For Christ's Sake: Just Talk to Them!

For those who read the pre-colon portion of this post's title and can only hear it as an expletive, let me explain. Yes, "for Christ's sake" is something that folks with no intention of invoking the Spirit of Jesus say in order to express exasperation or anger; and I don't want to encourage that use of the phrase. However, it is possible to do things for the sake of Christ--and what better way to call your attention to that motivation here?

One of the most abundant and subtle streams of evidence for thoroughgoing human depravity appears in casual conversation and begins with a phrase similar to, "How is So-And-So doing?"

Here we are--in a coffee shop, standing in the hardware store aisle, or on your front porch--with all the multiple universes of cares, joys, achievements, hopes, and sufferings that exist within and between us. So many things to ask about, talk about, and give thanks for. Yet, I ask you about . . . . Someone Else.

The manifestly darker version of this behaviour is what most of us would call gossip. I ask about Someone Else because I want the twisted power to pigeon-hole or silently denigrate Someone Else. Or, not so silently, I want to be able to ask other people if they have heard about Someone Else. When they haven't, I want to describe my second-hand juicy tidbit that, when consumed, allows us all to feel better about ourselves (except Someone Else, who is left out in the cold). I am excited to talk about Someone Else for the opportunity to pass judgment; I am also relieved to talk about Someone Else because, hidden behind a veil of silence, I am saved from your judgment. Herein lies the addictive power of gossip.

There is a different version of asking about Someone Else that appears, at first blush, innocent or even virtuous. Having served as a pastor for a good long time, I have been on the receiving end of this latter version a good many times. "How is So-And-So doing?" gets asked about someone who most folks know has been struggling. Asking me (whether I be a pastor, a friend, a closer neighbor) about this Someone Else serves as a veiled way to discover whether that person is being cared for. Will they be all right? Are they getting what they need? Are they getting better than I heard they were (via gossip) before?

This version feigns love by expressing interest in the facts of Someone Else's situation. And it avoids the ethical and relational burden that might befall me if I had a conversation directly with them. But Christians are called explicitly to share one another's burdens, not just to know about those burdens through the grapevine.

An essential element of the Body of Christ is people knowing one another well and caring for one another self-sacrificially. So avoiding the responsibility of care by asking second- or third-hand about Someone Else tears at the sinews of Christ. When we evaluate our words for gossip or false concern we are examining ourselves for Christ's sake. Christ's life in the world is at stake in how we talk about Other People.

How is So-And-So doing? For Christ's sake: Just talk to them! If we are in the same community together--the same church, mosque, or pickleball club--then you have means to text them, call them, and go visit them. Do it! And if you don't have the time or energy to communicate with them, I respect that. All of us have limited resources, and we cannot be expected to keep in touch with everyone even if we wanted to do so. 

But if you don't have that time, energy, or inclination then don't ask me about them. My response will be meaningless. And it steals precious time from our conversation, which could be plumbing the vast depths of you, me, or what God is doing between us. Or at very least helping me find the right size bolt for this thing I'm trying to fix--which is why I came into the hardware store in the first place.

~ emrys

Believing in Jesus

At last week's Theology on Tap conversation we addressed a question brought by one of our members: Do you believe in Jesus?

The conversation went far and wide, wending through marshes of epistemology, fields of theology, and craggy trails of Church history. But we often came back to touch the grass of the word "believe." One member brought the question most pointedly before us: "How you answer that question depends largely on what one means by 'believe.'" Indeed.

It is possible to take the word "believe" here such that the question becomes, "Do you believe someone named Jesus (presumably in Palestine in the first century) lived?" Do you believe in Ford F150s? Gluten-free bread? Divorce? Absent scientific proof of one's existence, thinking or trusting that someone lived once is an act of "belief." I believe in Abraham Lincoln, along with many people who accept historical documents and second- and third-hand testimonies. I believe in Abigail Adams, Lao-Tzu, Atilla the Hun, and Amelia Earhart in a way that I don't believe in Heracles and Circe. But there's not a lot at stake in saying "I believe in Jesus" in that way.

Behind the question as usually asked by present-day American Christians (a modest subset, I know, but in this case a meaningful one) is another question: "Do you believe Jesus is alive now?" It expands the present tense of the word "believe" to deepen the significance of Jesus' existence.

If I say Yes to this version of the question, I am saying that somehow Jesus' death in first-century Jerusalem did not end his life. My response could indicate that I believe Jesus rose from the dead (as in the Christian witness to resurrection). It could also indicate some more expansive definition of life in which I affirm that no one finally loses life: Jesus is alive now; so is Rahab the madam of Jericho, Abraham Lincoln, Abigail Adams, and my favorite 16th-century author. Everyone, living or dead, is alive and with us, perhaps by virtue of a cosmology in which all spirits pass through bodily form but live eternally in another realm. If I want to make Jesus special nonetheless, perhaps I affirm that he has a status like Bodhisattvas in some Buddhist streams: ones who resist Nirvana in order to teach embodied ones the path to enlightenment. I "believe in Jesus" because he is alive now.

In most Christian circles, especially ones in which this is a shibboleth for belonging or orthodoxy, "Do you believe in Jesus?" means "Are you loyal to Jesus?"

The full semantic range of the word "believe in" or "trust in" in the Christian scriptures includes the meaning "be loyal to" or "be faithful to." Simply believing in the existence of a Ford F150 is a waste of my spiritual energy. Do I drive it? Do I load all my tools in it and trust that it will get me to the job site? When it breaks down, do I invest money in it to repair it and return it to service? Do I give credit to it in conversation with others, making public the fact that my ability to earn a living depends on this vehicle? (By the way, I do all these things for an old Toyota Highlander; but I understand many good folks really believe in Fords.)

We begin to get at the scriptural sense of "believing in" when we talk about political candidates. Do you believe in her? Sure, they exist, no one argues that: Their faces are publicly projected. But will she argue and work for the things we consider good? When we go to the ballot box, will we vote for her? Are we loyal to her?

Do I believe in Jesus? Am I loyal to Jesus? Loyalty, unlike the neutered terms "believe" and "trust," implies a sacrifice of other options. When I am faced with a choice between using my money to serve someone else in love and using it to please myself, will I choose the former? When I am faced with a choice of using all my time for leisure versus dedicating some time to communicating with Jesus, do I choose the latter?

Many of us who call ourselves Christian confess the scriptural affirmation that we "believe in Jesus," intentionally applying one of the first two meanings given above. If it is enough to believe that Jesus existed--and maybe even that he said some good stuff--then Yes, I happily believe. There is no binding commitment there. If it is enough to believe that he is still alive--somehow, perhaps in a manner of my choosing--then I will happily confess that, because we're all alive after all. No sweat (or blood or tears).

But it is a harder thing to confess that I am loyal to Jesus. Without Jesus present physically to declare that he will be loyal to me, this is a one-sided commitment. I subjugate myself. I become someone beholden to Jesus' person, teachings, and promises. This is risky. The only way I can be confident to do something so irrational is to believe (there's that word again) that Jesus is somehow in cahoots with benevolent divinity that has top-level authority. After all, being loyal to the second-place candidate for office is not a recipe for success.

I believe Jesus lived, is alive, and is worthy of all my loyalty. I believe he is a unique intersection of divinity and humanity on whom all physical history hinges. I share this confession with the Church. Our confession serves as the source of our blessing and the core of our mandate. And by giving Jesus our loyalty, we enter into eternal life.

~ emrys

P.S. Thanks to Mary for bringing this question to us, asking it with such interested intensity, and to the whole group for taking the question(s) seriously with me. You are a tremendous blessing in my walk with Jesus. In fact . . . You are Jesus' presence for me.