Six weeks ago, I told you about the day my then mother-in-law told me I shouldn’t be a pastor. I didn’t know I was already deconstructing. I just knew I couldn’t go back.
Ironically, her home church installed a female pastor, and years later, she began to accept the idea of women in ministry.
I’ve been thinking about that day a lot this week, because I’ve heard the same trope over and over about women in ministry. I’ve even been called delusional for being a female pastor with beliefs. And it reminds me of a verse most of us skipped in Sunday school. It’s about Jesus, and it’s about his family. And it turns out they didn’t understand him either.
Why Jesus?
We’ve spent six weeks in Hebrews 11, the Faith Hall of Fame. And here’s how the writer finishes it:
“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses… let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith.”* (Hebrews 12:1–2)
After the whole roll call, all those unlikely, messy, faithful people, Hebrews says: look to Jesus.
The word “pioneer” (archēgos) means something like trailblazer. The one who goes first, and clears the path for everyone behind him.
And on this particular road, the road of being misunderstood by the people you love, Jesus went first.
The story
Early in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus is healing people, teaching, drawing crowds so big he can’t even eat. And then this:
“When his family heard it, they went out to restrain him, for people were saying, ‘He has gone out of his mind.’”* (Mark 3:21)
His own family. Coming to take him home. Because they thought he’d lost it.
John’s Gospel adds that “not even his brothers believed in him” (John 7:5).
If your family has ever looked at you like you’ve lost your mind, Jesus knows that look. He’s seen it on his own mother’s face.
What Jesus did
A few verses later, his mother and brothers arrive and send word in: they’re outside, asking for you. And Jesus looks around at the people sitting with him and says:
“Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.”* (Mark 3:34–35)
That can sound harsh. Like he’s snubbing his mom. But watch what he’s actually doing. He isn’t shrinking his family. He’s widening it. Belonging to Jesus isn’t limited to blood, or to the people who got it first. The circle is bigger than they thought.
And he never erases his mother. At the very end, dying on the cross, Jesus looks down, sees his mother standing there, and gives her into the care of his beloved disciple: “Here is your son… Here is your mother” (John 19:26–27).
Sit with that. In his last moments, Jesus holds both families together: the one he was born into and the one he chose. He doesn’t make his mother choose, and he doesn’t make his friends choose. He makes them family to each other.
That’s the wider family. It has room for the people who didn’t understand you.
What happened next
Here’s a detail I love. After the resurrection, Acts lists who was gathered, praying, waiting for what came next: “together with certain women, including Mary the mother of Jesus, as well as his brothers” (Acts 1:14). His brother James later becomes a leader of the church in Jerusalem.
The family who once came to restrain him ended up in the room.
I have to be honest. I can’t promise that about your family. Some will come around. Some won’t. Some will come partway and settle, like Terah. That’s why this isn’t a formula. It’s a hope. And it’s why Jesus built a family wide enough to hold you, whatever yours does.
An honest complication
Some of you have had this verse quoted at you: “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother… cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:26). It’s been used to demand that people cut off their families, or to shame people for loving them.
“Hate” there is an ancient biblical way of expressing priority, not a command to reject. Matthew’s version makes it plain: “Whoever loves father or mother more than me” (Matthew 10:37). And the Jesus who said it cared for his mother with his dying breath.
Jesus doesn’t ask you to hate your family. He asks you to let God’s love be the center, and from that center, to love everyone wider and more freely.
The cloud of witnesses
So here’s where six weeks have brought us. You are surrounded.
By Abraham, who left his father’s house not knowing where he was going.
By Jochebed, who trusted God with the river when God was silent.
By Jacob, who got into a fight with God and wouldn’t let go.
By Joseph, who was hurt by his own and loved them with terms.
By Ruth and Naomi, who built family out of loyalty and grief.
None of them had it together. All of them are in the Hall of Fame. And now they’re in the stands, cheering for you.
You are not the first to walk this road. You are not alone on it. You are surrounded.
So what do we do with this
Love from being held, not from hunger. When you know you’re part of God’s wide family, you don’t have to starve for your family’s approval. You can love them freely, because your belonging is already settled.
Keep the table wide. Wide enough for the people who didn’t understand you, on your terms and as it’s safe. Never at your own expense.
Keep looking to Jesus. Not just thinking about him. Talking with him. He went first. He knows this road.
Jesus, pioneer of my faith,
you know what it is to be misunderstood by your own.
Go first. I’ll follow. And hold both my families, the way you held yours. Amen.
*Scripture quotations are from the NRSVue.
The Greenhouse Preview
This Friday in The Greenhouse: the long haul. How to keep loving your people from a place of security, and a closing practice to carry with you after the series ends.
The Closing Question
Tell me in the comments: Which of the six, Abraham, Jochebed, Jacob, Joseph, Ruth, or Naomi, felt most like you?
P.S. This Sunday on Streams of Grace, we close the series at a wider table. Come breathe with me one more time. Sign up here!