as relevant today. The choice is ours, but it’s not one between blind obedience to human institutions and total rejection of faith. There’s a third path: one of seeking truth, understanding, and a deeper connection with God.

So, is it a sin to question your religion? I don’t believe so. In fact, I think it’s necessary. Asking questions can strengthen faith, strip away unnecessary burdens, and bring clarity. Jesus himself said, “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” Truth isn’t something to fear—it’s something to pursue.


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Chemla and Compassion: "I Have Committed a Terrible Sin"

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Monday, 28 Oct 2024, 11:29


Image of the ancient Stool of Repentance practice found in many ancient congregations was generated with the use of Chat GPT and does not reflect anyone dead or alive.

Image generated with the assistance of ChatGPT


"If he refuses to listen to them, tell it to the assembly. 

If he refuses to hear the assembly also, 

let him be to you as a Gentile or a tax collector."

Matthew 18:17 (WEB).


"If he refuses to hear them, appeal to the Church

and if he refuses to hear even the Church, 

regard him just as you regard a Gentile or a tax-gatherer."

Matthew 18:17 (Weymouth New Testament).




Chemla and Compassion: Rediscovering Mercy in Modern Christianity

We have come a long way in Christian congregations in dealing with sin, or, have we?  In reflecting on mercy, the Aramaic word Chemla provides a beautiful foundation. This ancient term from Talmudic texts embodies a compassionate kindness that flows not from obligation but from pure benevolence. It’s mercy extended not based on merit but as a gift, a gesture rooted in a generosity that goes beyond what is earned. In a world quick to judge and condemn, Chemla reminds us of the value in sparing judgment and offering kindness to those who may not “deserve” it. This sense of undeserved compassion finds its echo in the teachings of Jesus, especially in Matthew 18, where he lays out a path for dealing with interpersonal offenses—a path that focuses not on retribution but on restoration.

Matthew 18 emphasizes the unique worth of each person, particularly when they are in a vulnerable position. Jesus begins by stressing a deep responsibility to protect others from harm. In verse 6, he warns of the gravity of causing someone to stumble, illustrating the serious duty we hold to uphold one another’s well-being. This responsibility extends not only to protecting others from physical harm but from the emotional and spiritual damage that harsh treatment or judgment can inflict.

When Jesus addresses how to handle wrongdoing, he diverges sharply from the “cancel culture” or public humiliation we often see today in the press and media. Rather than exposing faults in a public forum, Jesus teaches us to approach the individual privately in verse 15. This private meeting is an act of compassion; it respects the person’s dignity and offers them a chance for redemption without the weight of public disgrace. It’s a step grounded in mercy, meant to open the door for healing and reconciliation.

If this first private attempt fails to bring understanding, Jesus offers a next step that is, again, full of gentleness: involving one or two other people. This approach is not intended to coerce or shame but to bring supportive witnesses, creating a space where understanding can grow without escalating tension or fostering resentment. The goal remains restoration, with all parties working together to preserve the individual’s dignity and support them in finding their way back. This approach stands in stark contrast to religious practices that employ harsh, procedural punishments. 

There’s something uniquely powerful in this way of handling sin that resists judgmental tendencies. Unlike religious methods that may rely on public penance or social isolation to correct, the pathway Jesus outlines is marked by patience and a commitment to mercy. Forgiveness, he reminds us, is not to be limited. In his conversation with Peter, he illustrates the boundless nature of mercy with his “seventy times seven” response, a call to forgive endlessly with no "question of the person's repentance " . Mercy, in this sense, becomes an ongoing commitment to view others through a lens of compassion, seeing their worth rather than their faults.

Even when efforts to reach reconciliation fail, Jesus does not abandon the path of mercy. Only after every attempt has been made does he suggest involving the larger community, the congregation,  and even then, not as a means to ostracize or condemn. Instead, the community’s involvement serves as a final collective effort to restore the individual. Rather than casting someone out, this step is a last, loving appeal unlike the formal stool-of-repentance- type of judgement. 

Matthew 18 offers us a different kind of road map for addressing wrongs. It’s a path steeped in the spirit of Chemla, that divine compassion that doesn’t judge but offers undeserved kindness. How different our communities could be if we followed this example, holding onto mercy as our guide, letting compassion outweigh condemnation, and valuing each person’s dignity even in their lowest moments. It’s a vision of mercy, not just as a response to sin, but as a way of life.



"Scripture taken from the NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE®, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission."


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Why Faith Can Blossom Outside the Boundaries of Organized Religion

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Sunday, 27 Oct 2024, 05:37

John said to Him, “Teacher, we saw someone else driving out demons in Your name, and we tried to stop him, because he does not accompany us.”

“Do not stop him,” Jesus replied. “For no one who performs a miracle in My name can turn around and speak evil of Me. For whoever is not against us is for us.--- Mark 9:38, 39 (BSB).



Image generated with the assistance of Microsoft copilot


There he was, sulking like a spoiled child. Jonah, the prophet of Nineveh, sitting in the shade, bewildered at the extent of God’s mercy. Though he was called to deliver God’s message, Jonah seemed to believe that Israel held exclusive rights to Divine favour. God’s compassion, in Jonah’s mind, was limited by borders and membership—far from available to a foreign and ‘undeserving’ city like Nineveh. But God didn’t see it that way, and the story of Jonah reminds us just how much bigger God’s love is than our narrow perspectives. Today, we might ask ourselves a similar question: Have we convinced ourselves that our specific group has exclusive access to God’s Favour?

Jonah’s struggle is our struggle, especially when we forget that God’s love has always reached beyond any group, church, or denomination. The truth is that God’s compassion is universal, transcending boundaries we might set. Jonah's sulking reveals the frustration some may feel when they see God working outside their expected parameters. Yet, God’s response is simple: “So should I not care about the great city of Nineveh?” (Jonah 4:11). We, too, might ask ourselves whether our ideas of belonging in God’s family are generous enough.

Some Christians today have found their faith thriving outside the boundaries of traditional institutions, embracing a relationship with God that’s rich and personal, even without the formal structure of a religious group. They have experienced transformation and peace in the quiet of their hearts. Just as Cornelius, a Gentile, received God’s Spirit before baptism into the faith (Acts 10:44-48), these modern believers remind us that God’s Spirit moves freely, beyond the limitations of organizational membership. Jesus himself highlighted this in John 4:23-24 God’s approval, we see, has more to do with a sincere, heartfelt relationship than a place on any formal registry.

Religious institutions often serve to guide, teach, and support, but sometimes their policies or doctrines create an unintended exclusivity that clouds the gospel’s open invitation. Christianity, when it truly follows Christ’s message, is an open call to God’s love, which is extended universally. As soon as we forget this, we risk becoming a reflection of the Pharisees Jesus warned about in Matthew 23:13, who locked the door of the Kingdom in others' faces with their rigid rules. In the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus further challenged his listeners to look beyond their own groups. The Samaritan—an outsider to the Jewish religious world—is lifted up as an example of mercy, while religious figures were conspicuously absent in compassion. Jesus reminded them, and us, that God’s favour doesn’t have an exclusive membership.

Today, God’s love is just as present among people who never set foot in a church as it is within those who do. Some seekers may be quietly studying, praying, or reflecting, drawn to God in ways that formal structures cannot measure or regulate. Take, for example, individuals in places where Christianity is restricted or those who feel isolated from religious institutions for personal reasons. Many of them, like Jonah’s Ninevites, have felt God’s mercy in ways that cannot be defined by institutional belonging. Psalm 145:18 tells us, “Yahweh is near to all those who call on him, to all who call on him in truth.” (WEB). It doesn’t mention being part of a certain group; it speaks of God’s closeness to all who reach out sincerely.

When we place conditions on God’s mercy, implying it’s reserved only for those within our specific group, we limit the very essence of God. God’s love is not confined to human-made structures but is poured out freely to any heart that seeks Him. Jonah was asked to realize this, as were the Pharisees, and we, too, are reminded to do the same today. God is not partial; His mercy extends to the whole world, embracing anyone who seeks Him with a sincere heart.

If you’ve felt God’s love in ways that are outside of an established religion, know that you are not alone. God hears those who worship Him in truth and sincerity, wherever they may be. If you’d like to discuss this more personally, please reach out:  when2aregathered@proton.me

Faith can indeed flourish in ways unregulated by human organizations yet cherished by God. Together, let’s strive to follow a faith rooted in God’s expansive love, rather than our own limited ideas of belonging.


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Jim McCrory

On A Winter Night, I had a Heavenly Comforter

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Sunday, 13 Oct 2024, 10:37



Image kindly provided by https://unsplash.com/@eugenegrunge


Time never allows one to forget those special encounters in life. The night Barnabas knocked my door was one. I immediately invited him in. It was one of those evenings when the world outside felt cold and uninviting, and inside, my heart wasn’t much warmer. I’d been feeling lonely after leaving my religion, cut off from so many people I once called friends. There were days when the silence in my home seemed unbearable. That night, though, was different.

I’d heard about Barnabas—his reputation as a man of encouragement, someone who lifted others wherever he went—but I wasn’t prepared for just how genuine and kind he would be. The moment he walked in, it was as if a light had entered with him. He had a way about him, a quiet presence that made me feel like everything was going to be okay, even before we sat down.

The meal wasn’t fancy—just something simple—but it didn’t matter. We talked about life, faith, and struggles, and I found myself sharing things I hadn’t told anyone in a long time. I told him how isolated I’d been feeling since leaving my religion, how I missed the sense of community, even though I knew I couldn’t stay in that environment. Barnabas listened. He really listened, with a warmth in his eyes that said, “I understand.”

He didn’t rush to offer answers, but when he spoke, his words were like a balm to my soul. He told me stories from his own journey—how he had seen people rejected and misunderstood, and how he had always tried to be a bridge for them, just as Christ had been for him. “God never leaves you out to dry, don’t you realise that the spirit directed me to knock on your door?”  he said softly.

By the time dessert was finished, something had shifted in me. I realized I wasn’t as alone as I had thought. Barnabas reminded me that leaving a group doesn’t mean leaving God or losing the opportunity for connection. He spoke of God’s love not as something bound by human institutions but as a living, breathing presence in our lives, no matter where we find ourselves. “Let’s pray”  he said as he took my hand and pressed it warmly.

When he finally left that night, I stood at the door and watched him walk down the street, then disappear into the ether like some kind of heavenly apparition. 

The house felt quiet again, but it wasn’t the same silence I had known before. There was a sense of peace, a gentle reassurance that I wasn’t walking this path alone. As I shut the door, I smiled to myself. Barnabas had a way of leaving behind more than just good conversation—he left behind hope.

*****

I praised God and thought about the time when Barnabas turned up at the first century congregation and he couldn't help but rejoice. He encouraged everyone to stay committed to the Lord with all their hearts. He was a good man, filled with the Holy Spirit and strong in his faith, and because of that, a great number of people were drawn to the Lord. Acts 11:23-25. Bless you Barnabas!


“Now Joseph, who was renamed Barnabas (Son of Comfort), 

a Levite from Cyprus, having owned a field, 

sold it and laid the money at the apostles’ feet.” Acts 4: 36.


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