In Louisville, Kentucky, there exists a fascinating dialogue. For more than 20 years, Roman Catholic priests and nuns have met regularly with Disciples pastors and educators. Together they have discussed issues like inter-religious marriage, even producing a handbook to help churches better understand each other.

I was blessed to be a part of that dialogue, although my timing was not ideal. The fall that I was invited to join the dialogue followed a spring of discontent. After years of building trust and forging relationships, the group decided it should address so called life issues, specifically abortion. What followed was nearly disastrous. These normally congenial people, these fast friends, plunged into vehement conflict. So severe was the quarrel that they had to take several months off for fear if they didn’t the dialogue would break down completely. And when we did get back together, we tiptoed around each other and the issues for months.

Of course, it is easy to caricature the conflict as Pro-Life versus Pro-Choice. But that would be to miss the true spiritual dilemma behind the issue. What we had there in Louisville was a debate between two central dimensions of the faith. One was holiness; the other compassion.

The Roman Catholic group argued that God was the giver of life, even unwanted or unintended life, and there to take it violated God’s intention. They argued that our first duty was to God and that faithfulness demanded that every life be protected. Their argument was rooted in holiness, the requirement that we live a life pleasing to God.

On the other side, the Disciples group asked, "Where is compassion for the woman?" They argued that it would be unkind to force a woman who had made a mistake or who had been molested to bear a child. They argued that it was cruel to bring unwanted children into the world. They rooted their argument in the call to compassion.

You can see why they nearly came to blows. Both were espousing deeply held religious convictions—ones that they found hard to reconcile.

Unfortunately, abortion is only one such issue. Many of the hot-button issues facing the church and our culture are similar.

A few nights ago, Jim Wallis was on The O’Reilly Factor. Wallis is a prominent Christian leader and the editor of "Sojourners" magazine. He and others had purchased a full-page newspaper ad opposing any U.S. attack on Iraq. Right off the bat, O’Reilly asked him is he had opposed the U.S. war that ousted the Taliban from Afghanistan. At first he tried to avoid the question, but eventually he said he was glad the Taliban had been removed but opposed using violence to do it because of the cost to civilians.

How did O’Reilly respond?

With a question: "Then how would you have done it?"

What was unfolding was an argument similar to that which took place during World War II. One side argued that God calls us to protect the powerless from the ruthless. The other said God calls us to love one’s enemy and seek to live peaceably with them. One argued for mercy; the other for holiness.

The same arguments are made over capital punishment. One side argues the justice demands an eye-for-an eye, a tooth for a tooth. It is only right. The other side says we ought to practice compassion. God can redeem even the worst of sinners.

But it is not just on grand political or social issues that we face this dilemma. It happens at home: "Honey, does this dress make my hips look big?"

God expects us to speak the truth. But God also calls us to compassion.

The reality is that neither life nor faith is lived in only black or only white, in only either/or terms, in absolute holiness or absolute mercy. God does not seek for us to choose between the two but to creatively embody both, because both holiness and mercy are God’s intention.

We see that in Jesus’ father, Joseph. He and Mary were engaged to be married when she was found to be pregnant. That was no small matter because they were not yet partners. Joseph could reach only one conclusion—that Mary had been unfaithful. The penalty for such infidelity was severe. Jewish law—God’s law—demanded that she be divorced and publicly stoned in front of her father’s home. Holiness demanded it. To demonstrate his love of God, Joseph had to divorce her.

But Joseph knew that God also commanded mercy. He sought no harm for Mary, and so he decided to divorce her quietly, privately, outside the normal public scene, so that she would not be humiliated or harmed. Yes, he had to do God’s will. He had to uphold holiness. But he wanted to do so with mercy.

Joseph was never forced to go through with his plan. The angel came to him and assured him that the child was of the Holy Spirit, that Mary was faithful, that he could take her as his wife. But what he was prepared to do was walk the ever-narrow road between extremes. He had found the balance between holiness and mercy.

And maybe Joseph helped Jesus to do the same.

The Gospel of Matthew is an interesting account of Jesus’ life. It is the most Jewish of the four Gospels. It constantly affirms the Jewish tradition and the Jewish law. For example, Jesus tells the people that he did not come to abolish the law but to fulfill it. He tells them that every letter of the law remains in effect. In fact, he even intensifies the demands of holiness, saying that it is not enough not to murder or commit adultery but it is even unacceptable to hate or lust. He demanded holiness.

Yet he also commanded compassion. He healed on the Sabbath in violation of the law. He healed the daughter of a foreigner and a woman. He taught that God desired mercy rather than sacrifice.

Holiness and mercy were not opposed in Jesus’ life. They were creatively carried out together. We see that even in his death. Here he was pure, sinless, and obedient to God. He was embodied holiness. Yet he gave his life so that mercy might be wrought, that we might receive the compassion of God.

Of course, the Catholic Church has gotten a lot of bad publicity recently. Yet it offers just one modern example of upholding holiness and offering compassion. For years the Catholic Church has faithfully taught that Christians are to be chaste before marriage and faithful in it. It has taught that every life, from the moment of conception, is from God and is to be cherished and protected. It has never wavered from that call to holiness. And yet at the same time it has founded homes for those who have failed to live up that calling and become pregnant. It has provided adoption services so that the child can be saved and welcomed into the world. It even offers retreats for those who regret having had abortions so that they might find peace and grace.

I will not pretend that maintaining both holiness and compassion is easy. It is not. In fact, it is far easier to cast our lot with one over the other. But in a world growing more and more fractionalized over issues, more and more contentious in its dialogue, it becomes more and more important for followers of Jesus Christ to embrace both, let the Spirit lead us in creatively upholding holiness and embracing compassion.

Can we—led by the Spirit—not imagine ways to be both holy and merciful, ways to uphold God’s intentions without abandoning the call to compassion? Can we not at least imagine ways to protect the powerless without abandoning the call to love our enemies? Can we not at least imagine a way to speak the truth but to do it in love?

Of course we can because we have seen it in Christ. As followers of Jesus, we have much to offer our world—not the least of which is an example of those who are committed to both holiness and mercy.