In Ezra 4, when the returned exiles began rebuilding the temple, relatives—Israelites the Judeans called Samaritans—arrived and said, “Let us build with you.” Old feuds flared. The offer was refused; inclusion collapsed into gatekeeping. In response, a poet writing in Isaiah’s name cast a different vision: God gives “a name better than sons and daughters” and declares the temple “a house of prayer for all peoples… I will gather still others.” The point is not optics; it’s belonging.
I once read a line that stuck with me: “Everyone is welcome” is drastically different from “we built this with you in mind.” People don’t want to be tolerated; they want to be included. That’s where this lands for church life and for us.
I’ll never forget showing up to my first couple of family reunions on my stepfather’s side of the family, and I’ll never forget because it was awkward for a number of reasons. One, I didn’t know anyone there since it really wasn’t my family yet. Number two, no one knew me either. Three, I was the only one there with red hair and freckles. And so I say I’ll never forget because I felt so out of place and I wasn’t ready to try to explain to people in the family whose family I belong to, where my red hair came from. I just wasn’t ready to engage with that. I mean, I think that’s tough for anyone at any age to do, but at seven years old it was nearly impossible. Mostly I’ve forgotten about all of that awkwardness and newness through the difficulty of joining a new family or new community.
I’ve forgotten all of that, but I’ll never forget what my new grandma did during my very first family reunion. I think she spotted me in the crowds of people and my stepfather has a huge, huge family. It’s a wonder then that there’s not one other ginger in the entire collection of them. But I’ll never forget what my new grandma did. I think she saw me trying to answer all these questions to all these people trying so hard to say, yes, my red hair came from this and I belong to this person like this. And on and on and on that she just left and she went down to the store and she bought some red hair dye and she dyed her hair red that afternoon. And when I asked her why at dinner that night, she told me she loved me and she said, I want everyone to know you’re my grandson. Even though her red hair didn’t look anything like my red hair, she said, I love you and you belong to me. I hope we’ve all known a person or a community that has welcomed us in this way.
That’s inclusion. Not “you can attend,” but “we altered ourselves to make sure you know you belong.” It’s the difference between inviting people to contribute and actually sharing voice, power, and plans. Ezra’s crowd took offerings but withheld ownership; Isaiah’s vision invites people into the center of the house.
So as we revitalize Fort Street, let’s trade turf for table. Ask, Who’s still missing from the plans? Rebuild so those neighbors are centered, not added on. Refuse the nostalgia trap that makes the past our only blueprint. And keep God’s “ever-gathering” heartbeat in view so the dream we’re building truly is built with them in mind.
