I once heard a Jewish rabbi try to explain to a group of Christian students the main difference between Judaism and Christianity, as he saw it. Judaism, he said, isn’t so much a “religion” as it is a “religious family.” By contrast, he said, Christianity, is a “religion,” not a “religious family.” The rabbi’s distinction offended me. Didn’t the Apostle Paul call the Christians of Galatia and Ephesus “the family of faith” and “members of the household of God” (Gal 6:10; Eph 2:19)? Christianity is surely a “family” according to the New Testament.

But the rabbi pressed his point with an illustration. He noted that when Jews are in distress anywhere in the world, Jews in other parts of the world immediately come to their aid because that’s what family members do. They take care of each other. He then noted the tragic circumstances of the Christians in the Middle East, even before the rise of ISIS. Where are the Christians in other parts of the world, he wondered, rushing to aid their suffering brothers and sisters the Middle East?

The rabbi got me to thinking: Are we “family” in fact or just a “religion”? Churches known to me have an impressive track record of responding to crises, especially natural disasters like floods, tornadoes, hurricanes, fires, and earthquakes, especially in parts of the world known to them. It is not uncommon for a church leader or a minister to stand before the congregation to appeal for aid quite soon after a disaster has struck. That is a good thing, but what’s hard to account for are the times when we appear to be mostly unmoved and silent.

Now a monumental human disaster among God’s people is unfolding in the Middle East. Where are the appeals for help? How does one explain the spotty, listless response of Christians to the virtual apocalypse among centuries-old Christian communities decimated by torture, exile, and murder? We are talking about the destruction of disciples from the homeland of Jesus and the Apostles. We are talking about the destruction of the oldest Christian communities on the earth. The general silence is inexplicable—unless the rabbi was right, that we’re not really a “religious family.”

God’s mandate is clear in this matter:

“If you falter in times of trouble, how small is your strength! Rescue those being led away to death; hold back those staggering toward slaughter. If you say, ‘But we knew nothing about this,’ does not he who weighs the heart perceive it? Will he not repay each person according to what he has done?” (Prov 24:10-12)

This teaching doesn’t offer much wiggle room. There are things we must do. For starters, we can pray for our persecuted siblings. We can end the silence in our churches about what is happening. We can build awareness through classes, sermons, and conversations. We can practice compassionate, Christ-like graciousness towards our non-Christian neighbors, the strangers in our midst. We can engage with our elected representatives to ensure that government policies work to provide safety, food, and shelter for Christian refugees.

We can also act in other material ways. Fortunately, there are several reputable agencies, NGOs, and charities providing assistance to suffering, displaced disciples. We can join forces with them.

I believe the rabbi was wrong about what Christianity is supposed to be, but I believe he may have been exactly right about what Christianity has become in our day: a system, an institution, an establishment. But a family? Not so much.

Taking Jesus seriously will set the matter straight and move us to act. Our Lord declared his movement a family, not another “religion,” when he said, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family you did it to me” (Matt 25:40). We have a striking, immediate opportunity to prove that we are family by coming to the aid of our sisters and brothers in the Middle East. May we act like a family!