We live in an age of easy labels.

Disagree with someone and, in an instant, they can become an “enemy.” Express a different view and suddenly you’re a “radical,” a “communist,” or worse. These labels roll off tongues quickly and thoughtlessly, as if naming someone with a single word could possibly capture the complexity of their humanity. 

But these careless labels aren’t harmless. They are used to dismiss, belittle, and devalue those with whom we disagree. These labels distort truth, divide communities, and dehumanize people created in the image of God.

I think often about my great-grandfather when I see this happening. He was a Russian immigrant, born in Dobrinka into a family of exiles who had fled Germany for the Volga River region of Russia. After the death of his father, his family immigrated to the United States seeking a better life. Like so many immigrants, he worked hard to learn English and to speak without an accent—he even encouraged his brother to do the same, hoping it might spare him from prejudice.

He served proudly in the U.S. military during World War I. He loved this country deeply. Through hard work and determination, he found minor success as a farmer, a small business owner, and a landlord. He also answered a higher calling—serving as a pastor in the Church of God (Anderson). His faith wasn’t a Sunday-only affair; it was the center of his life, the reason he gave generously, treated workers fairly, and opened his home to others.

And yet, during the McCarthy era, my great-grandfather was labeled a communist. Not because he was part of any party or movement, but because his place of birth and his values—justice, compassion, care for the poor—were suddenly viewed through the warped lens of fear. His desire to live out the teachings of Jesus made him suspect. He faced discrimination and business losses as threats of being placed on a “list” loomed over him.

Still, he never stopped believing that the Gospel meant something more than private faith. He took seriously the example of the early church in Acts—where believers shared what they had, ensuring that no one among them was in need.

His legacy shaped my family’s story. My father, who admired him deeply, would probably best be described in a political sense as a democratic socialist. When I hear people today flippantly use the label “communist,” I can’t help but think of those old stories my father shared of my great-grandfather.

Labels like that are meant to shut down conversation. They’re meant to discredit, to divide, to silence. But when Christians reach for them too easily, we risk betraying the very heart of our faith.

We have used labels like “communist” to dismiss people working for the fair treatment of all people, while celebrating “Christians” who, due to their refusal to humble themselves and work together, withhold food from the hungry, healthcare from the sick, or shelter from the unhoused. When I see this, I find myself thinking that perhaps we’ve misunderstood Jesus altogether.

Jesus didn’t label people. He listened to them, healed them, ate with them, and loved them. He warned against hypocrisy and fear-driven religion. The Kingdom he announced wasn’t divided by ideology but united by compassion.

The early church didn’t thrive because it was powerful or “right.” It thrived because it was known for its love.

Maybe it’s time we reclaim that same spirit—choosing understanding over accusation, curiosity over condemnation, and love over labels.

To learn a bit more about my great-grandfather’s faith, generosity and legacy, watch this short video put together by Anderson University and the Church of God: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9iqY9wiGqrs