So when Bo drops that line, “We’re human beings. We’re trying to love Jesus.” It warms the heart, sure. But if we’re honest, that’s unity at the level of vibes, not truth. In the Philippines, we’re used to polite harmony: we smile, we say “okay lang,” and we move on. Yet faith isn’t just about feelings; it’s about convictions. A Catholic priest, two Protestant pastors, and a Catholic lay preacher may all love Jesus, but they don’t mean the same things by “Church,” “authority,” “sacraments,” “grace,” or even how we know what Jesus actually wants. These aren’t minor preferences; they shape entire lives, how we worship, what we teach our children, who we’re accountable to, and what we believe salvation is. If unity stops at “we’re human and we love Jesus,” it risks becoming a safe slogan that avoids the real work: naming differences, testing teachings, and finding out whether our unity is grounded in truth or just in niceness.
Let’s talk real talk: unity that costs nothing is worth nothing. Genuine unity requires clarity about essentials and honesty about disagreements. Catholics claim apostolic succession and magisterial authority; many Protestants insist on Scripture alone and reject Rome’s claims. Catholics see the Eucharist as the re-presented sacrifice and true Body and Blood; many Protestants see it as a memorial. Confession to a priest, Marian dogmas, purgatory, justification, these aren’t “small issues.” They define what the gospel is and how grace is received. So yes, let’s be charitable, respectful, and kind. But love also tells the truth. Unity without doctrinal substance may feel good now and hurt people later when they discover that beneath the “aww” moment are deep contradictions. If we truly love Jesus, we won’t settle for a unity that glosses over the gospel. We’ll sit down, open our Bibles, compare claims, ask hard questions, and pursue a unity that can stand in the daylight where conscience is clean, Christ is central, and the differences are faced head-on, not hidden under a hashtag.
“We’re human beings.”
So when Bo says, “We’re human beings,” tama naman, bro, that’s true. But let’s be real: being human is simply the basis of existence, not the basis of Christian fellowship. Shared humanity is what makes us care for each other in times of disaster, what makes us donate to typhoon victims, or show compassion to strangers. That’s humanitarian unity. But when we talk about the church, about spiritual partnership, the foundation was never just “we’re all people.” Biblically, unity was always anchored in truth. Paul didn’t say to the Judaizers, “Okay lang, we’re all human, let’s just agree to disagree.” No, he confronted them because their teaching distorted the gospel. The early church fathers didn’t embrace Gnostics because “pareho lang tayo, tao.” They drew lines, they wrote creeds, they defended doctrine, because they knew that without truth, unity collapses into sentiment.
Yes, shared humanity is beautiful for compassion, but it cannot carry the weight of ecclesiastical unity. Christian fellowship is not built on biology but on belief, not on the fact that we breathe the same air, but that we confess the same Christ, the same gospel, the same faith once delivered to the saints. If we reduce unity to “aww, we’re all human,” then we risk turning the church into a humanitarian club instead of the body of Christ. Real talk: Unity without doctrine is just a handshake; unity with truth is the church standing firm together.
Shared humanity is beautiful for compassion, yes. But shared humanity is not a foundation for spiritual unity. Ang tawag doon? Humanitarian unity. Not ecclesiastical unity.
“We’re trying to love Jesus.”
So when someone says, “We’re trying to love Jesus,” ayun na, that’s the emotional hook. Heartstring pull talaga. But let’s slow down: loving Jesus isn’t defined by sincerity alone. Kasi kung sincerity lang ang batayan, lahat pasado. Even the Judaizers in Galatians sincerely thought they were honoring God, but Paul didn’t clap for their effort; he called it “a different gospel” (Gal. 1:6–9). Meaning, sincerity without truth can actually mislead.
Now look at how different traditions “try to love Jesus.” Catholics express that love through the Mass, understood as a repeated sacrifice of Christ made present again on the altar. Evangelicals express that love by proclaiming the finished work of Christ, once for all, never to be repeated. Those aren’t small stylistic differences; they’re opposite theological universes. One says the sacrifice continues, the other says the sacrifice is complete. One locates authority in the magisterium and tradition, the other insists on Scripture alone.
And these differences touch the very core:
- How are we saved? By grace plus sacramental participation, or by grace through faith alone?
- What did Christ accomplish on the cross? Was it sufficient and finished, or does it need to be re-presented?
- What does justification mean? Declared righteous once for all, or infused righteousness through ongoing cooperation?
- Where does ultimate authority rest? In the magisterium, or in the written Word?
Hindi ito “cute differences.” These are the defining lines of Christian identity. Of course, people can be kind across traditions, and we should show respect and compassion. Pero let’s not pretend that sincerity erases doctrinal contradictions. Real talk: unity built only on “we’re trying to love Jesus” risks becoming sentimental unity, not biblical unity. True fellowship requires not just shared emotion but shared truth; otherwise, we’re just harmonizing feelings while living in different gospels.
“We don’t agree on many, many, many things. And that’s alright.”
Sure, if we’re just talking about preferences, worship style, preaching methods, ministry culture, then “we don’t agree, and that’s alright” makes sense. Parang Jollibee vs. McDo lang yan: different flavors, same fast food experience. But Bo isn’t talking about preferences; he’s touching doctrinal realities that historically divided the Reformation from Rome. And when the issue is justification by faith alone versus infused sacramental grace, that’s not a “no biggie” difference. That’s the gospel itself on the line.
The Reformers weren’t willing to shrug and say, “Okay lang, let’s blend.” They risked their lives because they believed the very heart of salvation was at stake. Paul himself, in Galatians, didn’t say, “We don’t agree, and that’s alright.” He said, “If anyone preaches another gospel, let him be accursed.” Jude didn’t write, “Blend the faith for the sake of vibes.” He wrote, “Contend for the faith once delivered to the saints.” That’s a call to guard, defend, and preserve the truth, not dilute it for the sake of harmony.
So yes, unity is beautiful when it’s grounded in truth. But unity without truth is just a fragile truce, a sentimental handshake that collapses when tested. Real talk: if the gospel is at stake, then the most loving thing we can do is not to blur the lines but to clarify them. Because eternal salvation isn’t decided by whether you prefer Jollibee or McDonald's, it’s decided by whether you trust in Christ’s finished work or in a system that adds to it.
“But we agree that we should love our neighbor.”
Yes, legit. Walang kontra doon. Jesus Himself commanded it Love your neighbor as yourself. That’s a universal call, a human responsibility, a Christian duty. But here’s the catch: loving your neighbor is not the same thing as being in theological unity. You can love your Catholic neighbor, respect your Orthodox neighbor, pray for your Muslim friend, and even share coffee with your atheist officemate all without pretending that spiritual fellowship exists where it doesn’t. Love does not require doctrinal fusion.
Historically, the church has always distinguished between charity and fellowship. Charity is universal; you show kindness, compassion, and respect to all because they bear the image of God. Fellowship, however, is covenantal; it’s rooted in a shared confession of the gospel. The apostle John, for example, warned that if someone does not bring the teaching of Christ, you don’t receive them as spiritual partners (2 John 9–11). Paul urged believers to contend for the truth, not blend it for the sake of vibes. That means we can practice love broadly, but we guard fellowship narrowly.
So real talk: the call to love is universal, but the call to spiritual fellowship is not. To collapse the two is dangerous because it confuses compassion with compromise. We can and must love across boundaries; that’s obedience to Christ. But unity in the Spirit is reserved for those who share the same gospel, the same Lord, the same faith once delivered to the saints. Anything less is humanitarian unity, not ecclesiastical unity. And if we blur that line, we risk turning the church into a social club instead of the body of Christ.
“We sat down and talked about how to love each other amidst differences.”
Good vibe? Absolutely. Helpful for a peaceful society? Yup, walang debate doon. Conversations are good, friendships are good, respect is good; all of that contributes to harmony in the barangay, in the office, in the nation. But let’s be careful: biblical “unity of the Spirit” is not automatically the same thing as social harmony. The danger comes when the message subtly shifts from “we can be kind despite differences” to “our differences don’t matter spiritually.” That’s where the line gets blurred.
Because in Scripture, unity is not just about smiling together; it’s about standing together in the same truth. Paul told the Ephesians that the unity of the Spirit is grounded in “one Lord, one faith, one baptism” (Eph. 4:4–6). That’s doctrinal, not just emotional. If we reduce unity to PR, a nice slogan, a feel-good campaign, then we risk selling harmony at the expense of truth. And history shows us that whenever truth is sidelined, the church loses clarity, the gospel gets diluted, and people end up confused about what salvation really means.
So yes, let’s keep the good vibes, let’s promote respect and kindness across traditions. Pero real talk: unity without truth is just PR. It looks good on posters, it sounds nice in speeches, but it cannot sustain the weight of spiritual fellowship. Genuine unity requires both love and truth, compassion that embraces people, and conviction that guards the gospel. Without that balance, we’re not building the body of Christ; we’re just managing optics.
“This effort was inspired by the book Dear Unity…”
Bo drops big names Francis Chan, Nicky Gumbel, Darlene Zschech, and even Cardinal Cantalamessa. And let’s be honest: when famous figures gather under a banner of “unity,” regular believers watching from the sidelines often think, “Ah, okay, pala to mix all doctrines together. If they’re fine with it, who am I to question?” That’s the power of influence. It shapes perception, it sets trends, and sometimes it unintentionally blurs doctrinal convictions in favor of emotional harmony.
But here’s the sobering reality: unity letters and joint statements may sound inspiring, but the New Testament never commanded the church to write love letters to error. What Scripture commands is to maintain love while guarding truth. Paul told Timothy to watch his doctrine closely (1 Tim. 4:16). Jude urged believers to contend for the faith once delivered to the saints, not to dilute it for the sake of vibes. John warned against welcoming false teaching as if it were fellowship (2 John 9–11). In other words, love is non-negotiable, but so is truth.
So yes, unity letters are nice, they look good on paper, they make headlines. Pero real talk: if unity is achieved by sidelining the gospel, then it’s not biblical unity, it’s PR unity. And PR unity may win applause today, but it leaves believers confused tomorrow. The church’s calling is higher: to show love broadly, but to guard fellowship narrowly, ensuring that the name of Christ is honored not just in sentiment but in substance.
So what’s the real issue here?
It’s not about being mabait. It’s not about being friendly. It’s not about refusing unity. The real issue is this: unity that ignores doctrine becomes unity that endangers souls.
The Bible calls us to love our neighbor; that’s non-negotiable. But the same Bible also commands us to guard the gospel (1 Tim. 6:20), to test the spirits (1 John 4:1), and to separate from false teaching (Rom. 16:17). Meaning, love and truth are not enemies; they’re partners. If “unity” becomes an excuse to downplay essential truths, then we’re not healing the church, we’re diluting the gospel. And a diluted gospel is no gospel at all.
Think about it: the early church didn’t unify with Gnostics just because it felt nice. Paul didn’t tell the Galatians to tolerate Judaizers for the sake of harmony. Instead, he warned that a “different gospel” is spiritually deadly (Gal. 1:6–9). Real talk: sincerity without truth can mislead, and unity without doctrine can deceive.
So yes, let’s be kind, let’s be respectful, let’s build friendships across traditions. Pero let’s also be clear: biblical unity is not built on vibes, but on shared confession of Christ’s finished work. Anything less is just PR unity; it looks good on posters, but it cannot save souls. True unity is costly because it requires us to love people enough to tell the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. That’s not division; that’s discipleship.
FINAL REFLECTION: Real Love Never Requires You to Hide the Truth
Loving people? Absolutely. Sharing meals? Yes. Talking respectfully? Yes. Praying for each other? Of course. But redefining Christian unity without dealing honestly with the gospel differences? That’s where we gotta say, “Wait lang. That’s not how the apostles did it.” True unity isn’t found in Conferences. It’s found in Christ alone, by faith alone, through the gospel alone. And if we lose clarity on the gospel, no amount of “Dear Unity” letters can heal that wound.
Love your neighbor? Always. Silence the truth for the sake of unity? Never.
Former Adventists Philippines
“Freed by the Gospel. Firm in the Word.”
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