One in Christ: Reimagining the Family of God

There’s a strange and powerful truth about how the human mind works: if you hear something often enough, you’ll start to believe it—even if it’s not true. Psychologists call this the “illusory truth effect.” It’s the reason catchy slogans or repeated headlines can stick and shape our thinking. Not because they’re rooted in truth, but because they’re familiar. Comfortable. Repeated. They start to feel like reality.

The Apostle Paul would recognize this phenomenon instantly. He saw it happening in real time among the churches in Galatia. These were believers who had received the gospel of Jesus with joy and freedom, but slowly—over time—they began to drift. They didn’t reject grace outright. They simply added just enough rules, just enough legalism, and just enough religious pressure to make their version of the gospel feel proper, respectable, even holy. But it wasn’t the real gospel.

Paul didn’t mince words: “I am amazed that you are so quickly turning away from him who called you by the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel—not that there is another gospel” (Galatians 1:6–7 CSB). The problem wasn’t just theological—it was deeply practical. The church had begun believing a story that wasn’t true. A gospel that was “almost true,” but still false.

And that raises a powerful question for us today: What if the same thing is happening in our churches?

What if the way we think about faith, leadership, family, and community is shaped more by the culture around us—or by inherited traditions—than by the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus? What if the story we’ve been telling ourselves about the family of God has been built more on the curse of Genesis 3 than on the blessing of Genesis 1?

Let’s explore how Scripture invites us to reimagine what it means to belong to the family of God.

When the Church Starts with the Wrong Chapter

Many of us were raised in churches that used the “family” as the primary metaphor for what church life should look like. This was especially common during the cultural pushback to the sexual revolution of the 1960s and 70s. As the world around us leaned into autonomy, personal freedom, and rejection of traditional values, the church responded with a call for order. For rules. For strong male leadership, quiet submission, and clean-cut family roles. It felt like the antidote to a world gone wild.

And yet, many of those teachings were rooted not in the fullness of Scripture but in a distorted reading of a fallen world.

One of the most enduring frameworks from this era is known as the “umbrella of authority.” You’ve likely seen or heard it before. At the top of the umbrella is God. Beneath Him is the husband. Under the husband is the wife. Then the children. The idea is that blessing flows downward. Everyone has a place, and everyone is protected—as long as they stay in their lane.

It sounds tidy. Orderly. Spiritual even.

But it’s not biblical.

At its worst, this model gives undue power to those at the “top” while silencing those underneath. It turns leadership into control. It often places men in positions of authority without accountability, assuming they are God’s chosen protectors regardless of their character or maturity. And statistically, when power goes unchecked, abuse is more likely—especially within close relational circles.

The problem is that this “umbrella” model doesn’t begin where the Bible begins. It starts the story at Genesis 3, with the curse, rather than Genesis 1 and 2, with God’s original blessing and intent.

Back to the Beginning: Created for Partnership

Genesis 1 gives us the clearest picture of God’s intention for humanity:

“So God created man in his own image; he created him in the image of God; he created them male and female. God blessed them, and God said to them, ‘Be fruitful, multiply, fill the earth, and subdue it. Rule…’” (Genesis 1:27–28 CSB).

From the very beginning, God creates both male and female in His image. Both are blessed. Both are given dominion. Both are charged with the work of stewarding creation. There’s no hierarchy. No head and helper. No pyramid. There is mutuality. Unity. Shared purpose.

Genesis 2 expands this vision. The first human recognizes his aloneness, and God says, “It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper corresponding to him” (Genesis 2:18 CSB). The Hebrew word for helper is ezer—a word used most often for God’s own role as our helper and deliverer. This is not a subordinate assistant. This is a partner. A strength. A presence that completes.

The word kenegdo, translated “corresponding to him,” literally means “face-to-face.” Equal. Matched. Fit.

But everything breaks in Genesis 3. Sin enters the story. Relationships fracture. The woman is told, “Your desire will be for your husband, yet he will rule over you” (Genesis 3:16). This is not a divine prescription—it’s a description of the curse. Of what happens when sin takes hold.

As Beth Allison Barr powerfully puts it: “The Fall is not the blueprint for biblical manhood and womanhood. It is a tragic turning point that the gospel comes to undo.”

The Gospel Undoes the Curse

Fast forward to Paul’s letter to the Galatians. The church is divided—along lines of ethnicity, gender, class, and religious tradition. Jewish Christians are struggling to accept Gentile believers. Wealthy members have access to honor and leadership that the poor do not. Women are expected to be present but silent.

And Paul writes this radical declaration:

“There is no Jew or Greek, slave or free, male and female; since you are all one in Christ Jesus. And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, heirs according to the promise” (Galatians 3:28–29 CSB).

This is not Paul erasing identity. He’s not flattening the beautiful diversity of human experience. He’s saying those categories no longer define value, access, or authority in the family of God.

The gospel doesn’t just forgive our sins—it creates a new humanity.

And in this new family, the table is level.

Billy Graham once said, “The ground is level at the foot of the cross.” That’s what Paul is proclaiming here. The gospel breaks down the dividing walls. It heals the fractures of Genesis 3 and restores the partnership of Genesis 1.

But sadly, the modern church still often operates like the curse is in charge.

We hand out seats at the table based on gender, income, social class, or tradition—not on calling, gifting, or faithfulness. We reinforce pyramids. We pass out umbrellas. And we wonder why people feel disconnected, disempowered, and disillusioned.

Not a Pyramid, But a Table

Jesus didn’t model hierarchy. He modeled hospitality.

In Luke 8, we read that women followed Jesus—some of them even funding His ministry. They weren’t relegated to the back row. They weren’t props or silent partners. They were disciples.

As N.T. Wright famously said, “Women were last at the cross and first at the tomb. That’s not a coincidence.”

The early church followed Jesus’ lead. They recognized that the Spirit was poured out on “all flesh”—sons and daughters prophesying, slaves and free receiving visions (see Acts 2:17–18). Leadership wasn’t about ladders. It was about calling. About who was full of the Spirit. About who was willing to serve.

Leonard Sweet puts it this way: “The church is not a pyramid with the pastor at the top, but a circle of disciples with Christ at the center.”

What would it look like if we truly lived like that?

What if instead of protecting positions, we empowered people?

What if instead of maintaining traditions, we made space at the table?

Reclaiming the Family of God

This doesn’t mean we throw out all structure. Leadership matters. Accountability matters. But it does mean we have to be honest about where our models have come from.

Much of what we assume is “biblical” was shaped by cultural norms in the 1950s, or medieval theology, or even economic philosophies like “trickle-down blessing.” But the vision Paul casts in Galatians 3 is not of a trickle—it’s of a flood. A family where all have access to the fullness of Christ.

As a pastor, I’m on a journey of unlearning and reimagining. I’m trying to lay down old assumptions and listen afresh to the Spirit. To see Scripture through the lens of Christ, not culture. To believe that God is still calling women and men, young and old, poor and rich, Jew and Gentile, to take their place at the table.

We’ve vetted and selected elders, deacons, and staff based on gifting, character, and calling. That’s good and biblical. But we must continue to examine: Are we making space for every voice? Are we reflecting the upside-down kingdom Jesus proclaimed?

Because the truth is, once you see the gospel clearly—you can’t unsee it.

Reflection Questions

1. Who have I been overlooking in the family of God? Are there people in my community whose voices I’ve ignored or dismissed? Am I open to learning from those who’ve traditionally been kept on the margins?
2. Where have I upheld false hierarchies? Have I assumed certain roles or positions are only for certain people? Do I read Scripture through the lens of Christ—or through the lens of comfort and tradition?
3. How can I help set the table for others? What gifts do I see in others that need encouragement? How can I use my influence to invite others into deeper participation in the life of the church?

Come to the Table

The table Jesus sets is wide. There are no velvet ropes. No VIP sections. No qualifiers beyond grace. “There is no Jew or Greek, slave or free, male and female; since you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28 CSB).

This isn’t poetic fluff. It’s the Spirit’s blueprint for the church.

Let’s live like it. Let’s lead like it. Let’s set a table that reflects the generosity, humility, and inclusion of the gospel. Because in Christ, no one stands above.

You have been given a seat.

Now, pull up a chair—and make room for someone else.