All About Inclusion

I. Walls are Built by People

Scripture is often presented as exclusionary—as a text that draws firm boundaries around who belongs and who does not. Over time, this framing has become familiar enough to feel self-evident. The Bible is treated as a book of rules first, boundaries second, and compassion only when circumstances allow.

But that reading depends largely on what we choose to emphasize—and what we quietly ignore. When Scripture is read carefully, a different pattern begins to emerge. Not a perfect one, and not a simple one, but a consistent one. Again and again, exclusion appears as a human response to fear, scarcity, or insecurity. And just as consistently, the text refuses to let that exclusion stand unchallenged. This is not because Scripture “evolves” into inclusion later on. It is because inclusion is already there.

II. Birds Not of a Feather

In the Hebrew Scriptures, exclusion is almost never initiated by God. It emerges instead from human choice—from anxiety about survival, identity, and control. The text does not hide this. It records it plainly. What is striking is not that exclusion exists, but that it is never allowed to define the moral center of the story. In 1 Kings 17:6 we read that during a time of famine, Elijah survives in the wilderness in an unexpected way:

“The ravens brought him bread and meat in the morning and bread and meat in the evening, and he drank from the brook.”

Ravens were classified as unclean animals under Levitical law. Yet here, they are not rejected. They are entrusted with sustaining life. This does not abolish the law. It reveals its limits. The purity system served real purposes—survival, cohesion, identity—particularly for a vulnerable people. But it was never meant to restrict provision or compassion. Elijah lives not because purity collapses, but because care was never meant to be contained by it. God does not argue with human systems here. God simply works beyond them.

There is also a linguistic detail worth noting in the Elijah narrative. The Hebrew word translated as “ravens” is ʿōrᵉḇîm (often rendered orevim), derived from the root ʿ-r-b (ʿarab). This root does not only refer to the bird, but is also associated with desert peoples, particularly ʿAravim—Arabs or nomadic groups living on the margins of settled society. Because early Hebrew was written without vowels, the consonants for “ravens” and “Arabians” are identical.

While the passage may be read literally, many scholars have suggested that the ambiguity itself is meaningful. Whether Elijah is sustained by unclean birds or by marginalized outsiders, the point remains the same: life is preserved through what the system excludes. Provision comes from beyond the boundary, not from within it.

III. Seen in the Wilderness

Hagar’s story makes the pattern clearer still. She is Egyptian, enslaved, and vulnerable. Abraham loves Ishmael—yet fear determines the outcome:

“Early the next morning Abraham took some food and a skin of water and gave them to Hagar. He set them on her shoulders and then sent her off with the boy.”

(Genesis 21:14)

This moment is not framed as righteous obedience. It reads like what it is: human failure under pressure. What matters most is what follows in verse 17–18:

“God heard the boy crying, and the angel of God called to Hagar from heaven and said to her, ‘Do not be afraid… I will make him into a great nation.’”

Not just that but earlier, in Genesis 16:13, Hagar names God herself. She is the only person in Scripture to do so:

“She gave this name to the Lord who spoke to her: ‘You are the God who sees me.’”

Exclusion happens—but abandonment does not follow. Ishmael is blessed not conditionally, but enduringly. Divine care flows around human prejudice rather than through it.

IV. Ink isn't Stone

Rahab’s story removes any remaining ambiguity. She is a Canaanite. A woman. A sex worker. According to the prevailing system, she should be erased. Yet in Joshua 6:25 we read:

“But Joshua spared Rahab the prostitute, with her family and all who belonged to her, because she hid the men Joshua had sent as spies — and she lives among the Israelites to this day.”

The text makes no attempt to sanitize her identity. It does not reinterpret her past. It simply refuses to let those facts disqualify her from the future. In fact, Rahab does not remain on the margins of the story. She becomes part of its foundation.

V. Who Gets to Decide?

The Good Samaritan

The parable of the Good Samaritan begins with a legal question, “Who is my neighbor?” This is not an innocent inquiry. It is an attempt to draw boundaries—to define who qualifies for care and who does not.

In other words, it is an exclusionary question. Jesus answers by telling a story in which religious proximity fails completely. A priest and a Levite—representatives of religious order and ritual purity—both pass by the wounded man. Their failure is not explained, excused, or softened. They simply do not act.

It is the Samaritan—a member of a despised and marginalized group—who intervenes. Samaritans were outsiders by history, theology, and prejudice. Choosing a Samaritan as the moral center of the story is deliberate. Jesus places compassion in the hands of someone the system had already disqualified. The parable does not abolish the law. It reveals how it has been emptied of its purpose. Inclusion is not created in this moment—it is uncovered.

Lazarus and the Rich Man

This parable, of Lazarus and the rich man, is often reduced to a story about the afterlife, but its sharper edge lies in what happens before death. Lazarus is not condemned for wrongdoing. He is poor, sick, and ignored. In Luke 16:20–21 we read:

“At his gate was laid a beggar named Lazarus, covered with sores, longing to eat what fell from the rich man’s table”

The rich man’s failure is not overt cruelty, but indifference. Lazarus is close enough to be seen, yet remains unseen. Exclusion here is quiet, respectable, and socially acceptable. But, after death, the rich man doesn't make it into the kingdom of heaven.

He appeals to lineage and authority, asking that Lazarus be sent back as a warning to his brothers. The reply in verse 29 is striking:

“They have Moses and the Prophets; let them listen to them.”

In other words, the problem was never lack of instruction. Scripture was already sufficient. Jesus himself states that love of God and love of neighbor are the foundation upon which “all the Law and the Prophets” depend (Matthew 22:40). Paul later removes any remaining ambiguity: “Love does no harm to a neighbor. Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law” (Romans 13:10). Read in this light, the failure of the rich man is not doctrinal error, but moral blindness.

The Workers in the Vineyard

The parable of the workers in the vineyard confronts exclusion most directly. Laborers are hired at different times throughout the day, yet all receive the same wage. Those who worked longer protest. The Book of Matthew 20:12 tells us that:

“These who were hired last worked only one hour… and you have made them equal to us”

The objection seems less about fairness and more of an issue of equality. The landowner responds in verse 15:

“Are you envious because I am generous?”

This parable doesn't argue that effort is meaningless. It challenges the assumption that proximity, seniority, or endurance grant greater worth. No one is cheated. Generosity is simply extended without hierarchy. The discomfort comes not from injustice, but from the collapse of entitlement. Jesus does not dismantle order here; he exposes resentment toward generosity itself.

VI. What Was Always There

Taken together, these stories tell a consistent story, even when the people within them do not act consistently. Scripture does not present a flawless moral system descending intact from heaven. It preserves human fear alongside compassion, prejudice alongside generosity. This is not a flaw in the text—it is the point.

The laws served real and necessary purposes. They helped a fragile people survive. But they were never meant to become permanent barriers. When lifted beyond their purpose, they obscured the very thing they were meant to protect.

Read carefully, Scripture does not glorify exclusion. It records it—and then, again and again, it points beyond it. Whether one believes in God or not, the narrative itself resists exclusion far more than it endorses it. And that resistance has been there from the beginning.

In closing, I'd like to share this passage found in Romans chapter 2:9–11:

"There will be trouble and distress for every human being who does evil: first for the Jew, then for the Gentile; but glory, honor and peace for everyone who does good: first for the Jew, then for the Gentile. For God does not show favoritism."