This weekend my newsfeed was either full of photos of women marching or long rants criticizing the women who marched. Divisiveness it seems, is the rule for the day. Even when we choose not to participate in something we must explain to everyone who did why they are clearly wrong. Jesus must be really proud of us.

Of course, the marches drew their own kind of lines in the sand. I was disheartened to learn that women who held pro-life beliefs were not as welcomed to join as those who are pro-choice. Even Gloria Steinem got in on the action, making it clear that you weren’t allowed to join the feminist club if you didn’t share her beliefs on that subject. Look out ladies, glass ceiling here we come!

I would write Ms. Steinem a missive about the courageous, not-to-be-trifled-with, Jesus-loving women I know who happen to be pro-life. I would tell her that they would stand with their feminist sisters and work for equal wages, fight systemic prejudice, and help impoverished children everywhere. But I wrote her a letter once and she never wrote me back.

Besides, I’m too tired. I hosted a church party this weekend, my kindergartener was in a bad mood this morning, and I have a mountain of laundry to fold. #reallifefeminism

I once heard a story of a young pastor who was complaining to the senior pastor about a colleague they shared. “He’s terrible!” the young guy said, “Does he even know what he’s talking about?” To which the older man responded, “We’re all just trying to explain something that cannot be explained.”

This is a kind of cultural (and frankly religious) heresy these days. We all have the right answers, and we cannot figure out why everyone else is an idiot. I wish I could place my hope in an agenda. But I find only anger and despair when I seek an answer on this earthly plane.

So here I am, Monday morning, placing my hope, again, in Jesus.

I can no longer stand comfortably on one side of the line or the other. Which is really saying something, because I love lines of declaration. Every year when the rodeo comes to Texas, there is a lady who stands in the petting zoo and just keeps yelling at children, “DO NOT GET TOO CLOSE.” I would do that job for free.

And yet, God has placed us here, close together. And he loved us so much that he came to live among us in fatal proximity. Jesus sought out a tax collector and an adulterous woman and said, “You are my people.” He told parables about a God who is entirely unfair. His lines were clearly drawn with a heaven in mind that our human discord is totally unable to recognize.

And perhaps that is precisely the point.

We hardly ever read the Gospel story and see ourselves as the character of moral failure. We say we want to, God knows. And we may even preach sermons that suggest this “humble” mode of thinking.

But as much as we long identify with the Tax Collector, beating his chest, and praying, “God, have mercy on me, a sinner,” we are much more likely to be the judgmental Pharisee, chastising whoever disgusts us. As much as we would like to identify with the Woman at the Well, with her powerful testimony about Jesus, “He told me everything I ever did,” we are so much more likely to be the disciples who questioned Jesus as to why he would ever talk to such a sinner.

It is on Mondays like today that I’m grateful God looks at all of us and sees a whole crop of tax collectors and adulterers. How we feel about the Gospel is not really the point, praise the Lord. God saves us from ourselves and the lines that we insist on drawing, even today.

Of course, there was that one line drawn between God and his people. The one he crossed–out of undying love for those on the other side. You and me, that is, wherever we may stand (or fall) this week or next.