Test Driving Theology

There’s an old story about a small-town church potluck dinner that I heard years ago, and it has stuck with me. You know the kind of potluck feast I’m talking about, right? We’ve hosted them here at Trinity…the kind where tables of crockpots, hot-dishes, salads, breads, and desserts stretch on for miles.

Now, at this particular dinner, three different women, all longtime church members, had brought potato salad. And each believed that hers was the definitive, God-blessed recipe. You know, the potato salad that Jesus would have eaten. One made hers with mustard. Another insisted that mayonnaise was the true base ingredient. The third added pickles and celery and wouldn’t hear of it served any other way.

This was all well and good…three different potato salads can peacefully coexist…until someone innocently asked, “Which one of these is the church recipe?”

There was an immediate awkward silence…before one of the women said, “Well, the one I brought is the one we always have here.” Another chimed in, “I got my recipe from Martha, who cooked in this kitchen up until the day she died, 40 years ago!” Voices tightened. Hackles raised. Arguments broke out over mustard versus mayo, pickles versus plain. Nostalgia, pride, tradition…all bubbled up into what I can only describe as a holy hot dish disagreement.

And then, silence. You know, the kind of uncomfortable, passive-aggressive Scandinavian silence that says, “No one here is happy or comfortable right now.”

But then something happened.

A young boy, maybe ten or eleven, walked through the line, scooped a bit of all three potato salads onto his plate, and sat down. When someone asked which one he liked best, he grinned and said, “They’re all good. They all taste like church.”

They all taste like church.

And weirdly…when I hear that phrase, I know exactly what he means.

That boy reminded everyone of something they already knew deep down: that unity doesn’t mean uniformity. It means different people, with different stories and flavors, coming together around one table. And that’s not just a cute ending to a potluck squabble; that’s the heart of Jesus’ prayer in John 17.

In John 17, we find Jesus praying. It’s the night of his arrest. He knows what’s coming. His time is short. And what’s on his heart? Not revenge. Not a call to arms. Not even a strategy for how the Church should function in his absence.

In that moment, Jesus prays for unity.

“I ask not only on behalf of these disciples, but also on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word” (which means he’s praying for us) “that they may all be one.”

That they may all be one.

But not one in the sense of sameness. He goes on: “As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us.” The unity Jesus envisions is relational, not structural. It’s about being connected to one another through love, just as the Father, Son, and Spirit are bound together in love.

The unity Jesus prays for is not conformity, it’s communion.

It’s not about everyone having the same recipe. It’s about bringing our different gifts, stories, and expressions of faith to the same table, and recognizing Christ in one another.

It’s easy to confuse unity with uniformity. Churches have done it for centuries. We’ve said, “You’re welcome here; as long as you worship like we do, pray like we do, vote like we do, parent like we do.” It becomes unity by assimilation: join us…but become like us.  But that’s not really welcoming, is it?

And…it’s not Jesus’ prayer.

Jesus doesn’t say, “May they all agree on everything.” He doesn’t say, “May they all worship in the same style.” He says, “May they be one, as we are one.” And the unity of God…the unity of the Trinity…isn’t bland sameness. It’s dynamic, relational, interdependent. The Father is not the Son, the Son is not the Spirit, and the Spirit is not the Father, yet they are perfectly one in love.

That tells us something important: Christian unity is not found in uniform thinking, but in shared belonging.

To say “it all tastes like church” isn’t a way of avoiding hard conversations or pretending we have no differences. It’s a way of honoring the differences…the diversity…that God has given us. A way of saying, “There’s room at this table for mustard, mayo, and pickles.”

Paul picks up this same idea in 1 Corinthians 12. He says the Church is like a body…it is made up of many parts. “If the whole body were an eye, where would the hearing be?” Paul doesn’t just tolerate difference… no, he insists on it. Because without it, the body doesn’t function.

Every congregation I’ve known has had its own “recipe,” its own unique blend of people, traditions, music, ministries, and quirks. And when it works, when we celebrate those gifts instead of competing over them, it’s a beautiful thing.

Our congregation at Trinity is made up of farmers and teachers, engineers and artists, factory workers and executives, kids and retirees, lifelong Lutherans and folks still figuring out what they believe. We have young people, old people, and those of us who are in denial.  We have people who love the organ and those who love the band.  We have those who love worship in the Sanctuary, and now those who will love worshipping outside.  We are not the same. And we’re not meant to be.

We are meant to be one.

• Not in flavor, but in purpose.
• Not in preference, but in love.
• Not in uniformity, but in shared mission.

Why was this kind of unity so important to Jesus?  Well, Jesus doesn’t just pray for unity for the Church’s sake. He prays for unity so that the world might believe.

He said: “That they may be one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.”

In other words, our unity is a witness.  It is a form of outreach…of invitation.

When the world sees people with real differences…differences across generations, ideologies and cultures, all coming together to love and serve in Jesus’ name, it sends a powerful message. It says that Christ is alive. That grace is real. That love can overcome division.

But when the Church fractures over every disagreement…when we cancel one another, gossip, or withhold forgiveness…it undermines our witness. It makes us look like just another institution fighting for power.  Andthat is what drives people away.

Unity is not just a nice idea. It’s how the world will recognize Jesus in us.

Sometimes we imagine unity as a perfect, conflict-free community. But real unity is often messy. It means staying at the table even when we don’t agree. It means choosing curiosity over judgment. It means remembering that the people who drive us crazy at church are still part of the body, and often, the part that helps us grow.

Unity looks like being together…even when it is hard.  Unity looks like a giant potluck…where three different potato salads become symbols of the Kingdom of God.

Let me tell you when I’ve seen the Church at its best:

• It’s when older members show up to pack meals for hungry kids, shoulder to shoulder with high schoolers in hoodies.
• It’s when people take time to listen to someone’s story instead of assuming they already know where they stand.
• It’s when the altar is surrounded by a whole range of people, laughing babies, grieving elders, newcomers, skeptics, long-time leaders, all receiving grace from the same loaf of bread, and the same cup.
• It’s when someone looks at everything and everyone, and says, “It all tastes like church” …and they mean it.

Because church isn’t about any one flavor being the “right” one. It’s about all the flavors that come together in Christ.

Here’s what we know:  We may be the ones bringing the different  ingredients to the party…but it is Jesus, who is in the kitchen…it is Jesus who sets the table.  It is Jesus who invites us, and who draws us together.  And he does this because of love.  Jesus loves you so much that he wants your hot dish…your potato salad…he wants the gifts and passions that you and only you can bring.  He loves you that much.  

Friends, Jesus prayed that we would be one. And not because it’s easy…but because it’s holy. Because in our unity, the world gets a glimpse of God’s love.

And here’s the remarkable thing: We are invited to become the answer to Jesus’ prayer.

Every time we choose grace over judgment, every time we listen instead of assuming, every time we welcome a new voice at the table; we help bring Jesus’ prayer to life.

So may we be a church that values every recipe, every story, every person.

May we remember that unity does not require us to lose our identity…no, it invites us to bring our full selves to the table in love.

And may we always be the kind of community where someone, maybe even a ten-year-old with a plate full of potato salad, can smile and say, “This all tastes like church.”

Thanks be to God!

Amen.