A Time to Plan and Uproot

For many people, the hardest part of faith isn't believing in God. It's figuring out what to do when the version of Christianity you've inherited no longer makes sense.

Perhaps you've found yourself asking questions you were once afraid to ask. Why does the church seem so divided? Why does politics so often ignore the teachings of Jesus? Why do some churches seem more interested in protecting their traditions than loving their neighbors? Why do I feel closer to God outside the institution than inside it? If you've asked questions like these, you're not alone.

Millions of people are reexamining the beliefs, assumptions, and structures they inherited. Some call it deconstruction. For some, the word sounds hopeful. For others, it sounds threatening. But what if we've misunderstood what's happening?

Ecclesiastes tells us there is ‘a time to plant and a time to uproot.’ We usually celebrate the planting. We don’t like the uprooting or pruning. Yet anyone who has ever tended a garden knows that healthy growth sometimes requires pulling things up and pruning so something stronger can emerge.

The same is true of faith. The apostle Paul understood this better than anyone. Before encountering Jesus, Paul's entire world was neatly organized. He knew who belonged to God's people and who didn't. There were insiders and outsiders. Then Christ confronted him, and everything changed.

Writing from prison in Ephesians 3, Paul describes this transformation as a mystery. Not a puzzle to solve, but a truth God had been revealing all along. Gentiles were no longer outsiders. They were full participants in God's family.

That may not sound revolutionary to us today, but in Paul's world it shattered centuries of assumptions. God wasn't simply expanding an existing religious system. He was creating a new kind of community where old divisions no longer defined who belonged.

That raises an important question for us. What if God is still dismantling walls that we've rebuilt? Many churches today continue to organize themselves around boundaries—political boundaries, theological boundaries, cultural boundaries, and denominational boundaries. We often begin by asking, "Who is in?" and "Who is out?" Paul begins somewhere else. He begins with Christ, who breaks down the dividing walls and creates one new humanity.

Perhaps that is why so many people are discovering authentic Christian community in unexpected places. Around dinner tables. In neighborhood gatherings. In online conversations. Among people who don't agree on everything but are committed to seeking Jesus together.

The church has always been at its healthiest when relationships mattered more than institutions and when hospitality mattered more than uniformity.

My own research into the early church has only reinforced this conviction. The movement described in Acts spread less like an organization expanding its brand and more like roots spreading beneath the surface. It grew through relationships, shared meals, acts of generosity, courageous conversations, and the surprising work of the Holy Spirit. It was decentralized, adaptable, and constantly crossing boundaries that others thought should remain in place.

Maybe that's what we need today. A different imagination of the church. One that measures success less by attendance and more by transformation. Not trying to be a key influence and focusing more on faithfulness. Not trying to make everyone the same, but more by love.

If you're in a season of questioning, don't assume you've wandered beyond the reach of God. Sometimes the questions are not the end of faith. Sometimes they are where deeper faith begins.

After all, the mystery Paul described wasn't that God abandoned His people. It was that God was doing something far bigger than they had imagined. Maybe He still is. Let’s find out!

For more on this topic, Listen to episode 200 of the All Saints Podcast: An Honest Conversation About Institutional Religion.