Kevin DeYoung's message from the fifth session of our 2010 Pastors Conference is now available for listening or download.
“Rethinking the Mission of the Church”
HT: Sovereign Grace
Showing posts with label Kevin DeYoung. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kevin DeYoung. Show all posts
11.05.2010
9.24.2009
Is Dialogue a Basis for Christian Unity?
By Kevin DeYoung
I have to confess to a certain annoyance with buzz words–warm fuzzy jargon words like “dialogue” and “inclusion.” I’m sure at times the annoyance has been of my own creation. They can be perfectly good words after all. But at some point on the I’m-ok-you’re-ok train these words picked up some unwanted baggage.
Take the word “dialogue” for example (or “conversation” if you like). It’s a fine Christian word if it simply indicates a willingness to take others seriously, speak to them humbly, and consider their ideas responsibly. But “dialogue,” in contemporary parlance, usually means far more. It implies a disdain for monologue. One-way proclamation is just too self-assured, too settled, and too propositional. For many postmoderns, truth is a journey. Consequently, we are suspicious of those who claim to have arrived at some destination. No one is supposed to know anything for certain and certainly no one knows they’re right. So, of course, dialogue is the only way to truth. Dialogue, in the end, may be truth itself.
The call for dialogue among Christians often comes from those with inter-faith sensibilities. Now, hopefully, it is obvious that talking respectfully and intelligently with people of other religions is a good thing. It may not be as obvious, however, that in many circles dialogue serves as an antidote to evangelism. Instead of hoped for conversion, the goal is open-minded conversation. In fact, believing too strongly in the rightness of one’s convictions is considered dangerously closed-minded and a barrier to genuine dialogue.
If our goal is persuasion–which ought to be at least one of the goals for Christians talking to non-Christians–I’m simply not convinced that dialogue is the way to go. For starters, the doctrinal edges of Christianity are often smoothed over in inter-faith dialogue so as to be non-distinct. In the book Buddhists Talk about Jesus–Christians Talk about the Buddha, Grace Burford, a practicing Buddhist scholar wonders aloud about her Christian counterparts in the book. She asks, “If they were so taken by Buddhism, why did they hang on to Christianity?” Sadly, the Christianity presented in inter-faith dialogue is rarely historic orthodoxy, and more frequently a secularized, syncretized version of Jesus-appreciation plus Western-style tolerance. Maybe this explains Burford’s title to her chapter: “If the Buddha is So Great, Why are These People Christians?” (quoted in Timothy C. Tennent, Christianity at the Religious Roundtable, 9-10).
Even for the committed Christian who holds to historic Christian orthodoxy and is a little less enthusiastic about the Buddha, dialogue, sometimes a good foot in the door, can only go so far. A few years ago I asked a retired missionary who spent many of his years in ministry facilitating Christian-Muslim dialogue how many Muslims he saw come to know Jesus from their inter-faith dialogue. “None,” he told me. Then I asked if he ever saw any Christians convert to Islam. “Sure,” he said, “a few.” Hardly a ringing endorsement for reaching the unreached by dialogue.
Intra-Christian debates are just as overrun by dialogue–the tool of choice for resolving (read: delaying) denominational conflicts, especially those having to do with homosexuality. The plea is always for more talking. But do we ever call an end to the meeting of the minds and simply make up our minds? Do we ever declare, ala Martin Luther, “Here we stand”? Are there any issues so clear and so important that to spend time in dialogue would not be a sign of patient discernment but of cowardly equivocation? Does there come a time when the need to rest on the side of truth means we resign ourselves to the fact that there are going to be “winners” and “losers”? When do we swallow hard and admit that it’s fruitless to dialogue for the sake of unity when both sides don’t agree on anything except the most nebulous, ambivalent, watered-down expressions of Christianity?
I think the Apostle Paul would be truly exasperated by our endless conversation. No doubt, he was willing to continue teaching and “dialoguing” with people who wanted to know more about Jesus. But for deserters and false teachers, he had little patience. He called them out by name–Alexander, Hymenaeus, Philetus, Demas, Phygellus, Hermogenes–and warned his fledgling flocks, “Be on your guard against them.” So much for dialogue.
And then there’s the word “inclusion.” Another fine word in its own right. Considering the church’s spotted past in excluding people for the wrong reasons–too poor, too black, too awkward–inclusion can sound awfully good. And it is, when by “inclusion” we mean something like “welcome.” The church, of all places, should be an inviting haven for any sinner-come-lately and any socio-category that treasures Jesus in faith and repentance, or is simply looking for spiritual guidance.
So what’s the problem? The problem is one of boundaries. I am convinced that most of our wrangling in churches and denominations is over where to put up fences. What are the boundaries for fellowship? Membership? Leadership? What does one have to believe, say, or do in order to be counted as one of us? Where inclusionists have gone wrong is in removing theological and ethical boundaries that are essential in defining what it means to be Christian.
Picture a wide open field with a fenced-in square in the middle. The fence posts are doctrines, behaviors, and affections. The area inside the fence is Christianity. Outside the fence is not Christianity. If we put the fence somewhere else or remove it entirely, we no longer have anything definably Christian. If we take down all, or most, of the key fence posts in the name of inclusion, we may have included more people, but not in any meaningful way. In all the hubbub about inclusion, the irony is that it cannot exist without exclusion. Caroline Westerhoff writes:
If anyone and everyone are too easily included, we are saying in effect that anything goes. We are disclaiming boundaries. And as our membership is more and more made up of those who will not or cannot confirm some measure of adherence to the core practices and values of the defined community, that community as we have known it will disappear…if even initial membership is without qualification, then we stand for little other than being nonsensically “inclusive.” If belonging is without obligation and accountability, then we finally have not joined much of anything at all, and any significance that community might have held for us evaporates like mist (“Good Fences: The Boundaries of Hospitality,” 29).
It should be commonsense when you stop and think about it. What is the great humanitarian feat in having all kinds of people join some inclusive institution, when the institution itself has no boundaries to define what it means to be a member? It’s kind of silly to speak of joining a group that doesn’t stand for anything and doesn’t turn anyone away. What, then, have you really joined?
Of course, in the end, inclusive churches and other institutions do have boundaries. Even the most wildly accepting community draws the line somewhere and excludes some people, usually those who are less wildly accepting of the same things they are.
In other words, every institution, if it is any kind of discernible community, has its own creed and convictions. Some are published, publicly recited, and rooted in Scripture. Others are unwritten, but no less powerful. Every group that can be meaningfully joined stands against some other group. Inclusive churches are inclusive of gays, lesbians, and doctrinal innovation. But they are exclusive (though it won’t be written down in any by-laws) toward those who cannot tolerate homosexuality in the church and advocate doctrinal standards. For inclusionists, nonjudgmentalism does not usually extend to those who put up their fences a little closer in.
If inclusionists—be they emergents, inter-faith gurus, or social gospel acolytes—draw their boundaries to exclude evangelicals, fundamentalists, traditional Catholics, and others they deem theological nit-picks, that is their perfect right. It would be nice, however, if they realized they were exclusive like the rest of us.
Who knows, with a little dialogue, maybe they will.
I have to confess to a certain annoyance with buzz words–warm fuzzy jargon words like “dialogue” and “inclusion.” I’m sure at times the annoyance has been of my own creation. They can be perfectly good words after all. But at some point on the I’m-ok-you’re-ok train these words picked up some unwanted baggage.
Take the word “dialogue” for example (or “conversation” if you like). It’s a fine Christian word if it simply indicates a willingness to take others seriously, speak to them humbly, and consider their ideas responsibly. But “dialogue,” in contemporary parlance, usually means far more. It implies a disdain for monologue. One-way proclamation is just too self-assured, too settled, and too propositional. For many postmoderns, truth is a journey. Consequently, we are suspicious of those who claim to have arrived at some destination. No one is supposed to know anything for certain and certainly no one knows they’re right. So, of course, dialogue is the only way to truth. Dialogue, in the end, may be truth itself.
The call for dialogue among Christians often comes from those with inter-faith sensibilities. Now, hopefully, it is obvious that talking respectfully and intelligently with people of other religions is a good thing. It may not be as obvious, however, that in many circles dialogue serves as an antidote to evangelism. Instead of hoped for conversion, the goal is open-minded conversation. In fact, believing too strongly in the rightness of one’s convictions is considered dangerously closed-minded and a barrier to genuine dialogue.
If our goal is persuasion–which ought to be at least one of the goals for Christians talking to non-Christians–I’m simply not convinced that dialogue is the way to go. For starters, the doctrinal edges of Christianity are often smoothed over in inter-faith dialogue so as to be non-distinct. In the book Buddhists Talk about Jesus–Christians Talk about the Buddha, Grace Burford, a practicing Buddhist scholar wonders aloud about her Christian counterparts in the book. She asks, “If they were so taken by Buddhism, why did they hang on to Christianity?” Sadly, the Christianity presented in inter-faith dialogue is rarely historic orthodoxy, and more frequently a secularized, syncretized version of Jesus-appreciation plus Western-style tolerance. Maybe this explains Burford’s title to her chapter: “If the Buddha is So Great, Why are These People Christians?” (quoted in Timothy C. Tennent, Christianity at the Religious Roundtable, 9-10).
Even for the committed Christian who holds to historic Christian orthodoxy and is a little less enthusiastic about the Buddha, dialogue, sometimes a good foot in the door, can only go so far. A few years ago I asked a retired missionary who spent many of his years in ministry facilitating Christian-Muslim dialogue how many Muslims he saw come to know Jesus from their inter-faith dialogue. “None,” he told me. Then I asked if he ever saw any Christians convert to Islam. “Sure,” he said, “a few.” Hardly a ringing endorsement for reaching the unreached by dialogue.
Intra-Christian debates are just as overrun by dialogue–the tool of choice for resolving (read: delaying) denominational conflicts, especially those having to do with homosexuality. The plea is always for more talking. But do we ever call an end to the meeting of the minds and simply make up our minds? Do we ever declare, ala Martin Luther, “Here we stand”? Are there any issues so clear and so important that to spend time in dialogue would not be a sign of patient discernment but of cowardly equivocation? Does there come a time when the need to rest on the side of truth means we resign ourselves to the fact that there are going to be “winners” and “losers”? When do we swallow hard and admit that it’s fruitless to dialogue for the sake of unity when both sides don’t agree on anything except the most nebulous, ambivalent, watered-down expressions of Christianity?
I think the Apostle Paul would be truly exasperated by our endless conversation. No doubt, he was willing to continue teaching and “dialoguing” with people who wanted to know more about Jesus. But for deserters and false teachers, he had little patience. He called them out by name–Alexander, Hymenaeus, Philetus, Demas, Phygellus, Hermogenes–and warned his fledgling flocks, “Be on your guard against them.” So much for dialogue.
And then there’s the word “inclusion.” Another fine word in its own right. Considering the church’s spotted past in excluding people for the wrong reasons–too poor, too black, too awkward–inclusion can sound awfully good. And it is, when by “inclusion” we mean something like “welcome.” The church, of all places, should be an inviting haven for any sinner-come-lately and any socio-category that treasures Jesus in faith and repentance, or is simply looking for spiritual guidance.
So what’s the problem? The problem is one of boundaries. I am convinced that most of our wrangling in churches and denominations is over where to put up fences. What are the boundaries for fellowship? Membership? Leadership? What does one have to believe, say, or do in order to be counted as one of us? Where inclusionists have gone wrong is in removing theological and ethical boundaries that are essential in defining what it means to be Christian.
Picture a wide open field with a fenced-in square in the middle. The fence posts are doctrines, behaviors, and affections. The area inside the fence is Christianity. Outside the fence is not Christianity. If we put the fence somewhere else or remove it entirely, we no longer have anything definably Christian. If we take down all, or most, of the key fence posts in the name of inclusion, we may have included more people, but not in any meaningful way. In all the hubbub about inclusion, the irony is that it cannot exist without exclusion. Caroline Westerhoff writes:
If anyone and everyone are too easily included, we are saying in effect that anything goes. We are disclaiming boundaries. And as our membership is more and more made up of those who will not or cannot confirm some measure of adherence to the core practices and values of the defined community, that community as we have known it will disappear…if even initial membership is without qualification, then we stand for little other than being nonsensically “inclusive.” If belonging is without obligation and accountability, then we finally have not joined much of anything at all, and any significance that community might have held for us evaporates like mist (“Good Fences: The Boundaries of Hospitality,” 29).
It should be commonsense when you stop and think about it. What is the great humanitarian feat in having all kinds of people join some inclusive institution, when the institution itself has no boundaries to define what it means to be a member? It’s kind of silly to speak of joining a group that doesn’t stand for anything and doesn’t turn anyone away. What, then, have you really joined?
Of course, in the end, inclusive churches and other institutions do have boundaries. Even the most wildly accepting community draws the line somewhere and excludes some people, usually those who are less wildly accepting of the same things they are.
In other words, every institution, if it is any kind of discernible community, has its own creed and convictions. Some are published, publicly recited, and rooted in Scripture. Others are unwritten, but no less powerful. Every group that can be meaningfully joined stands against some other group. Inclusive churches are inclusive of gays, lesbians, and doctrinal innovation. But they are exclusive (though it won’t be written down in any by-laws) toward those who cannot tolerate homosexuality in the church and advocate doctrinal standards. For inclusionists, nonjudgmentalism does not usually extend to those who put up their fences a little closer in.
If inclusionists—be they emergents, inter-faith gurus, or social gospel acolytes—draw their boundaries to exclude evangelicals, fundamentalists, traditional Catholics, and others they deem theological nit-picks, that is their perfect right. It would be nice, however, if they realized they were exclusive like the rest of us.
Who knows, with a little dialogue, maybe they will.
6.09.2009
Defining Discourse Down
By Kevin DeYoung
No one has mistaken our day as an age of powerful, rational discourse. The McLaughlin Group doesn’t usually evoke memories of Lincoln-Douglas, and Twittering about your favorite bagel from Panera isn’t exactly correspondence on the level of John and Abigail Adams.
But perhaps I’m being unfair. When has any debate in the last 150 years evoked memories of Lincoln-Douglas? And how is Twitter versus America’s most remarkable letter-writing first family a fair fight? But even if these comparisons are stacked, who would argue against the notion that we have defined discourse down? The discourse of the average educated adult conversing in the realm of ideas with another average educated adult is not, on average, very educated, let alone interesting.
So what’s the problem? It’s not that we are all suddenly morons. This is not going to be some elitist rant on “if only everyone could be smart like me and my friends.” Likewise, the problem is not the banality of the world around us. There is plenty to discuss, dissect, and disagree on. The problem is not even that television has robbed us of the ability to communicate in complete sentences (though it certainly hasn’t helped). The problem with our discourse (are you ready for this brilliant insight?) is that some people are jerks and some people are too nice.
Let’s start with the jerk problem.
Sad but true, the internet was made for jerks. Every comment is more or less anonymous and every comment goes up whether the person has a clue or not. So we end up with a world of senseless blog fury where some anonymous clown with a name like “Spider86x” or “Cowgirl_B52” can rip you every which way but loose. Post something critical about Obama’s socks or point out that the Big East had more teams in the tournament than anyone else because there are, like, thirty-seven teams in the conference, and someone out there will curse the day you were born. Instead of responding to your arguments against inflationary monetary policy, “KeynesKid24” will mock your Blogger picture, lay down some none too subtle sexual innuendo, and call you a liar. Hell hath no fury like a scorned blogger with too much free time.
So the jerk problem is easy to see. But the nice problem can be just as bad. Think of all the work you have to do nowadays before you can disagree with someone. First, you have to do a lot of “I’m not saying . . . I’m just saying.” Then you have to reassure everyone that so-and-so is probably a great guy. Next, you make clear that you appreciate that he doesn’t kill people and his family seems sweet. And finally you admit that you could be wrong about everything anyway. All this to suggest that maybe, just maybe, God the Father is not best understood through the lens of Aunt Jemima.
A few months ago I was doing a phone interview for a new book I had coming out. Part way through the conversation, the gentlemen asked me why I had taken two pages to be critical of a popular Christian author. I explained that I thought he made some serious mistakes in theology, mistakes that can easily confuse laymen in the church. The man interviewing me then asked why I wrote some nice sentences about the author before critiquing him for two pages. Wasn’t I talking out of both sides of my mouth? I explained that I hoped not. I really meant what I said. I didn’t want to question the author’s sincerity; I trusted that his motives were good. To which my interviewer replied something like, “Don’t you think we should be able to disagree with others without so many caveats? It sounds phony.”
Well, it was too late to change what I had written, but I think the interviewer was right. Why should I assume that just because a Catholic might think I’m estranged from the true Church or a Baptist might think I’m sinning by sprinkling babies that they must also think I flick people off on my daily commute and secretly harbor violent thoughts toward puppies? Can’t I take a disagreement without taking it personally? Can’t I give a disagreement without fearing that I’ll be called nasty and unfair?
The problem with the nice problem is twofold. First, we are all victims or want to be victims. We argue emotions not ideas. We debate who has been hurt more or who was meaner, rather than who is right and who is wrong. If I can position myself as the one under attack and you as the attacker, then I’m more than halfway to winning in the court of public opinion. We all want to root for the underdogs. We all want nice guys to finish first.
Second, we are all proud. Because I’m proud I get hurt when people disagree with me strongly. Because I’m proud I feel the need to give thirteen qualifications before I make an argument, not usually because I’m a swell guy but because I love for people to love me and loathe for them to dislike or misunderstand me. Because I’m proud I hedge my criticisms so that I won’t have to publicly repent and recant when I go too far and get something wrong. Because we’re proud, protectors of self more than lovers of truth, we often don’t discuss things with candor or with verve.
And yet, look at the model provided by Jesus in the gospels. Half of his sayings beg for qualifications. Come on Jesus, give us a little “I’m not saying . . . I’m just saying” before you tell us to hate our parents (Luke 14:26). Issue a few caveats before you use the tragedy of the tower of Siloam to call people to repent of their sins (Luke 13:4–5). Tell us something about how the Pharisees really mean well before you lambast them with woes (Luke 11). Of course, Jesus was Jesus and we are not. But judging from the example of Paul, Peter, John, the Church Fathers and the Reformers, the point still stands. It is possible to be too nice, especially when eternal truth is at stake.
Here, then, a little advice for the tough guys: Save the big guns for the big issues. Don’t try to die on every hill; the hills are crowded already and you only have so many lives to lose. Be courteous wherever possible (Col. 4:6). Drop the rhetorical bombs and launch the satire missiles only as a last resort. Be patient with those who really want to understand (2 Tim. 2:25). And remember, it’s ok to have an unarticulated thought (Prov. 18:2).
And for the tender ones: Dare to not qualify. Don’t pad your criticisms with fluff praise (Gal. 1:10). If you have affirmations of substances, go for it. But don’t be a self-protective flatterer. Don’t be afraid to be misunderstood. Don’t soften a needed jab of logic. And when you get an ad hominen right hook, don’t take it personally (1 Cor. 4:3–4).
And for everyone: please, please argue with actual arguments. Don’t just emote or dismiss the other side with labels. Explain why your side makes more sense. Try more persuasion, less pouting (2 Cor. 5:11). Give reasons, not just reactions (Acts 18:19).
Here’s hoping against hope that thinking adults, Christians especially, can sustain meaningful discourse without resorting to name-calling or cowardly equivocation. Christ calls us to love, which is something entirely different than being a jerk or playing it safe. A.W. Tozer got it right: “The kingdom of God, has suffered a great deal of harm from fighters¯men who would rather fight than pray; but the kingdom of God has also been done great harm by men who would rather be nice than right.”
Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor of University Reformed Church in East Lansing, Michigan. His recent books include Just Do Something: How to Make a Decision Without Dreams, Visions, Fleeces, Open Doors, Random Bible Verses, Casting Lots, Liver Shivers, Writing in the Sky, etc.
HT: First Things
No one has mistaken our day as an age of powerful, rational discourse. The McLaughlin Group doesn’t usually evoke memories of Lincoln-Douglas, and Twittering about your favorite bagel from Panera isn’t exactly correspondence on the level of John and Abigail Adams.
But perhaps I’m being unfair. When has any debate in the last 150 years evoked memories of Lincoln-Douglas? And how is Twitter versus America’s most remarkable letter-writing first family a fair fight? But even if these comparisons are stacked, who would argue against the notion that we have defined discourse down? The discourse of the average educated adult conversing in the realm of ideas with another average educated adult is not, on average, very educated, let alone interesting.
So what’s the problem? It’s not that we are all suddenly morons. This is not going to be some elitist rant on “if only everyone could be smart like me and my friends.” Likewise, the problem is not the banality of the world around us. There is plenty to discuss, dissect, and disagree on. The problem is not even that television has robbed us of the ability to communicate in complete sentences (though it certainly hasn’t helped). The problem with our discourse (are you ready for this brilliant insight?) is that some people are jerks and some people are too nice.
Let’s start with the jerk problem.
Sad but true, the internet was made for jerks. Every comment is more or less anonymous and every comment goes up whether the person has a clue or not. So we end up with a world of senseless blog fury where some anonymous clown with a name like “Spider86x” or “Cowgirl_B52” can rip you every which way but loose. Post something critical about Obama’s socks or point out that the Big East had more teams in the tournament than anyone else because there are, like, thirty-seven teams in the conference, and someone out there will curse the day you were born. Instead of responding to your arguments against inflationary monetary policy, “KeynesKid24” will mock your Blogger picture, lay down some none too subtle sexual innuendo, and call you a liar. Hell hath no fury like a scorned blogger with too much free time.
So the jerk problem is easy to see. But the nice problem can be just as bad. Think of all the work you have to do nowadays before you can disagree with someone. First, you have to do a lot of “I’m not saying . . . I’m just saying.” Then you have to reassure everyone that so-and-so is probably a great guy. Next, you make clear that you appreciate that he doesn’t kill people and his family seems sweet. And finally you admit that you could be wrong about everything anyway. All this to suggest that maybe, just maybe, God the Father is not best understood through the lens of Aunt Jemima.
A few months ago I was doing a phone interview for a new book I had coming out. Part way through the conversation, the gentlemen asked me why I had taken two pages to be critical of a popular Christian author. I explained that I thought he made some serious mistakes in theology, mistakes that can easily confuse laymen in the church. The man interviewing me then asked why I wrote some nice sentences about the author before critiquing him for two pages. Wasn’t I talking out of both sides of my mouth? I explained that I hoped not. I really meant what I said. I didn’t want to question the author’s sincerity; I trusted that his motives were good. To which my interviewer replied something like, “Don’t you think we should be able to disagree with others without so many caveats? It sounds phony.”
Well, it was too late to change what I had written, but I think the interviewer was right. Why should I assume that just because a Catholic might think I’m estranged from the true Church or a Baptist might think I’m sinning by sprinkling babies that they must also think I flick people off on my daily commute and secretly harbor violent thoughts toward puppies? Can’t I take a disagreement without taking it personally? Can’t I give a disagreement without fearing that I’ll be called nasty and unfair?
The problem with the nice problem is twofold. First, we are all victims or want to be victims. We argue emotions not ideas. We debate who has been hurt more or who was meaner, rather than who is right and who is wrong. If I can position myself as the one under attack and you as the attacker, then I’m more than halfway to winning in the court of public opinion. We all want to root for the underdogs. We all want nice guys to finish first.
Second, we are all proud. Because I’m proud I get hurt when people disagree with me strongly. Because I’m proud I feel the need to give thirteen qualifications before I make an argument, not usually because I’m a swell guy but because I love for people to love me and loathe for them to dislike or misunderstand me. Because I’m proud I hedge my criticisms so that I won’t have to publicly repent and recant when I go too far and get something wrong. Because we’re proud, protectors of self more than lovers of truth, we often don’t discuss things with candor or with verve.
And yet, look at the model provided by Jesus in the gospels. Half of his sayings beg for qualifications. Come on Jesus, give us a little “I’m not saying . . . I’m just saying” before you tell us to hate our parents (Luke 14:26). Issue a few caveats before you use the tragedy of the tower of Siloam to call people to repent of their sins (Luke 13:4–5). Tell us something about how the Pharisees really mean well before you lambast them with woes (Luke 11). Of course, Jesus was Jesus and we are not. But judging from the example of Paul, Peter, John, the Church Fathers and the Reformers, the point still stands. It is possible to be too nice, especially when eternal truth is at stake.
Here, then, a little advice for the tough guys: Save the big guns for the big issues. Don’t try to die on every hill; the hills are crowded already and you only have so many lives to lose. Be courteous wherever possible (Col. 4:6). Drop the rhetorical bombs and launch the satire missiles only as a last resort. Be patient with those who really want to understand (2 Tim. 2:25). And remember, it’s ok to have an unarticulated thought (Prov. 18:2).
And for the tender ones: Dare to not qualify. Don’t pad your criticisms with fluff praise (Gal. 1:10). If you have affirmations of substances, go for it. But don’t be a self-protective flatterer. Don’t be afraid to be misunderstood. Don’t soften a needed jab of logic. And when you get an ad hominen right hook, don’t take it personally (1 Cor. 4:3–4).
And for everyone: please, please argue with actual arguments. Don’t just emote or dismiss the other side with labels. Explain why your side makes more sense. Try more persuasion, less pouting (2 Cor. 5:11). Give reasons, not just reactions (Acts 18:19).
Here’s hoping against hope that thinking adults, Christians especially, can sustain meaningful discourse without resorting to name-calling or cowardly equivocation. Christ calls us to love, which is something entirely different than being a jerk or playing it safe. A.W. Tozer got it right: “The kingdom of God, has suffered a great deal of harm from fighters¯men who would rather fight than pray; but the kingdom of God has also been done great harm by men who would rather be nice than right.”
Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor of University Reformed Church in East Lansing, Michigan. His recent books include Just Do Something: How to Make a Decision Without Dreams, Visions, Fleeces, Open Doors, Random Bible Verses, Casting Lots, Liver Shivers, Writing in the Sky, etc.
HT: First Things
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