The question above is the topic I was asked to address at the Global Faith Forum, held at NorthWood Church in Keller, Texas, last week. It was
not a little ironic that the author of Jesus Mean and
Wild, not to mention this often controversial column, should be asked to
address the topic. But I accepted before the conference organizers could change
their mind, because I thought maybe I could stir things up!
Seriously, the following is my attempt explore this, yes, serious question, especially in the context of Christians' relationship to Muslims and
Jews, a relationship too often characterized by insults and anger, not to
mention death and destruction in many parts of the world.
* * *
Those of us who are Christians, whenever we ponder how to act or speak, naturally wonder, "What would Jesus do?" In this case, how did the Prince
of Peace communicate with those with whom he had deep differences? How did the
one who described himself as "gentle and lowly of heart" speak to his
co-religionists in an Abrahamic faith when they found themselves divided over
fundamental issues? Maybe Jesus can give us guidance in these days when Muslims
and Christians often look at each other in terror and fear.
Naturally, one's mind immediately travels to passages like Matthew 23, where Jesus, speaking to co-religionists, said, "Woe to you, scribes and
Pharisees, hypocrites! For you shut the kingdom of heaven in people's faces. For
you neither enter yourselves nor allow those who would enter to go in"
(ESV).
And this: "Woe to you, blind guides," which he later changed to "blind fools," then moved on to call them "hypocrites"—not once, not twice, but
four times!—before winding up with, "You serpents, you brood of vipers, how are
you to escape being sentenced to hell?"
Or take another passage that jumps to mind: Jesus' reaction when he thought his co-religionists were desecrating the temple, the supreme house of
worship in Judaism:
And he entered the temple and began to drive out those who sold and those who bought in the temple, and he overturned the tables of the
money-changers and the seats of those who sold pigeons. [John, in his Gospel,
notes that Jesus also made a whip and drove people from the temple area.] And he
would not allow anyone to carry anything through the temple. And he was teaching
them and saying to them, "Is it not written, 'My house shall be called a house
of prayer for all the nations'? But you have made it a den of
robbers."
The reaction he got is not surprising: "And the chief priests and the scribes heard it and were seeking a way to destroy him" (Mark 11:15-18).
This is not the Jesus we want to talk about. But unfortunately, we cannot NOT note these incidents if we want to think about how Christians should
share their faith with others.
But there are other examples from Jesus, no less disturbing to our hopes for peaceful co-existence, that are maybe even more disturbing, because
they show that Jesus seemed indifferent to many of our ideas about peacemaking.
Take another, lesser known, incident from Mark's gospel:
Again he entered the synagogue, and a man was there with a withered hand. And they watched Jesus, to see whether he would heal him on the
Sabbath, so that they might accuse him. And he said to the man with the withered
hand, "Come here." And he said to them, "Is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good
or to do harm, to save life or to kill?" But they were silent. And he looked
around at them with anger, grieved at their hardness of heart, and said to the
man, "Stretch out your hand." He stretched it out, and his hand was restored.
(Mark 3:1-5)
This is a most interesting moment in Jesus' ministry if we're looking for lessons in peacemaking. Jesus recognizes that these religious
leaders, the Pharisees, are playing "Gotcha," trying to catch him breaking the
Sabbath so they might have grounds to accuse him. And surely Jesus is aware of
the simplest way to diffuse this volatile situation: Just wait until the sun
sets, when the Sabbath is officially over, and then heal the man.
It isn't as if the man with the withered hand needed to be healed immediately. There was nothing life threatening about his condition. He'd been
living with his disability for decades. It's not going to kill him to wait
another few hours before getting healed. Just wait until sunset: The man gets
healed, the Pharisees are not provoked, and God gets the glory—a
win-win-win!
Even more interesting is this: the man with the withered hand has not even asked for healing. Maybe he's just come to the service for a little
peace and quiet at the end of a trying week. Maybe he doesn't like to draw
attention to himself or his handicap. Maybe he is mortified that Jesus is
singling him out for attention! That's all speculation, of course, but what's
clear is that he hasn't asked for healing. Jesus just points to him in the
congregation and says, "Come up here."
Jesus clearly is exploiting the moment to humiliate the Pharisees. He could have simply healed the man and moved the service on to the next hymn—or
better, the offering! The Pharisees are smart men; a simple demonstration of
Jesus' power would have been enough to make his point: that he is Lord of the
Sabbath. But no, Jesus not only sticks the knife into their pride, but turns it:
He asks them, in front of God and everybody, "Is it lawful on the Sabbath to do
good or to do harm, to save life or to kill?"
This is trick question, of course, intended to back the Pharisees into a corner—let's face it, to make them look like fools. Well, it works,
because, as Mark notes, "They were silent." They weren't about to say that the
Sabbath was designed by God to bring death. And they weren't going to say the
obvious—that God made it to bless life—because this would just play into Jesus'
hands.
Their obstinacy just makes Jesus angry, at which point, Mark notes, Jesus turns to the man and heals him. Is it any wonder that Mark
concludes this episode by noting, "The Pharisees went out and immediately held
counsel with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him" (Mark 3:6).
A simple reading of this story, and a few others, suggests that the gentle Lamb of God, the Prince of Peace, could have used a few lessons in
how to communicate without being denigrating or inflammatory!
* * *
The point is this: There were moments in Jesus' ministry when he denigrated—that is, according to the dictionary definition, "attacked the
reputation of another"—and inflamed—"excited to excessive or uncontrollable
actions or feelings." What we find in the Gospels is an uncomfortable reality:
There is something about Jesus that makes some people want to kill him.
This is a long way of saying something that needs to be said whenever we think about how to have peaceful relations with people of other
faiths: Those of us who follow Jesus, if we're faithful to him, are occasionally
going to find ourselves in the same troubled waters. This will come about not
because we want to denigrate and inflame, as if we get a kick out of making
people angry. It will come about simply because we are trying to be like Jesus,
doing what Jesus is calling us to do, and saying what he's calling us to say.
When we do that, sometimes, it's just going to make people as mad as hell.
We get no pleasure from this. We are saddened and grieved when it happens. But as followers of Jesus, we recognize that the ultimate goal is not
to cover over deep-seated feelings and beliefs, to pretend that there is always
a peaceful solution to every problem, to end our meetings with hugs and cheers.
No, the goal of all conversation is for people to meet Jesus Christ. And when
people meet Jesus Christ, there's no telling what will happen. Sometimes that
encounter ends in peace and reconciliation—thank God! But let's face it,
sometimes it ends with people stomping out of the room or plotting our
demise.
I cannot speak from the Muslim perspective, but I don't think I'd get much of an argument looking at it from that point of view. I know enough
about Muhammad to know that he infuriated people in his day from time to time.
As for Jews—well, they have the heritage of the prophets, who were not exactly
famous for their peacemaking skills! The point is that Muslims and Jews too, if
they are faithful to their traditions and honest with themselves and with us
Christians, will sometimes feel called to say things that will offend us.
There is a lot to be said about "how to talk about our faith without being inflammatory"—and I'll write more about that in the next edition
of this column. But before we arrive there, we are wise to note this other
reality. Sometimes we have no choice but to begin our peacemaking with some
troublemaking—speaking the truth to the point of risking offense. The first
relational issue in interreligious dialogue is not, "How do I talk so that I
don't offend others?" If we are going to talk with each other from our deepest
convictions, and speak frankly about how we see things, we're going to do that
from time to time. No, the really important question is, "How do I respond when
I have heard something offensive?"
* * *
Again, I cannot speak for Muslims or Jews on this point. But I do know that Christians have unique resources to grapple with this question. Jesus'
teaching about turning the other cheek and about forgiving seventy times seven
are just a beginning. We live in a time when such resources should be employed
with vigor.
Ours is the victim's age. There is no easier way to put someone on the defensive than to say, "You've hurt me," or, "You've offended me." The
sensitive, cosmopolitan modern peacemaker—especially the Christian who images
himself or herself as a loving person!—will feel a rush of guilt and wonder how
immediately to undo the damage. No doubt, we each say things that do indeed hurt
and offend, and for this we Christians, of all people, must be quick to
apologize and make amends. But similarly, as Christians, we are unwise to play
the victim card ourselves very often.
The reasons for this are many, but one large one is this: The New Testament spends relatively little ink instructing us on how to speak without
offending. Speak the truth in love, yes, but when Jesus and Peter and Paul
actually modeled that, it often led to hostility! All three had decidedly
unpeaceful relationships with their co-religionists. On the other hand, the New
Testament admonishes us time and again to forgive and to take no offense. And of
course, if there were no verses on this specific point, the image of Jesus on
the cross, silent and humiliated before his enemies, would be more than enough
to guide our response when we are even falsely accused.
This strikes me as a good balance. Yes, there are times when honesty requires us to tell another that we have indeed been hurt or offended.
You cannot have frank dialogue about honest differences without expressing that
on occasion. But it seems to me that the more excellent way—one that likely will
lead to fruitful dialogue and long term peaceful coexistence with people of
other faiths—is to not take offense in the first place.
Mark Galli is senior managing editor of Christianity Today
Comment by Jerry Roseleip on November 19, 2010 at 11:08am
Comment by James Robertson on November 24, 2010 at 9:57am
Comment by James Robertson on November 25, 2010 at 6:40am
Comment by James Robertson on November 27, 2010 at 3:04pm
Comment by James Robertson on November 30, 2010 at 5:25am
Comment by James Robertson on November 30, 2010 at 10:19am 
Comment by James Robertson on December 4, 2010 at 5:03pm
Comment by James Robertson on December 6, 2010 at 9:58am
Comment by James Robertson on December 20, 2010 at 2:16pm
Comment by James Robertson on December 23, 2010 at 9:16am
© 2012 Created by Norm Fisher.
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