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It was 1974 in the racially-troubled southern city of Birmingham. Serving a downtown inner-city church, my first out of seminary, I was in my study about to have prayer with several deacons before the Sunday morning worship service when the door to my office burst open. Almost shouting, the chairman of my deacons exclaimed, "Preacher, there's a black man out there!"

"Okay," I responded.

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" he demanded.

"Well," I replied, "our community is seventy percent black."

"You are not going to give an invitation are you?" he asked nervously.

"I have always given an invitation to respond to Christ," I stated. "I see no reason to stop now."

"Well, if you do, I will get up and walk out!" he proclaimed.

"I am going to offer an invitation to join the church," I stated.

With that he stormed out of my office, leaving me and the other deacons with open mouths and perplexed wonderment.

At that moment, I had no time to think about his statements, only the impulse to react out of my heart as to what I felt was right. But since then, I have had ample opportunity to think seriously about the encounter which could have had significant impact upon that church and me. That deacon chairperson was one of the most mission-minded men I have ever known. He was forever promoting the sending of as much money as possible to win the lost to Christ. His son was a leading pastor in a nearby state. The deacon chair wanted to send every dollar possible across the waters to win a convert to Christ. However, if that same convert came back across the waters, he would not be welcome in the deacon's church. What irony! What inconsistency!

This is not a new problem. In fact, in Acts 15, the early church faced a very similar issue. As Gentiles were being converted to Christ, the mother church in Jerusalem began to ask questions: "Do the Gentiles have to be circumcised and follow Jewish laws and customs in order to become Christians? Does one have to be a Jew first? Are the Gentiles fully accepted?" It was a significant matter. Whether they realized it or not, the entire future of the expansion of Christianity depended upon their decision.

So they had a big confab in Jerusalem as recorded in Acts 15. Peter was there, as was James, the brother of Jesus. Paul and Barnabas were there and reported on the phenomenal success of the gospel among the Gentiles. Peter and James both made favorable statements. They noted that the same Holy Spirit descended on the Gentile Christians as had fallen upon the Jewish ones. They solidly agreed that God had now granted salvation to the Gentiles, just as he had to the Jews! Hallelujah! Case closed! Well, not hardly!

It seems that a short time thereafter, at the influential church in Antioch, many of the finest early Christians were preaching, serving, and having fellowship together. Peter was there, as were Paul and Barnabas. Everything was going wonderfully until an investigation delegation arrived from the Jewish Christians in Jerusalem. It was then for some reason, that Peter began to eat only with Jewish Christians and refused to dine with Gentile members of the faith. In other words, there were two tables, one for Jewish Christians and one for Gentile converts. Paul became infuriated by Peter's actions (yes, that Simon Peter), and confronted Peter publicly for his cowardice and hypocrisy, to use Paul's terms (Galatians 2:11-13). Wow! Conflict! Controversy! Confrontation! And in the early church!

Growing up, I never heard many sermons on this text. Did you? I was given the impression in Sunday school that these were all stained-glass figures, perfect Christians, forever worthy of our emulation and awe. However, as I meditated upon this scripture, I began to see them as real live personalities, struggling as I often do, to flesh out their faith. I began to identify with them.

Besides, is conflict always bad? Does not controversy sometimes have its redeeming qualities? Do not conflict and confrontation often clarify and solidify our thinking, causing us to draw more firmly-held conclusions? Does not God often use confrontation to teach us to depend upon him and to make sure we are in the center of his will? Agreed, conflict in the church can be very tender and ticklish in that we sometimes are at odds with those whom we most love. But controversy can cause us to realize that we have more in common with these intimate enemies than we have in difference. Too, conflict can cause us to recognize that about which we are most passionate! We hardly get passionate about things that don't matter. Some things are worth fighting for!

What was it then that Paul was so passionate about, so emotionally disturbed that he publicly confronted Simon Peter, in not a kind way? After his sharp barbs to Simon, he states: "We who are Jews by birth and not 'Gentile sinners' know that a man is not justified by observing the law, but by faith in Jesus Christ. So we, too, have put our faith in Christ Jesus that we may be justified by faith in Christ and not by observing the law, because by observing the law no one will be justified" (vv. 15-16 NIV). The great apostle to the Gentiles is stating in no uncertain terms that we cannot be saved by obedience to the law. No one can keep it. No one is that good. The law has a purpose in that it makes us aware of sin, of what we do wrong. But we cannot always do right. We cannot earn or merit God's favor by our obedience to the rules and regulations of religion because no one is that good.

And, which laws are we talking about anyway? The Ten Commandments? What about the 600 or so other laws they added to the decalogue? Are we talking about the laws of the United States of America? What about those of the State of Tennessee or the state in which you live? I know that I don't have to tell you that some places have some wacky laws, even bordering on the ridiculous. Did you know that in Carmel, New York, it is against the law to wear slacks and a jacket that do not match? Some are in jeopardy here today! In Baltimore, you cannot take a lion to the movies. In Gary, Indiana, it is against the law to go to the theater or to board a streetcar within four hours after eating garlic. In Alabama, you must not drive a car while blindfolded. When are they going to include talking on the telephone? In Bexley, Ohio, you cannot have a slot machine in your outhouse. Someone please cancel my order. In Boston, you are not to take more than two baths a month within the city limits. It is against the law to sing off-key in North Carolina. You cannot have a donkey in your bathtub if you live in Georgia. My favorite comes from the state of Texas. The law states that if two trains come to a railroad crossing, both must stop and neither can move until the other has gone! Try keeping all those laws! Lock the cell and throw away the key. We are all guilty.

This myriad of laws, religious and otherwise, is strictly impossible to keep. Not only are they impossible to keep, but the mistaken effort to seek to do so can produce a false sense of pride in those who think they are keeping them better than others. Thus, we can have two tables, one for the group who does well and one for those who do not, at least in the opinion of some.

"Yes, ma'am, welcome to our Wednesday evening meal and Bible study here at First Baptist. Your first time? Sure, you eat free. Let me direct you to a table before you get your food. Oh, I am sorry. You cannot eat at this table. This is where adult teachers sit. That would mean that only men can sit here, as women are not allowed to teach the Bible to men in this church. No, I'm sorry you cannot eat here, either. Only Sunday school members eat here. In our church you have to attend three consecutive Sundays before you can join Sunday school. Oh, this table is off limits as well. You have to live in a certain neighborhood to sit here. That table? Have to wear more expensive clothes. No, I am sorry. That table is for people who have memorized our creed and been baptized. I am sure that we can find you a table. Let's see. Ma'am, oh, ma'am, where are you going?" I wonder if we who are on the inside are not aware of the spiritual hoops through which we ask people on the outside to jump? We wonder why they don't come back.

Not only can our efforts to earn God's favor produce a false sense of pride, but also they can foster a stubbornness that God has to act according to our past experience. "It was for me. It has to be for you." I remember a heated discussion that was held in 1972 in the Chapel of The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. Students listened to a debate among members of the faculty about the requirements of the newly-proposed Doctor of Ministry degree. A practical degree intended to equip one for church ministry, the Doctor of Ministry was never proposed to supplant the Ph.D. degree with its emphasis upon research. However, there were professors who were vehement in their insistence that the Doctor of Ministry degree should not only have the language requirements of Greek and Hebrew but also those of French and German as well. A pastor needs to know French and German? The debate was hot! Why? Because some, especially those whose Ph.D. degree required French and German, were of the strong opinion, "I had to do it. So do you! I earned it this way. You earn it the same way." Some even refused to stand when the degree was conferred. Now, let's see. You sit at this table and I will sit at another table.

Perhaps Paul was so passionate because he precisely perceived that if you have two tables, one for some and one for another, you may have many things. But you don't have a church! The church has one table.

I do not believe that I will ever forget the night that Mae June came to church. It was in another church in another city back when many people still came to church on Sunday evening. I remember that the District Judge was there. The mayor was there. The County Commissioner was there. Many adults and children were there. And, yes, Mae June was there.

Now, Mae June was the town, er, uh, professional woman, shall we say. Mae June could be seen sometimes in the darker part of town in the late hours. If one were prone to question her chosen calling and profession, closer inspection of her garish dress and often loud demeanor would remove all doubt. Rumors had begun to circulate, especially over breakfast in the City Cafe, that Mae June had a boyfriend, a steady one. Rumor there gave way to fact as they were spotted together several times on the downtown streets of our fair city, even in the daylight.

Then there was that fateful night when Mae June came to church at First Baptist, where I served as pastor. Both she, unmistakable attire and all, and her boyfriend came down the center aisle and sat near the front. All went without incident until the invitation was given. Believe it or not, this white collar, aristocratic, downtown county seat First Baptist Church still had one of the old-fashioned prayer rails all across the front of the sanctuary. During the invitation hymn, Mae June made her way down to the prayer rail, prayed shortly, and then asked me if she might address the congregation. I stumbled and stammered through some kind of positive response and then Mae June began to speak. She asked our church to pray for her friend, whom she named, for he was experiencing health problems. With that Mae June sat down.

I somehow dismissed the service and then watched curiously how my congregation would treat Mae June. I want you to know that not one single person in that whole congregation shunned Mae June. They spoke to her, welcomed her, shook hands with her, and some even prayed with her right there. I don't know if that congregation was ever more of what God called it to be than on the night Mae June came to church. On that night, at least, the church was the church. In the church there is only one table, where no one is excluded. Yes, Paul, some things are worth fighting for.

Paul could be so firm in his conviction, even belligerent in his defense, because he knew he was armed with the truth. That truth was that we are only justified by our faith in Jesus Christ (vv. 14-15). Yes, the law has its place, but only to show us sin. God's grace saves us from our sin and cancels its dire consequences. Law defines what we cannot do. Faith gives us something we can do, while grace reminds us of what God has done. Let me put it another way. Justice is getting what we deserve. Mercy is not getting what we deserve, and grace is getting better than we deserve. Thus, through God's grace we are justified or "put right" with him and those about us. That is something only God can do.

Justification is a forensic or legal term which paints the portrait of a person who has been found guilty of wrong and awaits the just judgment he deserves. Then, without explanation, his sentence is canceled and he is set free, restored or put right with the court and society as if he had never committed the offense. He has done nothing to earn this fate; it is a free gift of the court. That is grace! That is God's gift of his unmerited love and forgiveness! There is not one single thing we can do to earn one ounce of his grace. It is from beginning to end his free gift to us. Therefore, there is nothing about which we can boast, or else Christ died for nothing (v. 21).

So we can never be saved by our obedience to the law. We only are saved by our meager, child-like faith in the marvelous grace of God. What does that mean?

For one thing, it means that there is only one table because there is only one Lord who has saved everyone of us sinners. We are all sinners. Christ died for all. We are all recipients of his love and grace. We are one and sit at one table.

A vivid illustration of this truth emerged from the bloody conflict in Rwanda, where in 1994 members of the Hutu tribe carried out mass murders of the Tutsi tribe. At the town of Ruhanga, fifteen kilometers outside of Kigali, a group of 13,500 Christians had gathered for refuge. They were of various denominations: Anglicans, Roman Catholics, Pentecostals, Baptists, and others. According to the account of a witness to the scene, "When the militias came, they ordered the Hutus and Tutsis to separate themselves by tribe. The people refused and declared that they were all one in Christ, and for that they were all killed," gunned down en masse and dumped into mass graves. It is a disturbing story, but it is also a compelling witness to the power of the gospel to overcome ethnic division. Paul would have regarded these Rwandan martyrs as faithful witnesses to the truth of the gospel. Having been "crucified with Christ," they preferred to die rather than to deny the grace of God that had made them one in Christ.1 We are one in Christ and as one sit together at Christ's table.

Then Paul describes what this powerful truth means on an individual level. He describes his own experience. "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me" (v. 20 NIV). Because of Christ's death upon the cross we are created to live in a whole new world in which we have died to the old life and to the law and now live in the freedom to choose to be the very best we can be. This is not a self-negating existence but a self-fulfilling one in which we seek to be all he has created us to be. We never forget his sacrificial death upon the cross and live every moment with a sensitivity to his risen, living presence. Every decision we make is made in light of what he has done for us. We realize that all of life is his gift to us and we seek to live it in a way that is pleasing to him. By his death he has given us the freedom to choose how we use his wonderful gift of life.

Fred Craddock tells the following story: I used to go home to west Tennessee, where an old high school chum of mine had a restaurant. I called him Buck. I'd go home for Christmas and say, "Merry Christmas, Buck," and I'd get a piece of chess pie and cup of coffee free. Every year it was the same. One year I went in, "Merry Christmas, Buck." He said, "Let's go for coffee." I said, "What's the matter? Isn't this the restaurant?" He said, "I don't know. Sometimes I wonder." We went for coffee. We sat there and pretty soon he said, "Did you see the curtain?" I said, "Buck, I saw the curtain. I always see the curtain." What he meant by curtain is this: They have a number of buildings in that little town; they're called shotgun buildings. They're long buildings and have two entrances, front and back. One's off the street, and one's off the alley, with a curtain and the kitchen in the middle. His restaurant is in one of those. If you're white, you come in off the street; if you're black, you come in off the alley. He said, "Did you see the curtain?" I said, "I saw the curtain." He said, "The curtain has to come down." I said, "Good. Bring it down." He said, "That's easy for you to say. Come in here from out of state and tell me how to run my business." I said, "Okay, leave it up." He said, "I can't leave it up." I said, "Well, then take it down." "I can't take it down." He's in terrible shape. After a while he said, "If I take that curtain down, I lose a lot of my customers. If I leave that curtain up, I lose my soul."2

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1. Richard B. Hays, The Letter to the Galatians, The New Interpreter's Bible (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2000), p. 248.

2. Fred B. Craddock, Craddock Stories (St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2001), p. 61.