This simple question strikes fear in my heart.  For many of us, I believe that notion of being in or out was first tested on the playground, or amongst a group of kids of the same age.  Often, that question got posed in a way to apply pressure in a situation where someone was starting to waffle over a question of right and wrong.  Truly that question was more along the lines of “are you with us or against us?”  The child who hears that is being given the difficult decision of choosing between doing what he/she knows is right or being part of the group.  This same question has been used throughout history to encourage people choose to turn their backs on their own moral code so as to not become an outcast.

There is another aspect to this question that also gave me a lot of anxiety over the years.  As a teenager struggling with his own sexuality, the question of being in or out raised issues around solidarity, self-confidence and maturation.  To be in (as in “in the closet”) indicated some level of self-hate, of self-deception and, more importantly, of choosing to ignore your tribe—being “in” meant being an outcast.  But coming out was also a terrifying journey as it meant asking to be made vulnerable and to be judged for simply being who you were.  “Are you out?” became a political rallying cry when it became clear that people who had a personal connection with a gay person were more likely to support gay rights.  In this instance, not being out was tantamount to treason.  Again, the question was more along the lines of “are you with us or against us?”  But in this situation, being out was the correct answer.

We spend our whole lives struggling with some notion of being in and being out.  Regardless of the socio-political definition of the question, our net desire is the same.  We don’t want to be outside the pale, outside the warmth of the fire, outside the comfort of being able to define who we are.  At some level, this is why humankind has always been an exclusionary species—we create situations of “in-ness” to avoid being overwhelmed by feelings of “out-ness”.  And as much as we like to claim otherwise, I fear that in some ways we all relish moments of feeling in.  I know that I do.

This may perhaps have been why the early Christian church was perceived to be not only a religious threat, but a cultural and political threat as well.  The followers of Christ were preaching, among other things, a notion of inclusion that was completely foreign to a world where people were cast as outsiders based on geography, gender, beliefs, or occupation.  It was easy to feel “in” when it was so clear who was “out”.  Even the Jewish faith had created a hierarchical situation where there were different levels of in-ness.  You could be a Jew but not everyone could be a Pharisee.  You could live in Jerusalem, but not everyone could be descended from David.

The early Christian church upended that notion and created what was probably considered at the time as an unsustainable utopia where everyone was equal and had the same access to the religious teachings.  It didn’t matter if you were a prostitute or an officer in the army, a beggar or one of the wealthiest men in the country, everyone was welcomed in the church.

Had the Christian church stopped merely at universal inclusion, there may have been a little less negative reaction.  But the church went on to proclaim teachings that went beyond “in” and “out” with the notion of the “first shall be last, and the last, first”.  This was even more radical and upsetting.  We align ourselves with those we declare first because we believe that in some way being closer to those who are first will move us to the head of the pack.  We create false idols based on human definitions of what first looks like.  We struggle and strive to not be last.  We give more value to those who are already much blessed.

It would be interesting to imagine what would happen if we became as obsessed with the “lasts” in our society as we are with the “firsts”.  Would we be more likely to think about our laws and policies in ways that would benefit the least fortunate?  Would we create a norm where the notion of “what is good for everyone, is good for every one” takes hold?  Would we finally be able to love our neighbors as ourselves?

I am not naïve enough to suggest that we can upend human nature.  Nor am I able to let go off the value that I personally put on vehicles of “in-ness” (although I am trying to keep that value in better perspective).  I just wonder if we have it in us to expand the notion of inclusion under the umbrella of neighborly love.  I wonder if we can remember that we are all deserving of respect and more importantly grace.  I wonder if we can ascribe value to people based on their ability to accept others unconditionally.

What I do know is this—love isn’t made less special when it is shared with more people.  As a matter of fact, the opposite is true.