Tag: unity

Embracing Christian Unity

There’s a quiet urgency in Paul’s appeal to the church in Corinth (1 Corinthians 1:10-18), a voice that still reaches tenderly and truthfully into our own divided moment. “I appeal to you, brothers and sisters, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree with one another in what you say and that there be no divisions among you.” He isn’t asking for bland uniformity, he’s inviting a scattered people to gather their lives around one living centre, shaped by grace rather than rivalry. The Week of Prayer for Christian Unity calls us to hear that invitation anew, not as a burden, but as a gift.

We recognise the ache of fractured witness because we live with it. We’ve heard the labels, “I follow Paul,” “I follow Apollos,” “I follow Cephas,” or their quieter modern equivalents that reveal themselves in loyalties, assumptions, and subtle pride. Paul’s piercing question still stands before us, “Is Christ divided?” The answer remains no, yet our habits can suggest otherwise. Unity doesn’t mean pretending our differences don’t exist, it means choosing, again and again, to let Christ be at the centre rather than our preferences.

Paul gently, firmly, draws our gaze to the Cross, that holy place where all human boasting is undone. For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. Here, at this strange intersection of suffering and love, we discover the true ground of our oneness. We’re not united by style, politics, or tradition, but by shared surrender and shared hope.

This week becomes a practice of turning towards one another with humility. It’s a time to listen more deeply, to bless more readily, to notice the grace of God alive in communities not our own. Unity grows quietly, in prayers whispered for neighbouring churches, in conversations softened by kindness, in the courage to believe that the Spirit is still at work, patiently weaving us together.

May we remember that our oneness isn’t something we manufacture. It’s a gift we receive with gratitude, tend with care, and live out with joy, for the sake of Christ and for the healing of the world.

The Kingdom That Sings

Psalm 47 reads like a burst of fresh air, the kind that catches you by surprise and leaves you smiling before you’ve worked out why. It opens with this bold invitation to the whole world; every nation, every people, to clap their hands and shout with joy because the Lord most high is awesome, the great king over all the earth. There’s no sense of exclusivity here. It’s a psalm flung wide open, gathering everyone in.

As you sit with it, you can feel the music running through the lines. God is lifted up with shouts of joy and the sound of trumpets, and the whole psalm seems to sway with that confidence. At its heart is a quiet, steady reassurance that the world isn’t drifting without purpose. God reigns. Even in seasons when life feels uncertain, the psalmist calls us back to trust, almost like someone placing a gentle hand on your shoulder and saying, Look up.

One of the most moving threads in the psalm is its vision of unity. The nobles of the nations assemble … for the kingship belongs to God. It imagines former strangers standing together, not because they’ve all agreed on everything, but because they’re held by something greater than themselves. In a world like ours, so often split by fear and noise, that picture feels both ancient and startlingly hopeful.

When you approach Psalm 47 as more than a song, it becomes a reminder of your place in a wider, joyful story. It tells you that even when your own praises feel quiet, you’re still part of a kingdom that sings on your behalf. It invites you to breathe, to trust, and to let your heart rise with the music that’s already playing.