A Gentle Answer: Our 'Secret Weapon' in an Age of Us Against Them

by Scott Sauls

“This generation is the first to turn hate into an asset.” When Dr. John Perkins, the eighty-nine-year-old Christian minister and civil rights icon/activist, said these words at a recent leaders’ gathering in Nashville, things I’ve been feeling about the current state of Western society came into sharper focus. For many years now, I’ve grown increasingly perplexed over what feels like a culture of suspicion, mistrust, and us-against-them.

Jesus is a God of reconciliation and peace, not a God of hate or division or us-against-them (Eph. 2:14–22). He is the God of the gentle answer.

While true faith is filled with holy fire, it is a fire that is meant for refining and healing, as opposed to dividing and destroying. If our faith ignites hurt rather than healing upon the bodies, hearts, and souls of other people—even those who treat us unkindly—then something has gone terribly wrong with our faith.

I don’t think being a dreamer is all that bad . . . I’m an old man, and this is one of my dreams: that my descendants will one day live in a land where people are quick to confess their wrongdoing and forgive the wrongdoing of others and are eager to build something beautiful together.”

In our current cultural moment, outrage has become more expected than surprising, more normative than odd, more encouraged than discouraged, more rewarded than rejected.

Outrage sells. For our generation, hate has been commodified. It has been turned into an asset.

Jesus’ gentle answer was bold and costly. His gentle answer included pouring out his lifeblood and dying on the cross. Our gentle answer will be costly as well. We must die to ourselves, to our self-righteousness, to our indignation, and to our outrage.

Because Jesus has covered all of our offenses, we can be among the least offensive and least offended people in the world. This is the way of the gentle answer.

Jesus and Christianity do not discriminate between good people and bad people. Instead, Jesus and Christianity discriminate between humble people and proud people.

As Huffington Post contributor Francis Maxwell has said, “Ahhh, Christianity in America. Or should I say, the single greatest cause of atheism today. . . . The type of people who acknowledge Jesus with their words, and deny him through their lifestyle.” Citing broad ubiquitous evangelical support of immoral, predatory men who become political candidates and win elections with the widespread support of people who identify as Christian, Maxwell also writes, “It’s okay to prey as long as you pray.”

this very fact—that every single Christian is a hypocrite—is the whole basis for our Christian faith. As the Bible insists, Christ did not come into the world to affirm and accept the good people, but rather to rescue and receive the people who are not good.

If you reverse the order of these two sentences, if you say, “Leave your sin” before you will consider saying, “Neither do I condemn you,” then you have ceased to speak the language of Christ, and you have ceased to reflect the heart of Christ. With Christ and with Christ-attuned Christians, belonging comes before believing.

Paul first assures the Corinthian believers of their already established identity as God’s beloved children, calling them “sanctified” and “saints”

This ex doesn't hold. paul afirms their identity because they have already believed prior--these are baptizex believers

The woman goes on to tell of her family upbringing. They attended church every Sunday, prayed before dinner, and read the Bible at bedtime. She went to church camps, youth retreats, Christian concerts, attended a Christian school, and pledged a Christian sorority. But lately, she has become “horrified and embarrassed” about American Christianity in particular, which she believes promotes nationalism, political agendas that damage and overlook those who are poor and sick and vulnerable, and political leaders whose personal lives are filled with dishonesty, greed, predation, and misogyny. She concludes, “I really don’t know where I go from here. I’m frustrated, angry, and lonely. I’ve lost friends, and the foundation of my entire life has been cracked, probably irreparably . . . I still want to be a Christian, but need a new definition of what that truly means.”4

Leader: What right do we have to dine at the Table of Jesus? Family: We have every right to dine at his Table. Leader: What gives us this right? Family: We have this right because Jesus came not for the strong, but for the weak; not for the righteous, but for sinners; not for the self-sufficient, but for those who know they need rescue. To all who are weary and need rest; to all who mourn and long for comfort; to all who feel worthless and wonder if God even cares; to all who are weak and frail and desire strength; to all who sin and need a Savior—Jesus welcomes into his circle, adopts into his family, and reserves a place at his Table. For he is the mighty friend of sinners, the ally of his enemies, the defender of the indefensible, and the justifier of those who have no excuses left.7

In his popular New York Times essay entitled, “A Confession of Liberal Intolerance,” journalist Nicholas Kristof, himself a self-avowed liberal, confesses this inconsistency among those in his own ideological and political tribe. He candidly and humbly wrote, “We progressives believe in diversity, and we want women, blacks, Latinos, gays and Muslims at the table—er, so long as they aren’t conservatives. Universities are the bedrock of progressive values, but the one kind of diversity that universities disregard is ideological and religious. We’re fine with people who don’t look like us, as long as they think like us . . . [This illuminates] liberal arrogance—the implication that conservatives don’t have anything significant to add to the discussion.

The sociologist George Yancy, who is both black and an evangelical, agreed, observing, “Outside of academia I faced more problems as a black. But inside academia I face more problems as a Christian, and it is not even close.”

Those of us who measure a person’s worth by dollars instead of dignity would do well to remember that Jesus couldn’t afford a place to live (Matt. 8:20). Those of us who measure a person’s potential by where she went to college should note that Jesus didn’t go to college or to school at all (John 7:15). Those of us who measure a person’s significance by their line of work ought to recall that Jesus worked with his hands (Mark 6:3). Those of us who measure a person’s beauty by his external appearance should observe that Jesus was average looking at best, if not outright unattractive (Isa. 53:2). Those of us who determine whether or not we want to befriend a person on the basis of his popularity or the types of associations that he keeps should remember that Jesus was a man of no reputation,

In the fall of 2006, a Pennsylvania milk truck driver named Charles Carl Roberts IV burst into a one-room Amish schoolhouse and opened fire on a classroom of girls, killing five and severely injuring five more. After this, he turned the gun on himself and took his own life. In his suicide note, Mr. Roberts confessed that he had been secretly tormented for many years by two dark spots from his own past. The first was the memory of how he had molested two of his younger relatives twenty years before. The second was the memory of losing his own daughter, who had died nine years previously. The loss of his child led Mr. Roberts to also confess in his note that he hated God. There were two groups of people in attendance at his funeral. The first was the expected group: his family and friends of his family, who sat somber and shocked over what had happened. The second was a group of about thirty men, women, and children from the Amish community whose daughters Roberts had murdered and injured. Commenting on the series of events, nearby sociologist and college professor Donald Kraybull remarked that “the most powerful demonstration of the depth of Amish forgiveness was when members of the Amish community went to the killer’s burial service . . . Several families, Amish families who had buried their own daughters just the day before were in attendance and they hugged the widow, and hugged other members of the killer’s family.” It was also reported that this Amish community had don...

Today, more than 75 percent of the world’s population lives in societies that impose severe religious restrictions. Christians in more than sixty countries experience persecution from their governments and their neighbors. Each month 322 Christians are killed, 214 churches and Christian properties are destroyed, and 772 forms of violence such as forced marriages, rape, beatings, and arrest are perpetrated globally against believers in Christ.5

Whenever and wherever there is persecution, opposition, or unjust treatment of vulnerable persons, Christians are called by God to serve as the conscience of society by speaking truth to power. Perhaps in the land of the free and home of the brave, this ought to be a Christian’s primary way to follow Jesus in a world where others routinely suffer for their faith.

If being opposed, criticized, or mistreated because of our “message and works” is foreign to our experience as Christians, it is wise to ask ourselves who (or what) is truly shaping and discipling us.

What would compel a man to give up so much for the cause of the gospel? Some years later, Lloyd-Jones answered that question in an interview, saying, “I gave up nothing; I received everything. I count it the highest honor that God can confer on any man to call him to be a herald of the gospel.”14

if Christians don’t go first in offering a gentle answer to those who oppose us, can we ever expect those who oppose us to make a similar move?

Gossip can be compared to pornography in that both seek cheap thrills at another person’s expense, while making zero commitment to the other person. Contrary to love, gossip objectifies and depersonifies.

Sin is absurd and futile, especially for Christians who are aware of the love and redeeming grace of God through Jesus. It is absurd and futile because sin is not only an act of rebellion against the law of God; it is also an act of hatred against the love of God.

King David, reflecting on his adultery, murder, and abuse of power, wrote about how his sins brought him no joy but instead caused his bones to feel crushed and his spirit sapped of joy (Ps. 51:8, 12). Going against the law and love of God tormented his soul, blocked his vision, sapped him with grief, and wasted him physically (Ps. 31:6–10).

It is difficult enough to accept correction from those over us in authority—our employers, teachers, parents, and elders. However, it can be especially tempting to shield ourselves from correction from those under our authority—our children, students, and employees. Our pride and self-sufficiency can fool us into believing that those under our authority have little to offer and no right to challenge. Yet, as people who wish to grow in grace and become more like Jesus Christ, it is vital that we listen and appropriately receive correction from those speaking truth to us. Those in authority will receive correction to the extent that they believe that they, too, are ultimately under authority—namely, the authority of Christ.

We must learn to love the light, even when it exposes the darkness in us, as opposed to hiding from the light and shielding ourselves from exposure.

We welcome the probing and scrutiny of our bodies by doctors. We give them access to our private parts. We say, “Yes, of course” when they ask to do an X-ray to evaluate our physical health. We let them examine, prick, and cut to prevent other greater wounds from destroying us. Why would we be any less receptive when it comes to allowing those closest to us the most intimate access to our conduct and character?

As C. S. Lewis said, “Everyone says forgiveness is a lovely idea until they have something to forgive.”4

“I wanted to hate you, but my faith tells me no. I wanted to remain angry and bitter, but my view of life won’t let me.” After the last statement was made by the victims’ friends and loved ones, Roof, who never made eye contact with those who addressed him, offered a short and chilling closing statement in response. “I still feel like I had to do it,” the unremorseful killer said.6 As this horrific and maddening account reveals, forgiving from the heart often does not provide emotional closure to the forgiver. In cases where the perpetrator shows no remorse, those injured by his actions are placed in the agonizing position of having to absorb the emotional impact of the injury until the day when Jesus returns

people enact vengeance on other people not because they believe in God’s judgment, but because they don’t. Atheism and agnosticism, Volf said, are far more potent contributors to the cycle of vengeance than belief in God and his judgment. According to his logic, if there is no God and therefore no judgment, then human beings have nowhere to go with pain that has been inflicted upon them by others. If there is no God and no judgment, our only options are to suffer the injury of injustice on our own or to fight back

My thesis that the practice of nonviolence requires a belief in divine vengeance will be unpopular with many Christians . . . Soon you would discover that it takes the quiet of a suburban home for the birth of the thesis that human nonviolence corresponds to God’s refusal to judge. In a scorched land, soaked in the blood of the innocent, it will invariably die. And as one who watches it die, one will do well to reflect about many other pleasant captivities of the liberal mind.7

beneath most distorted human behavior are wounds that influence it—wounds that can heal when met with a gentle answer from Christ and from his people, as opposed to bitter, retaliatory responses. Nowhere in scripture does it say that it is repentance that causes God to be kind.

While living in New York City, a friend and I drove through a neighborhood known for its record-breaking criminal activity. It was not uncommon to turn on the evening news and hear of another break-in, another theft, another violent assault, or another murder taking place in that particular area. Eager to get home to the safety and warmth of our respective Manhattan dwellings, my friend and I were alarmed when a tire on the car went flat. Having no other options, we drove slowly to the nearest service station to see if we could get some help. Knowing the neighborhood could be dangerous, my friend and I both stepped out of the car with a degree of fear. What would happen next? How would we be treated? Would we be scammed, mugged, beaten up, or become the next subjects on the evening news? To our own shame, my friend and I had our stereotypes of this neighborhood and its residents blown apart by what happened next. Sometimes it’s good to remember that what gets reported on the evening news is not the entire story. In fact, what gets reported usually only illuminates a sliver of what goes on in real life. After we pulled into the station and got out of the car, a man jumped out of the bushes dressed in a plastic trash bag that served as his makeshift raincoat. The man said to us, “Looks like you have a flat tire. I can help with that!” Not wanting to be rude, yet uncertain of what might happen next, my friend and I decided to accept his offer. The young man reached beneath a ...

Jesus did not single out the disciple Judas as the betrayer or as the infamous “son of perdition” (John 17:12 NKJV). Instead, he used the second-person plural, indicating that any of the twelve could feasibly betray him. Knowing this to be true—knowing that the line dividing good and evil cuts through every human heart—none of the disciples responded with an accusation toward another. None said, “Lord, we’ve all been suspecting this for some time and we’re glad you are finally confirming our suspicion. It is Judas, of course! It’s so obvious!” Instead, each disciple became sorrowful and introspective, and each one took his turn asking Jesus, “Is it I?” (Mark 14:19). This “Is it I?” response to the Lord, as opposed to an “It is he!” response, is a key indicator of a healthy, self-aware, non-presumptuous, gentle posture of faith. Sorrow mixed with introspection is, even for the most faithful disciples among us, the most appropriate response when the subject of evil and betrayal is raised.

In the painting lauded as his first masterpiece, Judas Returning Thirty Pieces of Silver, Rembrandt painted his own face as the face of Judas, the betrayer. In his blockbuster film depicting the journey of Jesus Christ to the cross, director Mel Gibson made just one appearance: his was the hand that drove the nails to fasten the body of Christ to the cross.

Whereas Jesus did not single Judas out in the Upper Room in order to humiliate him, Jesus did single Peter out after his resurrection in order to reassure and restore him. “I am singling you out, Peter, because more than anyone else you are feeling a distance from me, as if you’ve blown it completely,

Shortly after Slate magazine released its series of essays about outrage (see the introduction), journalist Emma Green published a similar piece entitled “Taming Christian Rage.”1 Yes, you read correctly. Christian rage. According to her and too many others, those who say they follow Christ can be as much a part of the problem as they are a part of the solution.

As one secular journalist quipped, “The trouble with born-again Christians is that they are an even bigger pain the second time around.”2

The gentle answer that comes from Jesus defuses wrath instead of fanning its flame (Prov. 15:1). Within it resides the power to subdue fruitless arguments, break vicious cycles, turn enemies into friends, end wars, and change history. Within it resides the power of a future where wolves dwell in harmony with lambs, leopards with young goats, and lions with fattened cows (Isa. 11:6).

The world does not thirst for a religious imitation of its often-outraged self. Instead, the world thirsts for a different kind of neighbor,