Welcoming the Outcast

When I hear the phrase God hates fags I can’t help but think of the late Fred Phelps Sr., former vitriolic pastor of the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas who found every opportunity to publicly and vigorously protest homosexuality. His specialty was picketing the funerals of gay men. He made it clear that God hated both homosexuals and homosexuality with a singular revulsion afforded no other class of people or category of sin.

I’ve seen this hatred firsthand in my own home. One evening my wife and I entertained a couple who were evangelical Christians and conservative Republicans. Dinner conversation was varied and dull until the topic became homosexuality in America. At this point the man became quite animated. This visceral response to homosexuality went on for some time as he broadened his broadside to include all homosexuals everywhere.

His diatribe just hit me the wrong way. I didn’t engage in an argument but I knew I would never have this man in my home again. I didn’t want to be around Christians who embraced a theology of hate towards anyone.

As I picture Jesus of Nazareth meandering around Galilee and coming into contact with all kinds of people, I struggle to see him becoming apoplectic over the wickedest of the wicked – Jewish tax collectors. Wee little Zacchaeus (Luke 19) and his colleagues were the most reviled class of people in all of Israel. They were responsible for collecting the taxes to pay for the privilege of having the pagan Roman army occupy the nation. The Jews hated the tax collectors more than they hated the Romans! These men were reprehensible traitors and deservedly outcasts.

Jesus knew they were considered anathema by everyone. And yet he still made time to stay with Zacchaeus in his home. The onlookers, including his disciples, must have been both sickened and stunned at the sight of their leader spending time with such a wretched man. It’s one thing for Zacchaeus to put the welcome mat out for Jesus, but it’s quite another for Jesus to accept the invitation to be with the wicked.

Among conservative churchgoers, gays might be yesteryear’s wicked tax collectors. Homosexuality is considered the penultimate sin, second only to blasphemy against the Holy Spirit, which cannot be forgiven. While the church is filled with people who sin all the time, the evangelical community can’t quite put the mat out for a homosexual.

Is there a place for Zacchaeus in evangelical Christianity, or does everyone who comes through the door need to be reformed already? Is sinlessness a prerequisite to get served in the church, or to become a follower of Christ? Does evangelical Christianity really have a No Sin or No Service sign on the door?

The answers are no, but the world doesn’t see it that way. The number one reason for not becoming a church-going Christian that I hear from the unredeemed is that Christians are hypocritical. The church door might be open to all, but if you’re gay then you’ll have to change before you can touch the hymnal.

The reality is that the world sees itself when it looks inside the church. The image is camouflaged to make it somewhat unrecognizable, but that isn’t lost on the world. The unchurched see the churched doing everything the unchurched are doing.

I recognize the good news of Jesus Christ is all about regeneration – changing what exists into something new. Christ expects to renew everyone who comes to him so they no longer get drunk or visit prostitutes or abuse their wives. The gospel is about genuine transformation. However, I’m not talking about the call to reformation that is unambiguous with Christ. I’m talking about how the church treats those who haven’t yet heard the call. Those who come to the door and knock but don’t come in.

Most evangelicals I know are not hypocritical, but they might feel uneasy having lunch with Zacchaeus. They might not know what to say to him because he’s not living like they are. They might not even want to know anything about him except to learn if he’d be interested in forsaking his sin and coming to church. They might not be able to get that love the sinner but hate the sin mantra out of their minds all the while they’re eating with him and trying their best to enjoy his company.

I welcome people like Zacchaeus in my life. It gives me a chance to breathe the air the real world breathes. In that air there is clarity about what Jesus was thinking when he shared a meal with that treacherous tax collector – or that gay or lesbian, or trans-activist, or skinhead, or atheist, or with anyone who on the surface doesn’t look or feel like a candidate for evangelism. He must have been thankful that Zacchaeus, and all those like him who are despised by the dominant religious culture, put the welcome mat out for him. Yet, if he hadn’t, Christ would have put his own welcome mat down at his door. In fact, that is precisely what he did. Christ invited himself into Zacchaeus’ life, not the other way around.