I love you. Here’s a textbook.
Imagine this scenario, if you will…
It’s little Sara’s birthday, and she’s overjoyed to unwrap a present and discover a brand new pair of shiny roller skates, just like the ones she’s been eyeing in the store for months. With an excited shriek, she runs straight out to the sidewalk in front of her home to try them out, but in her excitement, she leaves her new kneepads in the box. It’s not long before she hits an uneven patch of pavement and goes tumbling, badly scraping her knee in the process.
Sara comes crying into the house. Her arms are scratched. Her knee is bloody. She’s in pain, and her pride is wounded. Her mother turns around and instantly realizes what’s happened.
Question: How should Sara’s mom show her love?
(a) Hug Sara warmly and offer to bandage up her knee and/or kiss it to make it better.
(b) Toss some skating safety pamphlets at her and tell her she should have known better.
If you chose (b), I sure am glad you weren’t my mom!
It’s a parent’s job to show love to their kids. Sometimes that means doing things the kids don’t like (curfews, discipline, saying “no”), but there should always be love undergirding it all, and that needs to be clear. Sara’s mom does need to insist on Sara’s wearing the appropriate safety gear in the future, but in this moment, when Sara is hurting, her mom needs to give her a hug and a kiss and show that she cares about Sara’s pain—that she cares about Sara. You can’t just drop a textbook in your child’s lap and claim that it’s proof of your love because you’re teaching them what’s right.
Similarly, we Christians are called to love our neighbors. In the gay debate, one of the things I hear people argue about is what it means to love someone when you disagree with them on something important. Conservative Christians with a “Side B” view (that gay sex is sinful) often complain that gay people accuse them of being “unloving” just because they don’t support same-sex marriage. That’s not fair, they say; sometimes you show your love for someone by telling them the truth, even if it’s not what they want to hear.
Those Side B Christians are right to be frustrated. Agreement with everything I believe should never be a prerequisite for loving me. Sometimes you show me love by showing me the error of my ways. Other times you show me love by trying to show me what you believe to be the error of my ways, even though I think you’re completely wrong. Either way, you’re still showing your love. I get that.
BUT.
(Yes, there’s a huge “but” here. Hey, I hear you snickering; cut that out!)
You can’t use “I’m loving you by telling you the truth” as an excuse to simply debate or argue with me. If your words don’t come wrapped in grace, you might as well be flinging textbooks in my direction. That doesn’t count as love, and you’re not going to change my mind anyway.
You want to love me? Don’t give me a theological treatise on homosexuality and all the reasons I’m wrong. Show me grace. Listen to me. Hear my fears and my pain. Demonstrate that you care about me as a person, not just about winning a theological argument.
If you don’t already know that gay people have experienced a lot of pain at the hands of the church, you haven’t been paying attention. And even if you think some of that pain, like Sara’s, is a direct result of making bad choices, that’s still no justification for callousness. Love calls for you to empathize with the other person’s pain, whatever its cause. If you’re not showing empathy, you’re not showing love. Period. End of story.
Jesus interacted with sinners all the time. He did sometimes call their attention to their sin, or at least encourage them to “go and sin no more.” But notice how he always showed them grace first. The only exceptions in all of Scripture are when he called others out for the ways their own ungraciousness was keeping others from coming to God, such as the Pharisees’ self-righteous legalism and the money changers’ setting up shop in the area reserved for Gentile worship. As a general rule, Jesus’ first response to people was to show them love and meet their needs, not to argue with them.
If there’s anything you ever get from my book, my blog, my speaking engagements, and everything else I ever say, I hope it’s that we Christians should make grace the centerpiece of everything we do. We’re known as Jesus’ followers by our love—lived out with the kind of grace God has repeatedly shown us.
A lot of people assume that because I’m a gay Christian, my goal in life is to convince everyone of a particular viewpoint on the Bible’s view of same-sex relationships. Nope, not at all. I will summarize my views when I’m asked, but that’s not my focus or my ministry. I’d like to get folks on both sides of that debate to show more grace to one another, and I’d like to help Christians understand the human beings behind this debate—to see us as people, not as issues.
If you get that, then you get me—even if you and I disagree on every last bit of theology and Bible interpretation, from transubstantiation to sexual morality. But if you don’t get this principle of grace—if you’d rather hurl words and arguments and Bible passages and textbook-sized diatribes at people in an attempt to prove how wrong they are—then I’m afraid we don’t have much to talk about, even if you and I agree in our interpretation of every other theological point, down to the number of angels who could dance on the head of a pin.
(The answer is 42, by the way. But we can still be friends even if you got it wrong.)
Grace > justice.
I have two friends—let’s call them Charlie and Stuart—who don’t get along.
They are both really awesome guys. I enjoy hanging out with both of them. They’re both well-liked, and they both get along with my other friends.
But put them in the same room together, and you can almost feel the temperature of the room drop a few degrees. They seem to be incapable of having a conversation without trading barbs.
Ask either one of them why he so despises the other, and he’ll quickly give you a list of perceived wrongs: “I will never forget when he said such-and-such to me.” “He never apologized for the time he humiliated me at that party.” “Do you know what he said to me the last time we talked?!”
But ask him about the wrongs that the other has listed, and you’ll hear a different story: “That’s not what I said,” or, “He’s blowing that out of proportion,” or, “Yes, I said that, but only because of what HE said first!”
That last one is a big key. Over the years, these two guys have built up so much resentment toward each other that they now interpret every minor annoyance as part of a pattern of unkind behavior—a pattern that, in their minds, justifies their own lashing out and cold shoulders and other less-than-charitable responses.
“Yes,” each side seems to say, “maybe I do sometimes do things to irritate him, but he deserves it! After all, I’ve been more than understanding as he’s heaped injustice after injustice upon me, and there comes a point where I just can’t take any more! I’m not superhuman, you know, and I have to stand up for myself sometime!”
But of course that act of “standing up for myself” adds fuel to the other one’s fire, providing just one more justification for his own anger and frustration.
Do you know people like this? Do you ever get caught up in other people’s feuds? From an outside perspective, it’s obvious that one side or the other will have to swallow their pride and break the cycle. But woe to you if you even suggest such a thing! Both sides are convinced that they’ve been terribly wronged, and they can greatly resent any implication that they are in any way at fault for the cycle’s perpetuation. (“You’re taking his side now? Can’t you see how horrifically he’s treated me? I’m not the one who needs to apologize!”)
In other circumstances, Charlie and Stuart might just avoid each other, but they run in the same circles and have many of the same friends. Their friends really want them to get along, but everyone’s too scared to say anything that might come across as taking sides.
The other day, I was hanging out with Charlie, and I asked him about trying to break the cycle. Couldn’t he be the bigger person and offer forgiveness to Stuart, even if it seemed undeserved?
In response, he laughed bitterly. “I tried to reach out,” he said. “I did. I was nice, I was gracious, and in response, he practically bit my head off.”
I suspect that after all this time, Stuart has become so conditioned to seeing Charlie as the enemy that he didn’t even recognize when Charlie was trying to be nice. Charlie, for his part, wasn’t willing to be patient enough to keep trying. When Stuart rebuffed his attempt to repair the relationship, Charlie retaliated in a way that only damaged the relationship further. When I asked Stuart about it, all he remembers is Charlie’s angry retaliation. He doesn’t seem to be aware of any attempt to make nice.
“What do you mean, ‘He tried to make things right’?! Do you know how he just treated me?! You can’t move on from something like that,” Stuart said.
So these two truly awesome individuals have become bitter and angry, bringing out each other’s worst traits. And they’re not the only people in such a situation, either. I see this story play out time and time again in other people’s lives.
It’s even happened in my own life, though I didn’t realize it at the time. Someone I knew was treating me abominably, and as far as I was aware, I hadn’t done anything to him. When other people asked me about him, I told them quite honestly that he struck me as a jerk and a bully. Only later, when he and I finally talked about the situation, did I discover that he had behaved the way he did because of perceived hurts from me that I hadn’t been aware of—and my unkind comments to others about him had only further served to convince him that I was a terrible person. We both apologized, and had to work hard to repair our friendship. (Eventually, we succeeded.)
It’s easy to see the folly of the cycle in other people’s lives. But what about our own? We’ve all been mistreated by others, and we’ve all had occasions to respond in anger or frustration, feeling that our own reactions were justified by the far worse treatment we’d received.
But there’s a reason Jesus said to “turn the other cheek” when someone strikes you. No, you shouldn’t stay in an abusive situation (physically or emotionally), but as Christians, when we are wronged, we’re called to forgive, not to retaliate. Yes, maybe the other person’s words or actions were reprehensible. Yes, maybe our retaliation would be “justified.” Yes, maybe the other person has never fully acknowledged the need to apologize. But we are called to forgive anyway, and to avoid holding a grudge. We are called to recognize the other person’s flawed humanity, to realize that we, too, are human and do bad things, and to move on from the pain. Don’t return to a place where you’ll be abused over and over, but don’t perpetuate a cycle of anger and revenge, either.
Are you holding anger in your heart against someone who’s hurt you? Maybe it’s time to forgive, and to show them grace. Even if they never acknowledge it, even if they throw it back in your face, give it over and over again.
Do they deserve it? No.
But that’s what makes it grace.
“I give God 10%. Why do you get 18?”
Yesterday, a restaurant server posted the following photo to reddit; it’s already going viral.
The story: The pastor was part of a large party who ate at this server’s restaurant. Like many American restaurants, this particular one has a policy of adding an automatic 18% tip for large parties. It’s something the computer does automatically, not something the server has any control over.
According to the server, the pastor’s party tried to get around the automatic 18% tip by asking for separate checks, even though the same person was paying for the whole table. The server says that everyone was happy with the service; they just didn’t like the idea of a compulsory tip.
The result? The pastor scribbled out the tip, leaving none at all, and adding the note, “I give God 10%. Why do you get 18?”
(As a side note, I suspect the server would have been happy with 10% of the diner’s income as a tip. Only 18% of the cost of the meal is a bargain.)
Oh, and just to drive the point home, the diner made sure to add the word “Pastor” above their signature at the bottom.
Really?
If you’ve read my book TORN, you know that I had similar experiences waiting tables:
“Sundays are the worst,” one of the servers explained to me. “That’s when the church crowd goes out to eat.”
“What’s wrong with the church crowd?” I asked.
“Oh, honey,” she said. “They’re usually the most demanding, and they’re always the worst tippers. I guarantee you, if you see your table praying before the meal, you can mentally subtract a third from your tip.”
Standing nearby, the manager cracked a smile. “They already gave at church,” he said. “They don’t have any money left.”
In the book, I talk about what this means for the reputation of the church. (Hint: It’s not good.)
Yes, a lot of us think the tipping system in America could be improved. In many countries, servers are paid a decent wage, and tips are an added incentive to reward a job especially well done. I know a lot of people who think it should be that way in the United States, too, but it’s not. In most states, servers are paid only a little over $2 an hour (yes, you read that right), with the expectation that they will make their living from tips. You might not like that system, but if you choose to express your displeasure with it by tipping your server poorly, the only person you’re hurting is the server—someone who is already living on very little money and depending on your tip to help them pay their bills.
As a former server myself, I always tip at least 18-20% unless the service was just so unbearably horrible that it destroyed the dining experience. Even then, I still tip, just not as much. If I can’t afford the tip, I don’t eat out, or I eat someplace where diners aren’t expected to tip. Otherwise, I consider paying my server to be part of the cost of the meal.
I think everyone should tip that way, but if you choose not to, do me a favor: Don’t pray before your meal, don’t go out to eat right after church, and don’t sign your receipt with the word “pastor.” In short, don’t let people know you’re a Christian. Because when Christians are the worst tippers, it destroys our witness. We’re supposed to be the generous ones, not the stingy and selfish ones. And I can tell you from experience, when servers see a pattern of Christians who tip poorly, it makes them far less interested in any of this “Jesus stuff.”
It’s worth noting that the original image above was posted on reddit’s “atheism” forum.
And for heaven’s sake, whatever you do, please don’t leave these as part of your tip:
No.
No. No. No.
Bad Christian. Bad! No!
As I put it in the book:
Why would anyone think that tricking and disappointing a broke food-service employee would be a good way of spreading the Christian good news?
Remember, whatever you do, wherever you go, whenever you tip, you are representing Jesus. And what makes the most difference in that moment isn’t your words or your theology; it’s your grace, love, and generosity.
If we miss that, we’ve missed the gospel.
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An update: The story has now been confirmed by several press accounts, but with a few detail changes. The pastor had been described as male by the reddit poster, but was in fact a woman. The size of the party was 10, not 20. And the server who posted the image—and has now been fired—was not the same server who waited on the table. I’ve made a few minor wording changes to the post to reflect the updated details.
And hey, if this is your first exposure to my blog, welcome! Here’s a special message just for you.
I’d have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn’t been for that meddling Spirit!
A Facebook friend of mine just posted a political graphic to his wall. It’s a snarky, mean-spirited photo that takes a stand on a particularly divisive issue and makes fun of those on the other side.
Guess what. I’m on the other side. And this graphic is WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG. It’s so wrong. It’s wronger than wrong.
As I was fuming over this WRONG post he made, inspiration struck. I suddenly realized I had the perfect response—intelligent, well reasoned, and maybe a little bit snarky. With a one-line comment, I could put the graphic’s originator (and, by extension, my friend) in his place.
Oh, I couldn’t wait to hear his reaction to my perfect comeback. I felt like this:
Ever have one of those moments when the perfect comeback just comes to you at exactly the right time? Oh, it’s a beautiful thing.
But just as I was about to type it out, I heard a little bit of throat clearing from the Holy Spirit.
“So,” said God nonchalantly, “what’s up?”
“Oh,” I said, “this guy. He’s just SO wrong. Man. You wouldn’t believe—oh, well, I guess you would believe—but still. He’s really wrong. So anyway, I came up with this great response—ha ha—it’s perfect! Yeah, it’s a little snarky, but he deserves it. I mean, you agree with me, don’t you, that his argument is completely messed up and that this post is hateful?”
“How do you think he’ll react to your comeback?” God asked, ignoring my question.
“Well…” I said, knowing full well where this was going but not really wanting it to go there, “He’ll probably be upset.”
“And he’ll change his mind?”
I considered this. “Well, no. I suppose not. He’ll probably just be irritated at me and refuse to acknowledge that I’m right. But he’s WRONG! And this is an important issue! Don’t I have a responsibility to say something?”
God didn’t answer that either. At least, I didn’t hear an answer. Instead, the Spirit seemed to reply with another question: ”Why did he post it? What is he thinking?”
As if I’m supposed to understand such stupidity as this guy posted. “I don’t know. It’s stupid. It’s terrible. It’s hateful.”
“Think about it. You’re always talking about putting yourself in others’ shoes.”
I thought about it for a moment. “Well,” I replied, “I guess he genuinely believes that his side has a better solution to the problem. I’m positive he’s wrong, but he obviously believes it pretty passionately. Maybe he’s worried that bad things will happen if my side wins the debate, just like I’m worried about what will happen if his side wins. But that’s still no excuse for posting something that ridicules those who disagree with him.”
“Have you ever ridiculed people who disagree with you politically?”
Ugh! Why does the Holy Spirit always manage to bring it back to my own mistakes when it’s so much easier to sit in judgment of others?
In this case, though, I was pretty sure I was in the clear. I honestly don’t post those kinds of images on Facebook. But just as I was about to respond, a few images flashed into my mind. I remembered certain YouTube videos I’ve laughed at, jokes I’ve told, and Facebook images I stayed silent on publicly but privately giggled over with friends—all at the expense of people I disagreed with.
With those memories in mind, and Jesus’ words about stone-casting ringing in my ears, my response to the Spirit’s prodding went something like this:
So I didn’t write my snarky response. I sat down and wrote this blog post instead. And I was reminded, once more, that my neighbor’s sins may look a little different from mine, but we’re all in the same boat.
Yes, I want to make change on the issues I care about. But when I can’t do it in a way that’s kind, compassionate, snark-free, and understanding of those who disagree, I think I’m better off keeping my big mouth shut.
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P.S. God does not actually speak to me in an audible voice. This dialogue is my interpretation of a conversation with God. Dear God, if I’ve misquoted you, please forgive me and don’t sue me for libel. Thanks.
Here’s another great image from my friend Matthew. Once again, permission granted to share anywhere you wish. :)
Defense is for sports. Not people.
Yesterday, I wrote a silly, fun post, and we had a good chuckle about dumb signs.
Today, though, as Mrs. Potato Head might say, I’m putting on my angry eyes.
I just finished reading blogger Jared Wilson’s response to a controversy that an earlier blog post of his sparked in the Christian blogosphere. I’ll leave it to Rachel Held Evans to explain the details, but the short version is this: While writing about his views on male/female complementarity, Jared quoted some text that many others, including Rachel, found extremely offensive.
Now there are lots of things about this controversy that we could discuss. We could debate about the idea of “complementarianism” versus “egalitarianism.” We could dissect the passage itself and discuss why it is offending so many people. We could also have a conversation about why it’s so problematic for men especially to use rape in jokes, metaphors, and illustrations. All of these are important topics, and many of them are already being discussed on Rachel’s site and the others addressing the controversy.
What hit me like a punch to the gut, though, was Rachel’s strong and insightful quote, which I already posted separately a few minutes ago:
When your sister in Christ tells you that your words trigger upsetting images of rape and sexual violence, you should listen to her, not dismiss her.
Yes. Exactly.
Comedian Daniel Tosh got into trouble earlier this week when a blogger wrote about a bad experience at one of his standup performances. There are, I gather, different versions of what happened, but according to her, he made a joke about “rape jokes,” and when she objected, she says he brutally poked fun at her for the objection using even more rape imagery. To his credit, Tosh did later apologize, though the woman in question says that he wasn’t very apologetic at the time.
Jared Wilson, for his part, has responded to his controversy with a post essentially saying (as I read it) that he doesn’t get what all the fuss is about, and that people either just didn’t understand what he meant or else are simply looking for something to criticize.
But here’s the thing.
I believe that Jared didn’t intend to hurt or offend anyone with his post. I think he was genuinely surprised at the uproar. And I get that Daniel Tosh is a comedian whose shtick is pushing the envelope past the line of taste.
But as Rachel’s quote points out, when you hurt somebody, it doesn’t matter if you meant it or not. If you care at all about the person you hurt, your first response needs to be seeking to understand them, not going on defense. And that is especially true when you wound someone as deeply as these two men did.
All of us have sometimes hurt someone without meaning to. You say something that you mean as a joke, and they take it to heart. Or you innocently do (or forget to do) something that ends up causing someone you love a lot of pain. Or you write a blog post meaning to address one issue and find that you’ve offended someone with your words in an unexpected way.
It happens. And when it does, and the offended party confronts you about the hurt, it’s natural to try to defend yourself. “That’s not what I meant!” “You misunderstood!” “You should have thicker skin!” “Other people weren’t offended; why were you?”
It’s human nature to respond that way. But Christianity has always been about rising above our human nature. As Christians, we should love people the way God loves them, treating them the way we would want to be treated. And that means that our first response in these situations must be to put our own wounded pride aside, find out why the other person is hurt, and seek to make it right. Starting with a sincere apology.
Look, I’ve been there. Earlier this year, at a conference of The Gay Christian Network, I made the decision to have a public conversation with a notable ex-gay leader. My intentions were very good; I wanted to be gracious to someone I disagreed with and also publicly address our points of disagreement. But some of the people who were there (and others who weren’t but who care about our organization) were hurt by my decision. Some had endured traumatic experiences with this individual’s organization, and they felt betrayed by my failure to warn them in advance of the day of the conversation. Just hearing about the event triggered emotions for some people that I hadn’t meant to trigger.
I thought I had handled things well. I thought I had provided enough notice. My intentions were good. None of that mattered to someone who was hurting as a result of my decision. I had to publicly apologize, and I’m still working to repair the relationships I damaged.
Everyone makes mistakes. Some of them are bigger than others. And apologizing for a mistake doesn’t make it go away. But it’s an important start, and defending yourself instead of trying to understand the person you hurt only makes things worse.
This is true when you outrage women across the internet, and it’s true when you accidentally hurt a family member’s feelings.
And one final thing. When you apologize for your mistake, make it genuine. It ticks me off when I hear (usually male) comedians trivialize this process by saying things like, “Guys, you’ve got to learn that your wife is always right,” accompanied by an exaggerated eye roll and a patronizing chuckle.
No. No one is “always right.” But everyone’s feelings are real, even if you don’t understand them. So when your sister—or your brother—tells you that you’ve wounded them, then if you love them, you must take that seriously.
Don’t do it to keep the peace. Do it because it’s the right thing to do.
The one about grace.
A thought for today.
Ultimately, I believe that Christianity is about one central thing: the enormity of the grace of God.
That’s really what it’s about, right? That grace is why Jesus came, what he preached, and why he went to the Cross; it’s why God loves us in spite of our sins; it’s why God calls us to love one another in spite of each other’s sins.
And we have such a hard time with this concept of grace.
Sometimes we have a hard time accepting God’s grace. We keep beating ourselves up for past sins and mistakes, wallowing in our guilt and focusing on how unworthy we are, never truly feeling loved by God.
Other times we cheapen God’s grace. We sin all we want, telling ourselves that it doesn’t really matter how we live because God will ultimately forgive us anyway. And in so doing, we create barriers between ourselves and God.
And while these may seem like opposite extremes, they both stem from the same problem: minimizing the enormity of God’s grace.
If I remain mired in guilt about my sin, I’m minimizing the enormity of God’s grace, imagining that there’s just not enough grace to truly forgive what I’ve done.
And if I fail to recognize the depth of my own sin, I’m also minimizing the enormity of God’s grace, acting as if it didn’t really take that much grace to forgive me.
If I truly understood how great is the depth of the grace of God, I wouldn’t treat sin like no big deal; nor would I let it ensnare me in paralyzing guilt.
If I truly understood how great is the depth of the grace of God, I would live like a new creation, being gracious when others fail, and loving God more every day.
May we know this grace and recognize it for the cornerstone of our faith that it is.
