The Divine Outsider: Why God Hires the Fired

Scripture Reading: Acts 7: 17 - 40

You know, there is a peculiar phenomenon in human psychology that we often encounter in clinical settings, a cognitive bias known as “status quo bias.”¹ It is our innate, almost primal preference for the familiar over the unknown. We are wired to trust the person with the right credentials, the one who fits the expected mold of authority, the one whose presence doesn’t disrupt the social equilibrium of the room. In my work in neuropsychology, I’ve observed how our brains create these mental shortcuts, these heuristics, to help us navigate a complex world.² We subconsciously equate “established” with “correct.” And when someone arrives who doesn’t fit the profile—be it the outlier, the misfit, or the one who has been cast out of the inner circle—our midbrain structure called the “amygdala” often triggers a subtle alarm. We don’t just distrust their message; we distrust their personhood because they represent a disruption to the order we have spent our lives constructing.3 This is not merely a social preference; it is a neurological defense mechanism designed to protect us from the perceived danger of the “other.” But in the economy of the Kingdom of God, this biological defense often becomes a spiritual barrier.

You know, there is a peculiar phenomenon in human psychology that we often encounter in clinical settings, a cognitive bias known as “status quo bias.”¹ It is our innate, almost primal preference for the familiar over the unknown. We are wired to trust the person with the right credentials, the one who fits the expected mold of authority, the one whose presence doesn’t disrupt the social equilibrium of the room. In my work in neuropsychology, I’ve observed how our brains create these mental shortcuts, these heuristics, to help us navigate a complex world.² We subconsciously equate “established” with “correct.” And when someone arrives who doesn’t fit the profile—be it the outlier, the misfit, or the one who has been cast out of the inner circle—our midbrain structure called the “amygdala” often triggers a subtle alarm. We don’t just distrust their message; we distrust their personhood because they represent a disruption to the order we have spent our lives constructing.3 This is not merely a social preference; it is a neurological defense mechanism designed to protect us from the perceived danger of the “other.” But in the economy of the Kingdom of God, this biological defense often becomes a spiritual barrier.

I am reminded of a story from the mid-14th century, during the height of the Black Death in Europe. While the established ecclesiastical structures were often paralyzed by fear or retreated into gated monasteries to preserve their own safety, there emerged groups like the Flagellants and various wandering mystics—people who had been marginalized by the formal church hierarchy. In fact, their movement became so widespread after the Black Death that Pope Clement VI condemned the practice in 1349.4 In the midst of a societal collapse, it was often these “unauthorized” figures who walked directly into the plague-ridden slums to offer comfort and prayer when the official conduits of grace had vanished. They were the rejected ones, the spiritual nomads; yet they became the only bridge between a dying populace and a sense of divine presence. The establishment viewed them as dangerous or delusional. But for the man dying in a hovel in Florence, these outsiders were the only instruments of liberation available. They proved that when the institution fails, God does not leave us void; He simply shifts His focus to those who have already learned how to survive on the margins.

If we look further back, perhaps to the dusty streets of Athens around 399 BCE, we find Socrates.5 Now Socrates didn’t hold an official office.  He had no curated academy of his own for much of his life. Instead, he spent his days as a “gadfly,” irritating the powerful and questioning the presumed wisdom of the Athenian elite. He was the ultimate outsider within his own city, a man who believed that the only true wisdom lay in admitting one’s own ignorance. The establishment, the very people who claimed to be the guardians of morality and law, eventually found his presence so disruptive that they sentenced him to death by hemlock. Yet, two thousand years later, we do not remember the names of the judges who condemned him; we remember the man who was rejected. We recognize that his “irritation” was actually a catalyst for the birth of Western philosophy. Socrates was an instrument of intellectual liberation precisely because he stood outside the circle of consensus, allowing him to see the cracks in the foundation that those inside were too comfortable to notice.

This tension between the center and the periphery isn’t just an historical curiosity; it is a recurring theme in our modern cultural narratives. Consider the cinematic journey of characters who embody the “rejected hero.” Think of the archetype found in films like The Lord of the Rings.6 The most profound instrument of liberation, the one tasked with saving the entire world from an all-consuming darkness, is not the high king, nor the great wizard, nor the legendary warrior. Rather, it’s a Hobbit—a small, unassuming creature from a quiet hole in the ground, whom the “great” powers of Middle Earth initially viewed as insignificant or irrelevant. The narrative brilliance here reflects a spiritual truth: the very traits that make someone “unfit” for the establishment’s version of power—humility, invisibility, and a lack of ambition—are precisely the tools required to defeat an enemy fueled by pride and domination. Our culture loves these stories because deep down, we all know that the “establishment” is often too heavy with its own importance to actually move forward.

There is something profoundly humbling about this pattern. It suggests that there is a recurring tension between the Institution and the Instrument. The Institution seeks to preserve, to protect, and to maintain the boundaries of what is acceptable. But the Instrument—the one God actually uses to move us forward—is often someone who has been stripped of those very protections. Think of the 19th-century social reformers, like Harriet Tubman.7 By the standards of the legal and social establishment of her time, Tubman was not only marginalized; she was considered property. She had no standing in any court. She had no degree from any university. She had no permission from any governing body. And yet, this woman—the most rejected member of the societal hierarchy—became the primary architect of liberation for hundreds of others. She operated in the shadows, the Underground Railroad, guided by a faith that didn’t need a cathedral to be valid. Her authority didn’t come from an appointment; it came from her experience of bondage and her unwavering commitment to the freedom of others.

This brings us to the insights of Harry Emerson Fosdick, the great liberal Protestant preacher of the early 20th century.8 Fosdick often challenged the rigid, dogmatic structures of his day, arguing that religion should be a living experience rather than a set of fossilized decrees. He believed that God is far too large to be contained by any single denomination or theological system. In one of his reflections on the nature of faith, he suggested that we must be wary of “spiritual enclosures”—those mental fences we build to keep out the uncomfortable truths that don’t fit our tradition.⁸ Fosdick understood that when the church becomes more interested in protecting its fence than in tending the garden, it ceases to be an instrument of liberation and instead becomes a museum of past victories. He advocated for a faith that was open, a faith that was questioning, and a faith that was willing to find God in the “unorthodox” places. For Fosdick, the rejected voice was often the only one capable of waking up a sleeping or a dying church.

Now, if we look at our own biology, there is a fascinating parallel in how our brains handle growth. In neuroscience, we speak of neuroplasticity, the brain’s ability to reorganize itself by forming new neural connections.⁹ For real plasticity to occur, the brain often has to experience a state of “destabilization.” That is, the old patterns—the established pathways—must be challenged or even broken before a more efficient, more adaptive connection can be formed.¹⁰ Growth doesn’t happen in the comfort of the status quo; it happens at the edge of disruption. In a very real sense, our minds are designed to evolve only when the “establishment” of our current thinking is interrupted by something new and unfamiliar. When we experience a crisis or encounter a perspective that shatters our assumptions, we are not just experiencing stress; we are experiencing the biological prerequisite for transformation.

This spiritual destabilization is mirrored in a beautiful story I encountered some time back—a narrative about “The Unlikely Healers.” In various parts of the world today, we see the rise of “peer-led recovery” movements where those who were once cast out by society due to addiction or mental illness are now the primary providers of care for others in the same struggle.¹¹ I read about a community project where former inmates—men and women whom the state had labeled as “irredeemable”—were trained not just in job skills, but in mentorship.¹² These individuals, who were once the very definition of “rejected by the establishment,” became the only people capable of reaching those still trapped in the cycle of incarceration. Why? Because they possessed a credibility that no government social worker or university-trained psychologist could offer. They spoke the language of the marginalized. Their liberation became the key to someone else’s freedom, proving once again that God’s most effective tools are often those who have been broken and rebuilt.

This brings us back to a moment in the early church that felt like a collision between two worlds. A man named Stephen stands before the Sanhedrin. He is a “Hellenist,” a Greek-speaking Jew, meaning he already exists in the margins—on the periphery of the cultural elite in Jerusalem. He is being tried for heresy, accused of speaking against the Temple and the Law. The men judging him are the ultimate establishment. They are the keepers of the keys. They are the guardians of the tradition. They believe that God’s presence is locked within the stone walls of the Temple. But Stephen begins to speak; and as he does, he doesn’t argue with their laws—he simply reminds them of their own history.

He takes them on a journey through the scriptures, specifically in Acts 7:17 - 40. He speaks of the promise given to Abraham. But then, he pivots to a figure they all revere: Moses. But here Stephen highlights a detail that the establishment prefers to forget. He reminds them that when Moses first attempted to deliver his people, he was rejected. In verse 27, Stephen notes that the people asked, “Who made you ruler and judge over us?” The Greek verb in that question is katestēsen, from kathistēmi, meaning “to appoint,” “to put in charge,” or “to set in a place of authority.”¹³ The people were essentially saying, “You have no appointment. You are not part of our established power structure.” You see, Moses was an outsider—a fugitive from Egypt, a shepherd in Midian—and the very people he came to save viewed his lack of “establishment status” as a disqualification.

Stephen’s point is devastatingly simple: Israel has a habit of rejecting the very person God sends to rescue them because that person doesn’t look like a “rescuer.” In Acts 7:39, Stephen says the ancestors “refused to obey” Moses and turned back toward Egypt in their hearts.¹⁴ They wanted liberation, but they didn’t want it from someone who had been rejected by the system. Stephen is holding up a mirror to the Sanhedrin and saying, “You are doing it again. You have rejected Jesus of Nazareth because He didn’t fit your blueprint of a Messiah. You are repeating the sin of the wilderness.”

To deepen this point, let us consider the image of the “Wilderness” as more than just a geographic location. The wilderness is a theological state. It is the place where you are stripped of every title, every safety net, and every institutional validation. In the wilderness, you cannot rely on your resume; you can only rely on the Voice that calls you. When Moses was in Midian, he was effectively “fired” from his royal Egyptian identity. He was a nobody. And it was precisely in that state of absolute insignificance that God met him in the burning bush. The establishment requires us to be “somebody” before they will listen to us, but God often requires us to become “nobody” so that His power can finally be seen. If Moses had remained a Prince of Egypt, he would have been just another cog in the imperial machine. But by becoming a rejected shepherd, he became a conduit for divine liberation.

Furthermore, consider the profound irony of the golden calf mentioned in verses 39-40. The Israelites were terrified of the silence of the wilderness. They missed the noise and the visible certainty of Egypt’s idols. So, they created a teraphim, a domestic idol they could control.15 It is always easier to worship an idol we can manage than to follow a Deliverer who challenges us. The establishment loves idols because idols are predictable; they don’t ask us to change, and they certainly don’t tell us that our systems are broken. But the living God does not dwell in monuments of stone or gold; He dwells in the movement of liberation, often riding in on the back of someone the world has discarded—the marginalized.

Let me offer you one more image to carry with you. Think of the way a diamond is formed. It is not created in a comfortable environment. It is produced under crushing pressure and extreme heat, deep within the earth, far removed from the sunlight and the surface.16 The “establishment” of the surface world would see that environment as hostile, as destructive, and as uninhabitable. But without that specific, oppressive environment, the carbon would never transform into something of eternal value. In the same way, many of God’s most profound instruments are forged in the “crushing pressure” of rejection. The pain of being cast out, the loneliness of the margin, and the heat of injustice are often the very things that crystallize a person’s faith and sharpen their vision for liberation.

So, where does this leave us today? Perhaps you are sitting here feeling like the “outsider” in your own life. Maybe you have been passed over for the promotion, dismissed by your peers, or marginalized by a system that doesn’t understand your value. Or perhaps you are the one in the position of power, and you find yourself instinctively distrusting the voice of the person who doesn’t “fit in.”

I want to challenge you to consider this: The very fact that someone is rejected by the establishment may be the primary reason God has chosen them for the task at hand. When we are stripped of our titles, our status, and our approvals, we are finally emptied of the pride that prevents us from being true instruments of grace. The “outsider” sees things the “insider” cannot; the rejected person possesses an empathy that the powerful have long forgotten. They know what it’s like to be hungry, to be ignored, and to be broken—and therefore, they are the only ones who can truly lead others toward healing.

Our call this week is to look for the “Divine Outsider” in our own lives. Who is the person you have dismissed because they lack the right credentials? Whose voice have you silenced because it disrupts your comfort? I invite you to open your heart to the possibility that God is speaking through the very person you were taught to ignore. Let us stop looking for monuments and start looking for movements. Let us move from being “stiff-necked” guardians of the status quo to becoming courageous followers of the Living God, wherever He chooses to appear—even if He appears in the face of… the rejected.

Let us pray:

Gracious and Holy God, we confess that we have often preferred the comfort of our idols over the challenge of Your presence. We admit that we have looked for You in the halls of power and the monuments of tradition, while ignoring You in the faces of the marginalized and the rejected. Forgive us for our willful refusal to be led by those who do not fit our expectations. Grant us the grace to recognize Your instruments of liberation, even when they arrive as outsiders. Soften our stiff necks and open our eyes, that we may follow You into the wilderness with trust and joy. May we become agents of a liberation that transcends all human boundaries, trusting in the One who was rejected by the world but vindicated by the Father. In the name of the Great Deliverer, Jesus Christ, we pray. Amen.

REFERENCES

¹ Samuelson, W., & Zeckhauser, R. (1988). “Status quo bias in decision making”. Journal of Risk and Uncertainty, 1(1), 7–59. https://doi.org/10.1007/BF00055564

² Tversky, A., & Kahneman, D. (1974). “Judgment under uncertainty: Heuristics and biases”. Science, 185(4157), 1124–1131. https://doi.org/10.1126/science.185.4157.1124

³ Phelps, E. A., O’Connor, K. J., Cunningham, W. A., Funayama, E. S., Gatenby, J. C., Gore, J. C., & Banaji, M. R. (2000). “Performance on indirect measures of race evaluation predicts amygdala activation”. Journal of Cognitive Neuroscience, 12(5), 729–738. https://doi.org/10.1162/089892900562552

⁴ Fitzwilliam Museum. (n.d.). The Flagellants. University of Cambridge. https://fitzmuseum.cam.ac.uk/explore-our-collection/highlights/context/stories-and-histories/the-flagellants

⁵ Plato. (n.d.). Apology (B. Jowett, Trans.). The Internet Classics Archive. https://classics.mit.edu/Plato/apology.html

⁶ Tolkien, J. R. R. (1954–1955). The Lord of the Rings. George Allen & Unwin.

⁷ National Park Service. (2017, March 11). “Harriet Tubman and the Underground Railroad”. U.S. Department of the Interior. https://www.nps.gov/articles/harriet-tubman-and-the-underground-railroad.htm

⁸ Fosdick, H. E. (1922, June 10). “Shall the fundamentalists win?” Christian Work. https://historymatters.gmu.edu/d/5070/

⁹ Puderbaugh, M., & Emmady, P. D. (2023). “Neuroplasticity”. In StatPearls. StatPearls Publishing. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK557811/

¹⁰ Kleim, J. A., & Jones, T. A. (2008). “Principles of experience-dependent neural plasticity: Implications for rehabilitation after brain damage”. Journal of Speech, Language, and Hearing Research, 51(1), S225–S239. https://doi.org/10.1044/1092-4388(2008/018)

¹¹ Eddie, D., Hoffman, L. A., Vilsaint, C. L., Abry, A. W., Bergman, B., Hoeppner, B., Weinstein, C., & Kelly, J. F. (2019). “Lived experience in new models of care for substance use disorder: A systematic review of peer recovery support services and recovery coaching”. Frontiers in Psychology, 10, Article 1052. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2019.01052

¹² Lesnick, J., Abrams, L. S., Angel, K., & Barnert, E. S. (2023). “Credible messenger mentoring to promote the health of youth involved in the juvenile legal system: A narrative review”. Current Problems in Pediatric and Adolescent Health Care, 53(10), Article 101435. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cppeds.2023.101435

¹³ BibleStudyTools. (n.d.). Acts 7:27 interlinear Bible. https://www.biblestudytools.com/interlinear-bible/nas/acts/7-27.html

¹⁴ Bible Hub. (n.d.). Acts 7:39. https://biblehub.com/acts/7-39.htm

¹⁵ Bible Hub. (n.d.). Acts 7:41 Greek text analysis. https://biblehub.com/text/acts/7-41.htm

¹⁶ Lineberry, C. (2006, December 1). “Diamonds unearthed”. Smithsonian Magazine. https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/diamonds-unearthed-141629226/