In 1914, German and English soldiers, facing each other in the trenches, spontaneously observed a Christmas truce. Angering their generals, the front-line troops sang carols; played soccer; exchanged little gifts; and, significantly, mourned their dead together in a joint prayer service. The next day, on orders from above, the war resumed its ferocity. The Wikipedia entry describes the truce as "the last moment when, in war, two sides would meet each other in proper and mutual respect for one another; when they would greet each other with kindness to show that — in spite of the horrible turn of events that had unfolded — they were still honorable and respectful soldiers of war."
There's a story that in the summer of 1944, during a lull in an on-going battle, a teen-aged American soldier happened upon Sunday Mass being celebrated in a small Belgian town. In the absence of an altar boy, he stepped up to serve. After Mass, in the sacristy, the priest began removing his vestments, revealing a Wehrmacht uniform. He was a German army chaplain. He had seen from the outset that his acolyte was an enemy soldier; it didn't matter. When the German priest finished divesting, he and his American altar boy shook hands and went their separate ways. They, too, had spontaneously observed a truce, worshipping God together and sharing communion as brothers in Christ.
In our present-day church disputes, no matter what we think our loyalties call us to do — no matter how grave we think our differences are — surely we can do the same as those wartime Christians. For God's sake, we must observe a "truce" at the communion rail, to worship him together and signal our acknowlegement of each other as brothers and sisters in Christ.