Between Sundays: When We’re Looking at the Same World and Seeing Different Things
Several years ago, the internet lost its collective mind over a simple photograph of a dress.
Some people were certain it was white and gold. Others were just as certain it was blue and black. What made the debate so unsettling wasn’t simply that people disagreed, it was that everyone was convinced they were seeing the truth. Same image. Same facts. Completely different realities.
I’ve been thinking about that dress a lot lately.
Because it feels like many of us are looking at the same world, the same headlines, the same events, and seeing very different things. We are shaped by where we get our news, who we trust, what we’ve experienced, and what we fear. And too often, instead of trying to understand one another, we talk past each other, assume motives, or retreat into certainty.
Scripture takes this reality seriously. The Bible is full of people who see the same situation and interpret it differently. Faith does not pretend that perspective doesn’t matter. But it does insist that how we treat one another in the midst of disagreement matters deeply.
At the same time, faith also calls us to honesty. Some things are not merely a matter of perspective.
As a pastor and a historian, I feel compelled to say this clearly: when any system of power governs through fear, dehumanization, and cruelty, the church must not confuse loyalty with faithfulness. When human beings are reduced to threats, categories, or problems to be managed rather than neighbors to be loved, Christians are called to pay attention, no matter where we fall politically.
The Gospels show us this pattern clearly.
Jesus does not reserve his strongest words for people who are confused or struggling. He directs them toward those who use power, law, and religious certainty to burden others and deny their humanity. Again and again, he refuses to align himself with systems that protect themselves at the expense of the vulnerable. He heals on the Sabbath. He eats with those deemed unworthy. He challenges leaders who prioritize order over mercy and control over compassion.
When suffering is explained away as necessary.
When cruelty is justified as “just the way things are.”
When people are reduced to categories instead of seen as beloved children of God,
Jesus does not step back.
He steps in.
And it is precisely this posture that leads him to the cross.
This is why the gospel does not exist to make us comfortable.
As Christians, we are not called first to comfort.
We are not called first to be right.
We are not called to win arguments or defend our side.
We are called to something harder, and holier.
We are called to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God (Micah 6:8).
Justice asks us to notice who is being harmed, silenced, or pushed aside, even when that noticing unsettles us.
Humility asks us to admit that we do not see the whole picture, and that other people’s lived experiences matter.
Love asks us to refuse dehumanization, even when fear, anger, or certainty would make it easier.
This does not mean we avoid hard conversations. It means we enter them differently.
It does not mean we all agree. It means we refuse to see one another as enemies.
It does not mean faith is neutral. It means faith is rooted in God’s unwavering concern for dignity, mercy, and truth.
Jesus never promised comfort.
He promised presence.
He promised truth.
He promised a way of love that would challenge power, unsettle certainty, and widen the circle of belonging.
Between Sundays, I invite you to consider a different posture:
Before responding, listen.
Before assuming, ask.
Before dismissing, remember that the person across from you bears the image of God.
We may not all see the world the same way.
But we are still called to walk the same way, together, toward justice, humility, and love.
Until Sunday, and all the days between,
Dr. Hutton