The Law: Then and Now

This class was unusual in that it began with a reading by Kiran of remarks made by Dr. Weaver in class on May 4, 2013. I asked ChatGPT to compare the discussion we had today with the discussion in class in 2013. The result is appended below.

(Kiran, quoting Don): The third pillar of community is found in Matthew 18:7-11:

“Woe to the world because of its stumbling blocks! For it is inevitable that stumbling blocks come; but woe to that man through whom the stumbling block comes!

“If your hand or your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it from you; it is better for you to enter life crippled or lame, than to have two hands or two feet and be cast into the eternal fire. If your eye causes you to stumble, pluck it out and throw it from you. It is better for you to enter life with one eye, than to have two eyes and be cast into the fiery hell.

“See that you do not despise one of these little ones, for I say to you that their angels in heaven continually see the face of My Father who is in heaven. For the Son of Man has come to save that which was lost.”

This is radical, puzzling, and almost un-Jesus-like language. What does Jesus mean? It sounds like a command to shun evil and do good. But unlike taking responsibility for others, which we discussed last week, this seems to be a call for self-responsibility, self-control, and self-judgment.

Most people today might view the statements as metaphorical. We readily say things like “I’d give my right arm for this,” or “I’d give my eye teeth for that.” Giving up a vital part of our bodies is a fairly common metaphor. But there was a time when this passage and others like it were taken literally.

In many faiths, the idea of self-mortification and self-mutilation is a common theme. Hindu holy men walk on hot coals, sleep on beds of nails, and so on. Shia Moslems flagellate themselves until they bleed. Some Christians in the Philippines are nailed to crosses in ritual voluntary crucifixion. Even the Jewish rite of circumcision is seen by some as a similar kind of mutilation.

In fact, the mutilation of the gonads has figured more in history than the mutilation of other parts of the body. This was especially so in the early Christian church. It perhaps stemmed from Matthew 19:12:

For there are eunuchs who were born that way from their mother’s womb; and there are eunuchs who were made eunuchs by men; and there are also eunuchs who made themselves eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom of heaven. He who is able to accept this, let him accept it.

The centuries-old idea of mortifying one’s gonads in order to enter into a closer relationship with God is fairly well documented. Most famously, Origen, in the 2nd century, is said by some to have castrated himself on the basis of Matthew 19. But by the time of Augustine in the 4th century, the idea came to be downplayed and even derided as eliminating the very basis for self-control. Take away the gonads, and what else does a man have to lose?

Eunuchs were highly valued in the ancient world, because they were rare and could safely be left alone with women (it was supposed), and because lacking the ability to procreate and leave a lineage meant that they were much less of a threat to the kings and emperors they served. They tended to be well paid, such that some boys volunteered to undergo castration, though the mortality rate was very high: 9 out of 10 would die because of the procedure.

Isaiah 56 has a fairly long passage about eunuchs. The notion that self mutilation was valuable on behalf of society or of god himself was engrained in the early Christian church but became to be viewed as barbaric and derisory by the 4th century.

Is there any way in which Matthew 18 could be taken literally? The very last sentence in the passage—that the son of man has come to save that which was lost—may be seen as context for the concept of self mutilation. But the suggestion that there is something (like self-mutilation) that I could do, whether literally or metaphorically, to keep myself out of hell is quite counter to much of the gospel message.

The idea that my self-denial can get me a good response from god is really not the essence of the gospel message. To add to the puzzle: In Matthew 5:28, sin is seen not as a matter of the limbs or organs but of the heart, the mind, the soul.

C-J: It is very interesting that nothing is said about female mutilation, and that women were so easily replaced—by another woman or through surrogate parenting. So I don’t think it’s really about sacrificing to have a better relationship with God or entering heaven. I think it’s about the social context—about who and what has value.

Saying that a boy might choose to risk his life for a better station in life implies that his original position was so bleak that risking death—a nine out of ten chance—was worth it. In the Jewish faith, and in most Bedouin or even wealthy settled traditions, having children was critical. Children were your wealth. They were your labor force. They proved your manhood.

But when you look at the counterpoint—half the population, the women—none of that applied. They didn’t have a voice, power, position, or safety. They weren’t even presumed to be anything more than property. They were expendable. Men, by contrast, were expected to be productive, to provide—for parents, wives, and children—through land, property, livestock, candles, horses, whatever. A man’s value was in his productivity and provision.

For women, their value was to serve and bear children. And honestly, that hasn’t changed all that much. Yes, I get to vote. Yes, I have a voice. But it always costs me something when I speak up. Even when a woman has power, if she asserts it, people say, “Who does she think she is?” Whereas if a man did the same thing, they’d say, “That’s what needed to be done.”

I can think of many women, both in my lifetime and in history, who faced this. But all those social norms and expectations—as you said and as we know—have nothing to do with the grace of God. That’s a personal, spiritual relationship, whether you’re in bondage or not.

As for mutilating ourselves—what is one of the commandments of God? Respect your body; it is the temple. Would you decimate a temple just because you thought it contradicted a message? We are the ambassadors. We are the messengers that God is living, that He is abiding. His protection may not look like ours, but God is with us—in a different way, in a spiritual way, and in a physical way.

“Have I not provided for you in the wilderness? Manna? Quail? Water? Safety?” But most importantly: “Have I not given you the commandments so that you might live well and have relationship with Me?

Sharon: I’m wondering about the anatomical relationship between the heart and the reproductive organs. Is there some chance that there is a connection between how we love, how we relate to Jesus, and our physicality? It seems pretty arbitrary to say it’s better to have your arm cut off. And yes, there are cultures—as we’ve discussed—where crime rates are low because of such harsh consequences.

But the whole story of grace is about how Jesus gave up his entire life—through pain and suffering—for us. He gave it all so that hopefully we don’t have to pay penance like our predecessors, or like those of other faiths that don’t carry the grace message.

Carolyn: In the passage we’re studying there seems to be a lot of emphasis on the personal, the physical parts of the body.

David: There does seem to be a strong attempt to connect the body—our physicality—with sin, punishment, and righteousness. But to me, the bigger message is that there is no connection between the physical (the earthly, the mortal) and the spiritual. They’re two separate things.

Sharon said that Jesus gave up his entire body—his mortal life—for his spirit, for everlasting life. Fundamentally, the body doesn’t matter. So cut off your limb if you must. The body doesn’t matter. The spirit is all that matters.

C-J: I think the whole idea centers on what the body produces—its productivity to society, the value it holds in the societal framework, and the position one may occupy or have access to. That’s what the temporal law expresses when it says, “If you steal, you’ll lose your hand,” or something similar. But if we were to take this image literally, none of us would survive. It’s simply impossible to live up to that standard. It is only by grace—and through grace—that we thrive.

The greatest gift we can give someone is forgiveness. I mean true, unconditional forgiveness—when we say, “I’ll speak of it no more.” And in that space where pain once lived, God fills the void. That’s where we find the ability to become productive again, to bless one another, to continue on as a model of grace. But if we choose the other path, we harm ourselves. We tell ourselves we’re unworthy. We crawl on our knees up stone steps. We flog ourselves. We punish others. Sometimes it’s more socially acceptable, more “politically correct,” but still violent at its core.

Take the commandment, “Do not murder”—that should be universal. And yet, we use murder as an example in its most horrifying forms to say, “This is what happens—make a better choice.” We express it through war. We express it in how we treat the diseased. We ostracize them. We send them away. We put them in colonies. That’s ancient history repeating itself.

Unfortunately, humanity often has to revisit these basic moral questions—how to treat ourselves, how to build a better society. But the answer still lies in allowing God to bear witness through us. Only God can reveal what true spirit is, and what real relationship looks like at that level. I don’t have the authority or the power to do that on my own. I can say, “Let it go, Connie,” or “Just be kind to yourself. Take the high road.” I can say those things in my head—but I might still carry the pain for a while. It’s not easy. It’s only God’s grace that restores.

Donald: I think everything that’s been said is valuable and has relevance to the passage. However, to me, the passage is fundamentally about two things: warning others against leading people into sin, and taking sin seriously.

Just yesterday, I had breakfast with a young man who’s in the middle of his career. As we talked, I could see he’s still playing the game—still rolling the dice. I, on the other hand, am at the edge of the board. No one’s handing me dice anymore. He’s playing a significant role, trying to make meaningful change, to help others. I’ve known him his whole life—he’s like a godson to me. And before we met, I prayed that whatever I said or did—because he invited me, so apparently he still thinks I have some dice left—would be a positive influence.

Sometimes we don’t realize how much influence we really have. It can be something as small as how we shape a sentence or what we choose to emphasize. That can make a big difference in someone’s perception of what matters to us, what our priorities are. So even if something seems unimportant to me, the way I express an opinion or make an observation could lead someone down a path I never intended. That, to me, is what Matthew 18:7–11 is really getting at. It’s not just about cutting off an arm or a leg—it’s about taking sin seriously and understanding the weight of our influence on others.

Kiran: You’re right. When you read the whole passage, it’s clear—Jesus is talking about children. He says that these children trust Him, and that we should be like them. And if anyone causes these trusting children to sin, it would be better for that person to have a millstone hung around their neck and be drowned in the depths of the sea. 

Then He moves on to talk about cutting off the hand or gouging out the eye. So we’re back to the topic of self-mutilation. But there’s a difference between the self-mutilation practiced in some religions and what Jesus is talking about here. For example, in Hinduism, the belief is that if you walk on hot coals, God will look down, recognize your suffering, and then bless or protect you. God is perceived as distant, uninvolved—so to get His attention, people might sacrifice a goat. And if that doesn’t work, they might walk on coals to try harder to be seen.

I’m not an expert on Islam, but it seems similar in some ways. There are practices like self-flagellation meant to express devotion or to get God to listen. In Christianity, though, it’s different. God comes down to be with us. But here’s the problem: we all recognize that we’re unable to stay in a consistent, committed relationship with God. We’re constantly pulled away by distractions, temptations, and weaknesses. So when Jesus talks about cutting off the hand or gouging out the eye, I think it’s metaphorical—about removing whatever is taking us away from that relationship with God.

Paul talks about something similar—how he disciplines his body and brings it under control, so he can stay in right relationship with God. And when you think about it that way, it becomes very real. Whether we believe in grace or law, we all struggle with this. We struggle with the unreliability of our own hearts, with staying close to God, with fully trusting and depending on Him. One day we’re committed, the next day we’re distant. That’s true for almost everyone.

We start to wonder: “How can I fix this?” And that’s when the temptation toward self-mutilation, whether literal or metaphorical, creeps in.

But if we really think about it, being broken or sinful means we’ll never be perfectly consistent in our walk with God—not in the way we hope or expect. That realization alone can be a source of deep discouragement for many. And that’s why the message of grace is so important to me. Because every day, the grace I need is given. It’s sufficient. Some days I need more, some days less—but it’s always available. And when I feel farthest from God, that’s often when He’s closest to me. When I am most in sin, that’s where grace abounds.

It’s a difficult thing to grasp—but once we truly get it, once it settles in both our hearts and minds, it’s incredibly beautiful and liberating.

Don: I’m struck by the fact that if we were to take Jesus’ admonition literally, it would mean the death of nearly all of us. Back in the economy of Jesus’ time, a major amputation was almost certainly fatal. And even if someone survived, they’d be left blind or severely disabled. Essentially, the whole world would be maimed.

But here’s the irony: mutilated bodies—blindness, lameness, disfigurement—were exactly what prevented people from entering the temple. So why would Jesus tell people to do something that would isolate them from the community of faith?

Those are two things that really strike me. What do you think Jesus really meant here?

C-J: I think this goes to the subtext: be mindful of who you are—as an ambassador, as a witness. Let there be continuity between what you say and what you do. There’s an admonition here: this isn’t about you. It’s about someone else’s relationship with God—and with others. If you can’t carry that responsibility well, then step aside. Get right with God, and with your community. God constantly talks about this: if there’s a problem between you and your neighbor, fix it. Then come back to the temple. Wash your hands, make your sacrifice, and then return. We even see that in family life.

When I was growing up, I’d hear, “You wouldn’t run your house like that, would you? Then why are we running our government like that?” Whether it’s local, state, or federal—when you do harm, it isn’t just to yourself. It ripples outward. And if I mutilate myself, it’s a sign I don’t trust God. Even if I think I’m doing it to restore my relationship with God, the act itself says the relationship is broken. As we’ve said here, the temporal has nothing to do with the eternal. Yet God uses our access to the temporal to teach us that we are also living in the eternal, because God abides in us. We need to make peace between the temporal and the spiritual to allow God to do the work.

Speaking personally, when I do something, I often see God’s hand in it. I find myself saying, “Thank you for holding my hand. Thank you for changing my heart. Thank you for helping me see this differently. Thank you for the people you’ve sent—who knew nothing of my private struggles but still brought a message I needed to hear.” God’s love is so all-encompassing—mind, body, soul, and community—but we fail to recognize it because of our sin, our stubbornness.

Carolyn: I was always taught that we should or shouldn’t do certain things because of the example we set for others. We’re being watched. We must be careful not to become a stumbling block. That idea has always weighed heavily on me—especially if you sincerely want to do what God wants. But without grace, that burden can become crushing.

Sometimes those two ideas—grace and personal responsibility—clash. For example, I would never serve a rich, sugary dessert if I knew my guest was diabetic. I’d avoid it, because I wouldn’t want to harm them. But even now, I still struggle with reconciling that. From a young age, I’ve carried this burden: don’t be a stumbling block.

Kiran: In my understanding, anyone who turns another person’s eyes away from Christ is being a stumbling block. It’s not really about sweets or alcohol or whatever—we all have a sin problem. It just manifests differently in each of us. For some, it’s addiction; for others, it’s something else. But underneath all of it, the root problem is sin. And there’s only one answer to sin: Christ and His grace.

So anyone who helps others to focus on Christ is helping the kingdom. And anyone who distracts or diverts attention away from Christ—toward the self, or anything else—is a stumbling block. If we really think about how every action of ours has a ripple effect, we might feel it’s impossible to even leave the house. But maybe not leaving the house becomes a stumbling block too!

It’s complicated. And like C. S. Lewis said, we’re all patients in a hospital. Everyone’s sick—cancer, something else—but we’re still offering advice to fellow patients, not because we’re better, but because we trust the Doctor.

Donald: Feeding someone a sugary dessert without realizing they’re diabetic highlights how little we truly know about each other. We may have a general sense of what someone thinks, and we may develop an impression of how our words might influence them. But the truth is, we don’t know each other’s full stories. We don’t know each other’s backgrounds. That’s where I think grace has to step in.

Throughout my career, I’ve always said: Words matter. Don’t take them lightly. What you say, and how you say it, is incredibly significant. So don’t be casual about things that matter—especially when you’re saying something important to another person. Even when you do your very best, there’s still a gap between what you intend and what someone else receives. We’re all patients, as has been said.

To really understand who you are and what you’re about takes deep familiarity. Carolyn and I go back many years. We’re part of the same family tree, figuratively and maybe even literally. So I probably understand her more fully than I understand others. And yet, even we can stumble over each other. That’s why it’s so important to fill that gap—with care, with thoughtfulness, and most of all, with grace. Because you can wrongly influence someone and not even realize it. So I think we have to pray for grace to fill those gaps.

David: I agree that words matter, but I wonder if Jesus might have been making the opposite point. In the law (ask any lawyer) words absolutely matter. They are the structure and currency of the law. But perhaps what Jesus was saying is that the law—and its precise words—can actually deflect us from true spirituality by distorting our understanding of sin. It draws our attention away from what Jesus meant when He talked about sin.

Take an example from history: if you stole a sheep in 18th-century England, you could be shipped off to Australia as punishment. That’s what the law said—very clearly: Stealing a sheep is a legal offense. The words were unmistakable. But maybe you stole that sheep because your family was starving, and you had no other choice. Where is the sin in that? The law says the sin is theft. But Jesus would say the sin lies much deeper than that. The law distracts from the real moral question.

I asked ChatGPT, “How does Jesus define sin?” It replied:

1. Sin is a matter of the heart. Jesus said, “You’ve heard it said, ‘You shall not commit adultery,’ but I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery.” (Matthew 5)
2. Sin is failure to love. “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart… and your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.” That’s the heart of it: failure to love—not the act itself, like a slap on the cheek, but the deeper failure of love.
3. Sin is hypocrisy and self-righteousness. Jesus said, “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! You clean the outside of the cup, but inside it is full of greed.”
4. Sin is unbelief or rejection of God. “If you do not believe that I am He, you will die in your sins.” Sin is rejecting good.
5. Sin is the omission of good. “I was hungry and you gave Me no food.” And, “Just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to Me.” Sin isn’t only in what we do wrong—it’s also in what we fail to do right.
6. Sin is bondage. “Everyone who sins is a slave to sin.” It’s not just about actions—it’s about being trapped in a way of being.

And none of these definitions are about the external act—they say nothing about hitting someone or stealing a sheep. They’re about something deeper. The underlying sin is the failure to follow the Spirit. The law focuses on the external, but Jesus always pointed to the internal.

Carolyn: But what is the stumbling block that makes it a sin?

David: The law is the stumbling block when it’s interpreted to mean that “stealing a sheep” is the sin. But stealing the sheep isn’t the sin, not really. It’s true that the Ten Commandments say, “Thou shalt not steal.” But the sin isn’t in the physical act of stealing; the sin is in what’s in your heart when you steal.

Carolyn: So it’s not just our actions—it’s our heart, our emotions, our physical choices, and how those might affect another person’s life. And if we do something intentionally—something we don’t think is wrong—but others are watching and judging us, then maybe we become a stumbling block to them, even if we don’t see it that way.

For example, take the Sabbath. My neighbors ask why I don’t go to church on Sunday. Then they ask me, “Do you love the Lord? Do you go to church?” There’s this whole perception issue. I might be doing what I feel is right, but to them, it’s wrong. They’re judging me. They think I’m doing it all wrong.

C-J: Then it may be that you’re in bondage to someone else’s perception of you. If God doesn’t convict you in your spirit—and your intention isn’t to do harm—then you’re good. Just go about your life. And if, someday, God reveals something to you and you feel led to address it, you could say to that person, “I’m sorry if I caused confusion or offense. That was never my intention. Since you used the phrase ‘stumbling block,’ I want you to know that I have what I believe is a healthy relationship with God. You may worship on Sunday, I don’t—but we both seek to walk with God.”

Carolyn: But it can be so many little things, even something as trivial as stepping out of a parking lot without looking—and it just happens that someone from church sees it. Suddenly, you’ve gone from talking about God’s love and law to acting in a way that undermines that message. To me, a stumbling block can be as big as a mountain—but also something small and incidental. I’ve probably made it bigger than it should be, but it still lingers for me.

I don’t want to lose touch with grace. I love grace, and it covers all of it. I know I don’t have to worry about what others say—but still, that phrase, “stumbling block,” continues to stir something in me.

Donald: I think if we focus too much on being a stumbling block—or whatever we take that phrase to mean—it can paralyze us. But if I’m constantly afraid of being a stumbling block, it would freeze me. I’d be too afraid to act.

Carolyn: Right. I don’t yet have full freedom in understanding how wonderful grace really is. I hold myself back, worried that I might become a stumbling block—even in something so small.

Donald: That’s why I’d say this: if the idea of being a stumbling block freezes your behavior, then grace frees it. Grace gives movement. Grace fills in the gaps. It provides what you need to move forward.

Sure, some people will misinterpret your words or your actions. But you can pray that, at the end of the day, you did your best. That’s all you can do. And God will do the rest. He’ll provide grace to thaw what’s frozen and help you live a full life.

C-J: If you could just cut that phrase—“stumbling block”—out of your thinking, and practice mindfulness without constantly asking, Am I doing this right?, you’d be amazed at the freedom you’d experience. You’d find yourself in a different kind of relationship with God—one that isn’t punitive. You are not responsible for all those other people, places, and things. You are responsible for yourself and your relationship with God. And once that’s in place, the rest will follow.

Carolyn: Deep in my heart I feel it’s so much easier to be in a community where no one knows me and I don’t know them. In those settings, I feel free—I feel the grace of God, I feel love for everyone I meet on the street. I don’t worry about how I’m dressed, how I talk, or whether my actions appear loving enough. I just am. And it’s beautiful. I long for that total feeling of freedom. It’s like wanting a second baptism—to have it all washed away. But honestly, I don’t think I’ll feel that way until I get to heaven.

C-J: That’s the bondage I was talking about earlier. You already have that freedom—you recognize where the bondage is, which means you can let it go. That box? That limitation? It’s of your own making. If you can live freely around strangers, you can live that way among those who know you. In fact, you already do. Right here, right now, in this community—you are completely accepted. There is no judgment here. You are loved deeply.

Sharon: Carolyn, I hear you. You live in a really challenging community. Many of us grew up being told that we were never good enough. Our dresses were too short, our pants were too long—everything about us was judged. I’ve lived in that same kind of community. It’s hard—especially in a conservative Adventist setting—because often it feels like outward behavior and appearances matter more than anything else. That weight is heavy.

But what Connie said is true: when Jesus comes in, He changes the condition of the heart. That’s how we’re freed from the burden of toxic behavioral focus. It’s not about what we do—it’s about what Jesus has already done at the cross.

Yes, the community can be cruel. It can hurt. And we’ve heard those same recordings our whole lives: “You’ll never be good enough.” But that burden? Jesus took it away. The freedom is there. I’ve learned to think of baptism as a daily experience. I wake up each day, covered in grace, under the atonement of Jesus. Everything from yesterday—and all the baggage from before—is gone. I am free. Free.

But I have to keep working to silence those old messages: I’m not good enough. I’ll never measure up. And instead, I try to live into that grace—trusting that even if I accidentally cause someone to stumble, the Holy Spirit will be there to soften it. And if someone criticizes me, I give that to Jesus and keep walking in the freedom of His grace.

Don: Carolyn, I would say this: the very thing you think you need to do—to not be a stumbling block—is itself the stumbling block. You believe you have to live perfectly, to avoid doing anything wrong, to be sinless—and that focus on yourself is exactly what Jesus came to release us from. Because it places all the attention on your effort, your performance, your righteousness.

But Jesus wants us to focus on His work, His sacrifice, His grace. So ironically, trying too hard not to be a stumbling block becomes the very stumbling block that obscures Jesus. The more we point others to Him, the less we become a stumbling block. That’s the paradox.

Reinhard: “Love your neighbor as yourself” is really the heart of it. We have to accept others as they are. And when we do that—when we show love—others will also accept us. Of course, the law still matters. It identifies sin, which is anything that violates God’s will—hurting others, stealing, killing. These are all ways we can become stumbling blocks to others. But when Jesus talks about cutting off a body part, I think He’s using extreme language to make a point. We see this pattern in His teachings: go to the extreme to expose the seriousness of sin. “Sell all you have and follow Me.” It’s not that we literally must do that, but it reveals what’s in our hearts.

We are told in 1 Corinthians 6:19–20 that our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit. We’re to honor God with them. So yes, while the soul, heart, and mind are central, our bodies support that life and must be treated with care too. But in the end, it’s about worshipping God with all of ourselves—body, mind, and spirit—and relating to others with love. If we do that, God’s grace and the Holy Spirit will guide us forward in both our faith and our relationships.

* * *

Comparative Commentary: Reflections on Matthew 18 — Then and Now

On May 24, 2025, our class returned to a passage we first studied together twelve years earlier—Matthew 18:7–11, a text both stark and enigmatic in its language about stumbling blocks, self-mutilation, and divine justice. The class began with a reading from Don Weaver’s remarks in the original May 4, 2013 session, after which a rich and layered conversation unfolded. This commentary reflects on the substantive differences between those two discussions, not merely as contrasting interpretations of Scripture, but as windows into our evolving theological, cultural, and spiritual awareness.

1. Thematic Focus: From Law to Life

In 2013, the conversation revolved around the nature of the Law—its radical demands and impossible standards—as Jesus presented them in the Sermon on the Mount and Matthew 18. The tone was exegetical and analytical, with Don and David leading a theological exploration of whether Jesus intended to be taken literally, or whether his words were meant to shock his audience into recognizing the futility of self-righteousness and the necessity of grace.

By contrast, the 2025 discussion shifted the emphasis from theological abstraction to lived experience. The question was not merely what Jesus meant, but how his words are felt—especially by those who carry the burden of being seen, judged, and potentially causing others to “stumble.” The law remained present in the conversation, but as a backdrop to deeper reflections on personal responsibility, emotional wounds, and the liberating power of grace.

2. Gender Consciousness and Social Context

One of the most notable developments was the introduction of gender critique, particularly by C-J, in 2025. While the 2013 conversation was theologically rich, it did not consider how cultural and religious systems have historically differentially impacted men and women. The 2025 session, however, acknowledged this gap, highlighting the absence of female perspectives in historical discussions of self-sacrifice and pointing out the ongoing disparities in how spiritual authority and social judgment are distributed.

The group recognized that religious texts and traditions often reflect a male-centric worldview in which women are silenced, objectified, or overlooked. The re-reading of the passage through this lens deepened the conversation and opened space for those who have borne the cost of judgment and conformity in ways the earlier discussion did not surface.

3. The Stumbling Block Reimagined

In 2013, the “stumbling block” was considered primarily as a theological construct: a metaphor for sin or a trap set by the self-righteous. It was tied to classical definitions of sin, including original sin and self-inflicted failure under the Law. The discussion explored the notion of spiritual blindness and the impossibility of perfection apart from Christ.

In 2025, that metaphor expanded into a powerful symbol of personal anxiety, communal pressure, and spiritual bondage. Several participants—most notably Carolyn—shared how the fear of being a stumbling block can itself become the very thing that alienates a person from grace. What was once interpreted doctrinally became, in this new discussion, a lived psychological and emotional reality. The group wrestled openly with how to live authentically under grace while still being mindful of one’s influence on others.

4. Grace: From Theology to Embodiment

The doctrine of grace featured prominently in both discussions, but its role evolved. In 2013, grace was presented as the theological solution to the unattainable demands of the Law. Don emphasized that Jesus’ hyperbolic language served to reveal human inadequacy and to point to the need for a perfect Savior.

In 2025, grace became not just a concept, but a healing force—personal, relational, and restorative. It was described as the only path through the impossible tangle of guilt, fear, societal expectation, and self-doubt. Participants testified to grace as a lived experience: something that fills the gaps between intention and reception, that liberates from performance, and that gently replaces condemnation with compassion.

5. Tone and Method: Doctrinal Dialogue vs. Pastoral Conversation

The earlier discussion was largely driven by close reading, historical references, and traditional theological reasoning. It echoed the structure of a seminar, with structured arguments and illustrative examples.

The 2025 conversation, by contrast, had the texture of group pastoral care—open-hearted, confessional, and communally reflective. The voices of women were more prominent, and there was a palpable sense of collective vulnerability. Questions about grace, law, and sin were not merely intellectual but deeply personal.

Conclusion: An Evolving Community of Grace

Over twelve years, the community has grown—not only in biblical knowledge but in emotional maturity, inclusivity, and spiritual depth. The comparison between these two conversations highlights not a departure from theological foundations, but an integration of them into a richer tapestry of experience.

We have moved from asking, What did Jesus mean? to also asking, What does this mean for me?—not in isolation, but in community. The 2025 discussion stands as a testament to the ongoing work of grace: ever adapting, ever unfolding, ever inviting us to deeper freedom, fuller authenticity, and wider love.