As far back as I can remember, I’ve been told that we are all “brothers and sisters” in Christ. That worked for me early on, when all of the Christians that I encountered were basically similar to me. It stood to reason that people in my church were “family.” People that went to other churches that looked like mine were also “family,” but more like cousins. People who went to churches that didn’t look like mine were suspect. They might be “family,” but it was hard to say. I didn’t know exactly what they believed, and they may have spoken in tongues, or had priests instead of pastors, or had female pastors, or had some strange sounding church name. So they probably were’t my “family,” but they had their own “family” in Christ, I surmised.

As I grew, my experience with different bodies of believers, my college experience, and my own journey began to expand my idea of “brothers and sisters,” and my “family” became much more inclusive. Just like Caesar Kalinowski talked about a few weeks ago, our family is HUGE. We don’t all have to believe or live exactly the same way. God has lots of children, and many of them are in different places in their own Gospel stories than I am. This is a beautiful truth that I can embrace.

Until a few months ago, I thought I lived this truth well. I was excited about the new Pope, even though I’m not Catholic, because it meant so much to my Catholic brothers and sisters. I could relate to coworkers who’s God-experiences are very different than mine, without being critical or judgmental of how they do things.

On March 19th, I saw the news of the death of Fred Phelps, founder and pastor of the infamous Westboro Baptist Church. I often interacted with members of WBC on Twitter, and my initial impulse was to fire off a not-so-nice tweet to his daughter, Shirley. I started to compose the mean-spirited tweet, carefully selecting my 140 characters in the same divisive tone that Fred and his daughter are well known for. I felt OK about this because they certainly spread enough hate and evil that they definitely aren’t real Christians. They aren’t “family,” are they? They might believe in the same God I do, and they might believe in the same core tenets of faith that I do, but… they are such… awful people. Surely, God can’t consider them his children. And even if He does, they have their own “family,” and it’s not mine.

There’s a saying that you can choose your friends, but you’re stuck with your family. As I have had to learn through experiences, our “family tree” is enormous. It extends in many directions that I’ve never considered. It even includes people that I wouldn’t choose. Fred Phelps, like a crazy-mean-terrible uncle, was a part of the family. Realizing this has had an immediate effect on my interactions with members of Westboro Baptist Church. I still, obviously, disagree with almost everything they stand for. I disagree with how they go about spreading their “message.” I disagree with them picketing funerals of soldiers. There is plenty of room for criticism. But my perspective has changed. No longer am I on the other side of the fence throwing rocks back at them. Now I find myself reacting in love, not hate. After all we’re family.

While WBC is probably the most extreme example I can think of, this idea of “extended family” touches on other areas and relationships. It’s easy for me to think of believers who are different than me as family, but it’s much harder when they are not only different, but wrong. God doesn’t call all of his children to believe the same thing as me, as though I am the standard-bearer. We are all family, and there has to be room in this family for grace. Who am I to deny the family that God has given me?