We walked into my uncle and aunt's home in California, greeted eagerly at the door by a cousin. My aunt was chattering into the phone in Farsi while my uncle greeted us in English. Then they switched roles, he moving into Farsi and she into English.

My uncle, Iraj Broomand, is Iranian. He was a member of the Shah's government who barely escaped with his life in 1979. My cousins are Illya Hooshang Broomand and Anahita Marique Broomand. And then there's Aunt Carol.

Also in the home was one of my uncle's nephews-his sister's son-along with the boy's paternal grandmother. The grandma is a robust African-American Cajun woman from Louisiana, and a Mormon. She wrapped my son into her large frame and planted a kiss on his cheeks. Family. (We found out later that since her sons are direct descendants of Mohammed, she has baptized the ancient prophet into the Mormon Church. Middle East diplomacy at its best.)

Still a Family

Also at their house that day were two of my first cousins, one from Paraguay and the other from Jamaica.

When we left my son asked, "Is that really my family?"

Oh, yes. And that's just the beginning. I also have a niece and a nephew who are from Vietnam and an uncle who is Jewish.

But we are one family. Some by birth, others by adoption. Perhaps a bit nontraditional. But let me assure you, we are a family. At different times you might hear English, Farsi, Hebrew, or Spanish. But we're still a family.

At first, language and pigment variations might throw you off. But if you stayed around us long enough, you'd realize that we share the same stories, that something mysterious bonds us together.

What makes us family has almost nothing to do with shared political views, shared geography, or shared country of origin.

For me this has been a wonderful model of that other family-the family of my baptism. I'm connected by spiritual adoption and shared stories to so many people-even folks with whom I might be quite different.

Missed Opportunities

It hasn't always been that way for me. Our little Church of Christ in Missouri was exclusivistic. For us to be in fellowship with you, you had to be united with us in matters of doctrine. (Note: nearly everything was considered a matter of doctrine.) We had one good man attending who was never allowed to be a member. There was this rumor that he'd come from the Christian Church, wanted to worship with us, but wasn't willing to repent of his views on instrumental music. He was organic in the midst of the inorganic.

One of the tragedies of this as I look back is that I had no clue that 18 miles from my home was Ozark Christian College. I now have the highest respect for that wonderful institution and am excited that my niece will be attending there in the fall. It saddens me to think how much richer my high school years might have been if I'd had access to the spiritual energy of that campus. But I didn't know it existed.

Moving Forward

During this special year-100 years since the official split between Churches of Christ and Christian Churches-some of our best historians (on both sides of the keyboard) are helping us understand the reasons why it happened.

What interests me even more, building on this important understanding, is how we can move forward.

As we continue to minister side-by-side, we'll be surprised at how much alike we really are. But we'll also face some differences-some that we didn't anticipate.

But I like what Bob Russell said at the Tulsa Workshop this year. He said that it's helpful for a while to talk about differences; but there comes a time when those discussions become unproductive.

I can testify to the truth of that from my own marriage. Diane and I have been married 28 years and we still have our disagreements. Several times we've had to say that we love each other and for the sake of the marriage we'd quit hashing out our differences. It's all right to disagree. And it's healthy to work for compromise on many things.

There's not much need, for example, for us to continue talking about instrumental music. Most of the a cappella churches are going to remain a cappella-though most of us don't think instrumental music is wrong. And most of the instrumental churches aren't going to become a cappella-though I doubt if you think it's improper.

Last year when Len Sweet spoke at the Zoe worship conference in Nashville (www.zoegroup.org), he talked about the strength of the four-part singing in Churches of Christ. To him, it was a reflection of the kind of unity and diversity churches are supposed to have. The soprano line is quite different from the alto line and from the tenor and bass lines. But there is a power in the single voice of praise they lift up. In fact, sometimes that sound of harmony is called the 'fifth voice"-that which is more than just a sum of the parts.

It's a good time for us to reflect again on the challenge of Paul in Romans: "Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God" (15:7). He wanted the diverse group in Rome to be able to have one mind and one voice so they could glorify God (v. 6).

Unity in Diversity

That kind of unity-and-diversity is really written into the genetic code of this heritage. When I think of Barton W. Stone, several years past the Cane Ridge Revival, meeting with Alexander Campbell, whose copy of John Locke was tucked away in his saddle bag, and when I remember how they saw themselves as brothers and coworkers, I realize how many differences they had even though they saw their fundamental unity in the gospel.

At its core, Christianity is good news. It isn't primarily a new form of spirituality or a list of rules and regulations. It is the good news that Jesus, the Messiah of Israel and the Lord of the whole world, was raised from the dead. That is, according to Scripture, of first importance.

What great opportunities await us as we seek to move past the divisions of the past, together proclaiming this good news. We are one family, bound together by common faith and common stories. 

Mike Cope is minister of the Highland Church of Christ in Abilene, Texas.