Choosing Each Other as Family: Expanding the Table in a Shrinking World

I just  returned from a vacation with friends I don’t just enjoy—but deeply cherish—as chosen family.

Two years ago, our little family boarded the Disney Fantasy. Over the course of the following 7 days (and past 2 years) our journey through life merged with two other families who would become some of the safest, most life-giving people in our lives. Since that first trip, we’ve shared more vacations, long dinners full of laughter, late-night conversations about life and parenting and doubt, spontaneous adventures across several states, never-ending text threads at all hours of the day (and night), and quiet moments of simply sitting with each other when life felt heavy. 

What started as a cruise friendship has grown into something sacred—deep trust, shared joy, and the kind of belonging that steadies you. We celebrate big, grieve honestly, disagree without walking away, and keep choosing each other over and over again. That doesn’t happen by accident. It happens because we’ve decided to build something intentional.

Along the way, I’ve been listening more closely—especially as I think about what chosen family means for my LGBTQ+ friends and for anyone who has ever felt “different.” While the adults in our circle are cisgender and heterosexual, we’re diverse in religious belief, ethnicity, personality, and perspective. What holds us together isn’t uniformity; it’s a shared commitment to inclusion and a deep respect for each person’s dignity. That has changed me—not just personally, but as a pastor.

At its core, the story of the holistic Gospel of Jesus is about expanding the definition of family. When He was told His mother and brothers were waiting for Him, He pointed to the people around Him and said that those who lived into God’s way of love were His family (Matthew 12:48–50). He wasn’t dismissing His biological family—He was widening the circle. The New Testament keeps echoing that idea: we are no longer strangers but members of one household (Ephesians 2:19), and the divisions that usually sort and separate us don’t get the final word (Galatians 3:28). The point is simple: belonging isn’t supposed to be narrow.

That’s why I struggle with versions of Christianity that shrink the circle in the name of protecting it. When faith gets fused with nationalism, cultural dominance, or fear of “the other,” it stops looking like Jesus and starts looking like gatekeeping. Any theology—especially strands of Christian nationalism—that defines holiness by exclusion, or equates God’s kingdom with one nation, culture, or political identity, misses the radically inclusive movement of the gospel. Jesus consistently moved toward those labeled outsiders, not away from them. His table was bigger than the boundaries people tried to enforce.

For many LGBTQ+ people—and for others who feel different because of their story, questions, culture, disability, singleness, doubts, or past— “family” hasn’t always felt safe. Too often, belonging has seemed conditional, based on how closely someone fits an unspoken mold. But the heartbeat of the Christian story pushes against that. It paints a picture of people rejoicing and grieving together (Romans 12:15), of the lonely finding connection (Psalm 68:6). If that’s true, then our communities should reflect it.

Chosen family isn’t about replacing biological family. It’s about recognizing that love can grow beyond it. It’s about refusing to sort people into “normal” and “other.” It’s about understanding that those who’ve been pushed to the margins—LGBTQ+ Christians, people navigating divorce, those wrestling with faith, people from different ethnic or political backgrounds, individuals living with disabilities, anyone who has ever felt like the odd one out—aren’t problems to solve. They are people to honor. They are part of us.

Years ago on a cruise ship, I thought we were just making vacation friends. Looking back, I see something bigger. I see a glimpse of what our faith communities could be—places marked by real love, honest conversation, and courageous inclusion. If the message of Jesus is truly good news, then our churches should feel like good news too—especially to those who have long wondered if there’s room for them.

I look forward with anticipation to our next great adventure with this beautifully diverse & safe Chosen Family!