Photo by Manoj Seenivasan on Unsplash
My first kayaking trip was with a group of friends. We rented our kayaks and set out together, anxious about what the day would hold.
Getting into the water was my least favorite part. I felt completely out of my element. I had to push the kayak into the water, but before it drifted away, I needed to climb in quickly. I was also worried that I would jump in too recklessly, the kayak would flip over, and I would fall into the water before this kayaking adventure ever began.
Sure enough, because of my hesitation, I hopped in too soon before the kayak was fully in the water. It didn’t move. I was stuck.
From my seated position in the kayak, I attempted a “butt scoot”—a desperate wiggle, shifting my weight back and forth to build enough momentum to slide the kayak further into the water. The kayak barely moved. It was apparent that I’d have to climb out and try again.
Luckily, one of my friends, already in the water floating nearby, noticed my struggle. He turned his kayak toward me, leaned over as far as possible, and stretched out his paddle. “Grab ahold of it,” he said with a smile.
He pulled as I grabbed the paddle, and like magic, I was finally in the water. While it was a rocky start, I thought things could only get better from here—but I was wrong. I proceeded to get stuck four more times in this kayak adventure.
The water was shallow in several spots, but I was so focused on keeping the kayak upright that I didn’t notice them. Suddenly, I hit one of those shallow patches, and the kayak came to an abrupt stop. I had to climb out, drag it back to deeper water, and hop in again to keep going.
This kayaking trip could not end fast enough. It did not take me long to realize that I am not good at kayaking. I felt out of place and uncomfortable the entire time.
Was I going to tip over?
I need to go right—no, left!
I need to catch up with everyone else!
Is this a shallow area? I don’t think so—actually, I am wrong—it's time to get out of the kayak again.
A few years ago, we decided to go on a kayaking excursion while on vacation. It was not just me this time—Caitlin and Clark were with me. Luckily, all three of us could go in the same kayak.
I was anxious because of how previous kayaking trips had gone, but I felt at ease because I did not have to do this on my own. I had Caitlin and Clark with me. Maybe this time, it would be different—and it was different.
There were a few moments where we almost got stuck, but the three of us worked together to navigate around a few fallen branches and move in the right direction. I liked kayaking with three people better than doing it alone.
This is what the Church is to be: a giant kayak or rowboat—built for community, for moving forward together.
In Scripture, the Church is described as the Body of Christ. Each person represents a different part—some are like arms, others like legs or eyes—because a body made up of only one part couldn’t function properly. It’s the diversity of roles working together that makes the body whole. In other words, the Church can only truly be the Church when it lives in unity.
Unity is a complicated word. Too often, it's been used to silence dissent and avoid conflict altogether—as if the Church’s goal is total agreement in every area of faith.
This Scripture was written in a time of deep division. Conflict wasn’t the exception—it was the norm. Yet this call to unity doesn’t mean the absence of disagreement. The goal is not uniformity. Instead, it points us toward a shared purpose in the midst of differences and conflict.
So, if unity isn’t about eliminating disagreement, then what is it? How do we, as the Church, pursue unity in a divided world?
Another way to think about unity is to ask: what is our one shared focus?
It is not total agreement on every issue of doctrine or belief. Instead, it is about imitating the way of Jesus. It’s rowing together toward love—for one another, for our community, and for all people. It’s moving in the direction of God’s grace, extending mercy to one another, and choosing hope, even when despair feels easier.
The Church is to row to something new—to be united in the love, grace, and hope of God found in the person of Jesus. We will bump into shallow parts of the water and get tangled in a few tree branches. But as we keep pursuing the way of Jesus, we do it together—rowing side by side, learning, stumbling, and growing with one another. This is what unity looks like.
Let’s row together, not toward agreement on every issue, but instead, let’s paddle our way to becoming like Jesus. This is not something that we can do alone. Being the Church is not a solo activity. Let’s work together and row to waters of grace, hope, and new life.
Thanks Clayton