Restoring Communion
Restoring Communion. When Love Requires Confrontation
There is something almost overwhelming about the Law.
Jewish tradition speaks of 613 commandments in the Torah: commandments concerning worship, justice, purity, food, family, sacrifice, property, the poor, the stranger, the Sabbath, the Temple, and communal life. Not all of them applied to every person, and they were never merely “ritual laws.” They touched nearly every dimension of life.
So the question naturally arises:
Among so many commandments, which one matters most?
Jesus is asked precisely that.
He does not dismiss the Law or replace it with something entirely new. Instead, he goes to its heart:
“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.”
And then:
“You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”
Jesus adds:
“On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.”
— Matthew 22:37–40
The many commandments are gathered into a movement of love:
Love of God.
Love of the other.
Love of the other as oneself.
Perhaps we can say it this way:
The Prophets reveal the heart of God.
The Law gives that revelation concrete form in human life.
The love of God is not meant to remain an idea, a feeling, or a private spiritual experience.
It must become visible.
It must become action.
It must become the way we treat another person.
Paul expresses this with remarkable simplicity in Romans:
“Love your neighbor as yourself.”
And then:
“Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law.”
— Romans 13:9–10
Love, then, is not simply one commandment among hundreds. It is the inner principle that gives the commandments their direction.
But this becomes much more difficult when we turn to Matthew 18:15–20.
There Jesus is no longer speaking about love in general. He speaks about what happens when a brother sins against us.
That changes everything.
It is easy enough to speak of love when relationships are peaceful. But what does love look like when communion has already been wounded?
Jesus says:
“If your brother sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone.”
This is striking.
Jesus does not say: ignore it.
He does not say: pretend nothing happened.
He does not say: simply endure whatever is done to you.
Nor does he say: retaliate.
He says:
Go to your brother.
Confront him.
Privately at first.
The purpose is not humiliation or victory. It is not to prove that I am right and the other is wrong.
Jesus gives the purpose explicitly:
“If he listens to you, you have regained your brother.”
That sentence changes the meaning of confrontation.
The goal is restoration.
This is where we can easily become confused by another saying of Jesus:
“Turn the other cheek.”
Does Christian love mean that we should never resist wrongdoing?
Does forgiveness require silence?
Does humility mean allowing another person to hurt us without ever naming the wrong?
Matthew 18 suggests otherwise.
Turning the other cheek is not the same as pretending evil does not exist. It is a refusal of revenge.
Matthew 18 shows us what can take the place of revenge:
truthful confrontation ordered toward reconciliation.
I do not strike back.
But neither do I necessarily remain silent.
I go to my brother.
That distinction matters.
Love of the other does not require the destruction of love of self.
“Love your neighbor as yourself.”
If I possess dignity, then what has been done to me matters.
If the relationship matters, then the wound in the relationship matters.
And if the other person matters, then his actions matter too.
To confront someone can therefore be an act of love.
Not every confrontation is loving, of course. We can confront from pride, to punish, to shame, or for the satisfaction of seeing the other defeated.
But Jesus describes something different.
First, speak privately.
Protect the dignity of the other.
Give him the possibility of listening.
Give the relationship the possibility of being restored.
Only if this fails does the circle become wider: one or two others, and eventually the community.
There is a gradual movement here. The goal remains communion.
And then comes one of the most powerful parts of the passage:
“Again, truly I tell you, if two of you agree on earth about anything you ask, it will be done for you by my Father in heaven.”
And:
“Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”
These words are often quoted independently. They can sound almost like a promise that if two believers want the same thing strongly enough, God will grant it.
But in context, something deeper is happening.
Jesus has been speaking about sin, confrontation, witnesses, communal discernment, and a relationship that has been wounded. Precisely there he speaks about agreement, prayer, and his presence.
The two or three are not simply gathered because they happen to desire the same outcome.
They are gathered in his name.
That means the question is no longer merely:
“What do I want?”
It becomes:
“What does Christ desire here?”
What is true?
What is just?
What restores rather than destroys?
What protects the wounded without reducing the offender to his offense?
What makes repentance possible?
What makes forgiveness possible?
What might restore communion?
The presence of Christ enters the conflict.
That is perhaps the most beautiful part of the passage.
The wounded person is not left alone with his anger.
The person who has sinned is not abandoned to his fault.
The community is not left merely to impose rules.
Christ stands in the midst of them.
The Law becomes something more than external regulation. It returns to its heart: love.
And love, in this situation, becomes very concrete:
courage,
truth,
restraint,
accountability,
prayer,
forgiveness,
and the patient attempt to restore what sin has broken.
Perhaps this is why the next words in Matthew are so important.
Peter comes to Jesus and asks:
“Lord, if my brother sins against me, how often should I forgive?”
The question of confrontation leads immediately to the question of forgiveness. That is not accidental.
Matthew 18 gives us a movement:
sin → confrontation → discernment → prayer → forgiveness → restored communion.
Not every relationship can always be restored in practice. Reconciliation requires truth and, normally, some willingness on both sides. Forgiveness does not mean denying danger or abandoning necessary boundaries.
But the direction of Christian love remains clear.
The aim is not revenge.
The aim is not humiliation.
The aim is not to preserve resentment.
The aim is communion.
This is where the great commandment becomes sharp.
To love God is not simply to direct affection upward toward heaven. The love of God must take flesh in the way we deal with the person before us.
And sometimes that person is precisely the one who has hurt us.
Then love is no longer sentimental. It becomes costly.
It may require us to speak when silence would be easier.
It may require us to listen when condemnation would be easier.
It may require us to forgive when resentment feels more natural.
It may require us to recognize our own wounds without allowing those wounds to become weapons.
The Law and the Prophets converge here.
God is revealed.
And that revelation becomes embodied in human relationship.
Love of God becomes love of the other.
Love of the other does not erase love of self.
And when sin breaks communion, love seeks its restoration.
Perhaps that is one of the deepest meanings of Jesus’ words:
“Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”
Christ is present not only where everything is peaceful. He is also present where broken communion is being patiently, truthfully, and lovingly restored.
Perhaps we can say it this way:
The Law gives concrete form to covenant life.
The Prophets call God’s people back to the heart and purpose of that Law.
The Prophets do not stand against the Law. Again and again, they expose obedience that has become merely external: worship without justice, sacrifice without mercy, religious observance without faithfulness to God.
So when Jesus says that the Law and the Prophets hang on love of God and love of neighbor, he is not reducing Scripture to a vague principle. He is identifying the center that gives both commandment and prophetic correction their meaning.
