When the Canopy Becomes the Idol

“There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”— Galatians 3:28

When I was finishing my bachelor’s degree not long ago, I took a class called Theories in the Study of Religion. It was there I first encountered sociologist Peter Berger’s image of the sacred canopy. The idea immediately resonated. Berger suggested that every faith community weaves a kind of shelter of shared beliefs—a covering that offers meaning, order, and belonging in a chaotic world.

But over time, what begins as protection for the soul can harden into something else. We start serving the canopy itself instead of the truth it was meant to shelter.

I see this happening in modern church life, especially around conversations about sexuality and belonging. Many U.S. Christians—most visibly in Evangelical spaces—struggle to accept that a person can be both openly gay and a sincere follower of Christ. The issue has become a kind of litmus test, guarded fiercely as if the whole canopy might collapse if one beam were loosened. Yet the Gospel never called us to defend structures; it called us to love people.

It is my understanding, when reading what Paul wrote to the Galatians, that when he said there is no longer Jew or Greek, male nor female, slave nor free, he wasn’t denying that these identities exist—he was dismantling the hierarchy attached to them. In the early church, believers argued over who was ‘in’ or ‘out,’ who was holier, purer, closer to God. Paul’s radical declaration was that our truest identity isn’t found in external categories but in union with Christ. The ground at the foot of the cross is perfectly level.

I’ve come to understand that my identity isn’t defined by orientation, gender, or social labels—and certainly not by religious affiliation. My identity is rooted in the grace of a Savior who welcomes the outcast, touches the unclean, and eats with those the canopy once kept outside. It’s not I who have had to loosen my grip on man-made rules, but I’ve watched how tightly others hold to them—sometimes out of fear that letting go might unravel everything they’ve been taught. Yet mercy is never what unravels faith; it’s what restores it.

Every generation faces the temptation to idolize its canopy—to equate defending a tradition with defending God. But when the structure overshadows the Spirit, we end up protecting our comfort instead of participating in Christ’s compassion. Maybe the call isn’t to tear the canopy down, but to lift its edges and let the light in again. The Kingdom was never meant to hide under fabric; it was meant to shine in the open air.

So may we have the courage to love more than we fear, to listen more than we lecture, and to remember that truth without love isn’t truth at all—it’s armor. And may we keep our hearts humble enough to ask: Am I guarding the canopy… or walking with the Christ who waits outside it?

A Prayer

Lord Jesus,You who tore the veil in two,teach us to love the truth more than our traditionsand to see Your image in every person You have made.Where fear has built walls, let Your perfect love cast them out.Where pride has hardened hearts, soften them with mercy.Give us the courage to lift the edges of our own canopies—to let Your light and Spirit move freely among us again.Remind us that we are one body, many members,called not to guard the temple gates, but to open them wide.May our lives reflect the grace that first welcomed us,and may Your Kingdom come on earth as it is in Heaven.

Amen.