A few evenings ago, we sat around our dinner table with our small group, a gathering of other couples in the same season of life as us. We meet bi-weekly for a meal, a book study, and prayer. For nearly a decade, this group has been a lifeline as we’ve transitioned from parents of young kids to parents of teenagers (and all the drama that comes with that). It’s also strengthened our marriage (this year marks 20 years). More than anything, it’s given us a safe space to grow as humans. The faces have changed over time (this is our second small group) but the rhythm has remained the same: showing up, sharing life, and caring for each other in the process.

I’ll be honest, I wasn’t always a fan of the idea. Opening our home to strangers felt awkward, even risky. I wondered what we’d really have in common beyond a shared faith. Ten years ago, even before our current level of political division, Sunday was still the most segregated day in America. And collectively, we were failing the test of how our faith should actually transform how we treat one another.

My wife and I grew up in the Black church, with a set of faith traditions deeply rooted in both our identities as Christians and as Black people. It wasn’t until my college years that I encountered white evangelicalism. I marveled at the differences in how we approached issues of social justice, politics, and even our interpretations of Jesus. But I remained curious.

As an educator and someone who’s served in ministry, I’ve often said this: schools and faith communities are the two best places to learn how to live together across lines of difference. Both are fertile ground for empathy. Kids enter school open and un-jaded, eager to explore the world as it is and not yet filtered through the biases of adults. And faith communities, when rooted in love and reciprocity, should be the safest spaces to wrestle with hard truths. If we can’t figure it out in those two places, I’m not sure we can figure it out anywhere.

Over the past decade, I’ve had a front-row seat to this experiment, using my own family as the test case. (I only preach what I practice). In 2015, we made the leap to a “multi-racial” church. I use quotes because, while still majority white (about 40–50%), the rest was a mix of people of color. For us, it was the first time being in a space where we weren’t in the majority. It was both a culture shock and a revelation. When we joined a small group with four families spanning race, class, and political lines, we got to test the theory: can people truly grow together across difference?

The answer was a resounding yes—but not without tension. Those five years shaped me more than any other season of my life. I grew as a husband, a father, and a follower of Jesus. I’m still deeply grateful for those friendships and the growth they sparked.

About five years ago, we started a new small group and, at the same time, moved our kids to an independent school intentionally designed for diversity. “Learning to live together” wasn’t a slogan, it was a value in action. Post-2020, that meant having hard, honest conversations as adults and supporting our kids as they learned to do the same.

And here’s what’s dope about that: these students are developing skills that many adults never master: how to navigate conflict, build cultural competence, all while staying grounded in their own identities. They’re learning that what they do matters not just for themselves, but for the communities they’re part of. That’s something we could use more of in our society right now!

Of course, it’s not always smooth sailing. Some conversations end with no clear answers, just deeper questions. For people intent on changing others’ minds, that can be a hard truth to accept. But I’ve learned, I’m not here to change anyone’s mind but my own.

Still, if we want to move past this era of division and incivility, we have to rediscover the art of common ground. That’s where empathy grows and where understanding begins because we’re finally able to see beyond our own point of view. Who knows, maybe then, we’ll remember what this is all supposed to be about: loving our neighbors as we learn to love ourselves.

SDW3