Grace for the Outsider

Last summer, I got invited to play golf at a country club by a generous friend. I was honored—but I was also nervous. From the moment I pulled my beat-up Subaru with nearly 250,000 miles into a lot full of shiny luxury cars, I could feel it in my chest: I don’t belong here.

That feeling only got stronger. My clubs were outdated. I didn’t know where to check in. A kind man reminded me to tuck in my shirt before playing. No one was rude, but I still couldn’t shake that inner voice whispering:
“You don’t fit. You’re not one of them.”

That, I’ve learned, is often what gatekeeping feels like. It’s not about locked doors or official rules—it’s about subtle signals that say: “You can show up… but you’ll never really belong.”

Some of you know that feeling. Not from a country club, maybe—but from school, from work… and tragically, sometimes even from church.

The Shocking Guest List

That’s what makes Isaiah 56 so stunning. After decades in exile, God’s people were desperate for restoration. And Isaiah begins like a long-awaited “save the date”:

“Maintain justice and do what is right, for my salvation is close at hand.” (Isaiah 56:1)

It sounds like everything Israel had hoped for: a return, a rebuilding, a reward for those who had remained faithful.

But then the guest list flips everything upside down.

God says:

“Let no foreigner who is bound to the Lord say, ‘The Lord will surely exclude me from his people.’”
“Let no eunuch complain, ‘I am only a dry tree.’”
“To them I will give… a name better than sons and daughters.” (Isaiah 56:3–5)

To Israel, eunuchs were considered broken—people with no legacy, no name, no future. Foreigners were often seen as threats, enemies, and reminders of past trauma. But God says: They belong. They’re included. They’re invited.

Israel Forgot Their Origin Story

Here’s the problem: Israel had forgotten their origin story.

God didn’t choose Abraham’s family because they were powerful, perfect, or promising. He chose an old man with a barren wife. And He promised that through their descendants, all nations would be blessed.

Israel wasn’t the finish line of God’s grace. They were the starting point.

But somewhere along the way, being “set apart” turned into casting others aside. Fear replaced love. Pride replaced humility. And they started guarding grace instead of giving it.

I know that temptation—because I’ve done it too. When I forget my own story of mercy, I start trying to earn what I was given. I become a bouncer instead of a bringer. When we withhold grace, we deny the very thing that saved us.

Paul reminds us in Ephesians 2 that we were dead in our sin—but God, rich in mercy, made us alive in Christ.
Grace doesn’t come with a membership card.
It comes with a cross.

Jesus Flips the Tables

This is the very passage Jesus quoted when He stormed into the temple courts and flipped tables. Why? Because the outer courts—the one place where outsiders were allowed to worship—had been turned into a marketplace.

Jesus wasn’t just angry about corruption.
He was furious about exclusion.

He declared, “My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations” (Matthew 21:13). He wasn’t just referencing Isaiah 56. He was fulfilling it.

The Outsider Who Found His Name

And that’s exactly what makes the story of the Ethiopian eunuch in Acts 8 so beautiful.

Here was a man who embodied everything Isaiah 56 mentioned: a eunuch and a foreigner. He had traveled all the way to Jerusalem to worship God, but because of who he was, he could only go so far. The closest he could get was the outer courts—the same space Jesus had just reclaimed.

On his way home, he was reading Isaiah 53. God sends Philip to him. Philip begins to explain that the “suffering servant” was Jesus.

And I imagine, after talking about Isaiah 53, they just kept reading.

Then came Isaiah 56.

And I imagine that moment when the eunuch realized:
“That’s me.”
“I’m not a dry tree. I’m not forgotten. I have a name. I belong.”

So when he sees water, he asks, “What can stand in the way of me being baptized?”

And the answer was clear: nothing.

Philip didn’t gatekeep grace. He baptized him on the spot. And tradition tells us that man took the Gospel back to Ethiopia—starting a legacy that outlived him by generations, even though we never even learn his name.

That’s what grace does.

The Heart of God Is Wide Open

Whether you’ve been excluded or been the one excluding others… whether you’ve built walls or stood outside of them…
I want you to know:

You are not too far.
You are not too broken.
You are not too late.

God’s heart is not guarded.
His grace is not gated.

There’s a seat at the table with your name on it. Not because you earned it—but because Jesus ran toward you while you were still far off.

Isaiah 56 wasn’t just an invitation.
It was a homecoming announcement.

To the eunuch with no name—God says: “I will give you a name better than sons and daughters.”
To the foreigner with no home—God says: “You are welcome on my holy mountain.”
To the outcast with no legacy—God says: “Your offering is accepted. Your joy is real.”

So take off the “Members Only” jacket.
Let go of your gatekeeping.
And come home.

There’s room for you.
There’s grace for you.
There’s a name waiting for you.

Because grace doesn’t come with a membership card.
It comes with a cross.

Message recap adapted from May 4, 2025, message by Minister Alex Ehly