On the Power of Nice

In the past few years, I have left behind much of the evangelical guilt that for so long crushed my soul. Whether it was a stated goal of “making more and better disciples” (sending a clear message that whatever level of discipleship we were at wasn't good enough) or frequent calls to pray more, read the Bible more, evangelize more, or attend church more, the overriding message was that whatever we were doing wasn't enough. Never enough.

Of the many blog feeds I read on a regular basis, only a handful are connected to that old evangelical world of guilt. A recent article from Relevant magazine had me checking the source. It seemed out of step with the typical message from that editorial team. In this case, the “not good enough” message was that simply being a good person – kind, even loving – would never attract anyone to Christ.

This is, of course, not a new message for me. In a world where nothing is ever good enough, being a nice person certainly isn't going to earn any gold stars, and the writer of that article is far from the first person to explain this to me. His words stirred up all the internal protests of old.

What is the basis of this conclusion? The author notes that when someone is kind, even loving, toward him or his family, he thinks it's wonderful, but he doesn't tag that person as a Christian, just as a nice person. If he personally doesn't associate kindness with Christianity, why would anyone else?

It is interesting. For many years, I fretted over my inability to be a “soul-winner.” I tried my best to witness and swing conversations around to spiritual matters. I found it impossible to do without coming across as beyond awkward and alienating people. Maybe that is because I am a terrible Christian. Maybe it is because I am not comfortable with making other people uncomfortable and sabotaging my relationships. (If I were a better Christian, I suppose witnessing to others would not sabotage my relationships, but despite all my best efforts I could never get there.) 

In all my life, I have just one memory of someone introducing me to another person as a “real Christian.” It surprised me since I had never discussed my faith with that person. All I had ever done was express an interest in his life, in his pain and grief. That's it. I was nice to him. And I tried to speak  with kindness to and about other people in his presence.

At the time of the introduction we were standing in an evangelical church. This man and his friend were waiting in line to pick up a box of groceries. I was simply hanging out with the people in line, not particularly contributing anything to the food distribution effort. There was an implication in his words that not all who are involved in that church or maybe any church are “real Christians.” Not that there are sinners sneaking in, but that those who profess to be saints might not be the genuine article. Why would he doubt the genuineness of active church members and label me as the real thing? What was the difference? Certainly not my ability to verbalize my faith! The only possible difference I could think of is that he saw kindness and compassion in me that he didn't see in those whose Christianity he doubted.

I have been thinking about the Relevant article for a couple of days. As it has hovered in the back of my mind, I have noticed again how mean Christians are on social media. Someone in a Facebook group is struggling in her marriage. The other women in the group rally around her and say, “Walk away from that bum! You deserve better!” I can't imagine the disgust that would come my way if I gently pointed out that the marriage might be worth fighting for. Yes, it's a rebound relationship and maybe progressed too quickly, but it seems there is good there, that maybe my Facebook friend is being a little overly sensitive, and maybe counseling could help. Is it kind to advise someone to throw away their marriage without encouraging her to step back and see if there is something salvageable in it? No one in the group knows the husband personally. How can they so easily discount any efforts he might be putting into the relationship? It hasn't been so long since we were hearing how wonderful he was. And her current complaints don't strike me as signs that the marriage needs to end. Why does the group have so little compassion for the husband and hope for the marriage to survive and thrive?

In another FB group someone is unhappy with the conservative church they are attending. The group comes together and shouts, “Walk away! These losers aren't worth your effort! Drive however far you need to get from your local community to find a more progressive faith community!”

On Twitter someone tells a story of a seminary professor making offensive comments about a Bible passage. Progressive Christian Twitter takes up arms to drive that professor out of Dodge. “Report him! Such comments are horrible! He must be a horrible person! Who is he? I'll take him out myself!”

A friend once said, “Never underestimate the power of nice,” but the author of the Relevant article doesn't associate “nice” with Christianity. The message is that a person encountering niceness wouldn't know what lay behind it. I wonder. Is the article perhaps also a commentary on how unlikely people are to associate Christianity with kindness?

Jesus told his disciples that people would recognize their connection to him by their love. (see John 13:35) Why do people assert that love will never be enough to make people think we are associated with Jesus, that we're obviously going to have to tell them (even if they don't ask) or they'll never know?

There are several questions here: 

1) Can people be consistently loving, good, and kind without knowing Christ? 

2) Is genuine loving kindness rare enough for people to be surprised by it and wonder what lies behind it? 

3) Can people know Christ and still show a marked lack of love and compassion in their lives?

I would say “yes” to the first question, but find it unlikely in anyone who hasn't gone deep spiritually. It requires a certain level of faith that life works best when we focus more on the interests of others than our own interests. That is what Jesus taught. Some have discovered that truth by taking other paths, but it is rare even in Christianity. The drive to look out for our own interests at the price of harming others is strong.

The second question is one we can each assess in our own world. How many people do you personally know who are characterized by kindness and consideration toward other people in their words and actions – to those present and not present? I have occasionally been surprised when a Christian I have seen as consistently kind and gentle exposes, in an unguarded moment, a deep vein of bitterness in their soul toward someone. I blink a couple of times and hold my tongue, but it throws me. Does everyone have areas of rancor in their innermost beings? Is there hope for healing in those areas? My friend who noted the unexpected “power of nice” may be onto something. “Nice” that permeates someone's entire being may be rare indeed. Sometimes I wonder if it exists anywhere? When I do run across love and compassion, it makes me think the one showing it, whether intentionally or not, is validating the truth found in the teachings of Jesus Christ.

As for the third question, I'm not the one to pass judgment on the connection others have to Christ. I will let those outside the church assess the attractiveness of such Christians while treasuring that one moment when someone described me as a “real Christian” based on how nice I had been to him and others. I pray I may live up to such an assessment. Having walked away from the guilt-laden atmosphere of evangelicalism, I am willing to let my life speak for itself. Jesus said, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” I have concluded that the act of following is my first and best strategy for making a difference in my world.

Do I talk about my faith? Uhm, well, that's what I'm doing right now. If you have made it this far, I presume you are interested in such matters. Faith is one of my favorite topics, right up there with books and gardening. But part of putting other people's interests ahead of my own is talking about what interests them! And many people don't want to discuss religion, particularly those who aren't religious.

Faith is part of who I am, an essential part. I read about it, write about it, talk about it. But I no longer try to talk about it to someone who doesn't want to discuss it. I'm nicer than that. And one should never underestimate the power of nice.

On an Internet Meme

 I have left a lot of the evangelical subculture behind in the past few years. Part of doing so involves a deliberate focus on what lies in the direction I'm moving rather than on what is happening in the rearview mirror. This may, however, be the first of a series of thoughts on what I'm encountering among the faithful remnant carrying the flag of evangelicalism. My hope is that I can be gentle and kind in my response. We'll see how it goes.

Some of my social media friends have posted this meme in the past few days. The first time I cringed and scrolled on. I repeated my frequent instructions to myself: “Just ignore it. There is no need to respond.” Then someone I highly respect shared it. That made me stop and look more closely and ask: What is it about this meme that makes me cringe?

I think I'm mostly fine with the second half. I certainly agree that God is worthy of my worship, although I don't know that I need to go to church to worship God. Some would argue that point, but I'm not particularly interested in that discussion. As to the flawed people who gather at church, some of my friends love the idea that, as one songwriter put it, “the cross has made me flawless.” Others sport bumper stickers that say, “Christians aren't perfect, just forgiven.” 

Are church people hopelessly flawed? Does grace cover our flaws? As Christians do we get a pass for being less than perfect? Less than loving? Less than moral? Less than honest? Less than ethical? Less than kind? Again, there are plenty of people to discuss this topic, and I'm probably not going to spend a lot of time joining them. I don't think I am in a position to critique someone who decides they prefer to spend Sunday mornings in the company of people who have the overall effect of lifting them up rather than bringing them down. Is it too much to admit that there are more than a few toxic and dysfunctional congregations operating in the world of Christianity?

As I studied the meme, I realized what really bothers me is the first line: “Stop looking for a perfect church.” It is in the form of a command. To whom? People who are looking for perfect churches. Obviously. Those people should stop.

I presume that those who share this meme on Facebook have encountered people they think are looking for a perfect church. How have they discerned this? Do such people say, “I am leaving this church behind. It has imperfect people and I am on a quest to find a perfect church”? I suspect not. There are many reasons why people choose to walk away from a faith community. The hope that they might find a flawless group of people around the block or down the road is probably not among those reasons. Ever. 

This idea that people are looking for a perfect church comes not from those leaving but from those left behind. They are stung by the departure. They feel the rejection. They are faced with two options:

1. The group being left behind are the problem.

2. The people leaving are the problem

The first option is uncomfortable. If I am among those left behind and I start to think the problem lies with me, I deal with guilt and become defensive. I fear anything I do will be seen by critics as wrong. I become paralyzed.  On the other hand, if I blame the departure on others in the group, I become critical and negative.  My own unity with the group starts to suffer. Dealing with rejection is difficult!

The second option is so much nicer. We are fine. Sure, we're imperfect, but we don't deserve to be left behind like this. It's obvious those leaving are the ones who have the problem. They must think there's a perfect church out there somewhere. Let's make a meme that makes us feel better about how imperfect we are and makes those leaving look like they have impossibly high standards. Yes, that's a great idea.

Is there a better path? I hope so. I presume there are plenty of books and therapy approaches to help people deal with rejection personally that can also be applied to being rejected as a faith community. There are probably steps such as introspection to assess the validity of the reasons being actually voiced by those walking away versus the easy 'they are the ones with a problem' reasons assigned to them by internet memes. The first step would be to ask those leaving why they are going. Some groups do something called an “exit interview” to help them hear what they need to hear. Presuming they can somehow collect that information and understand it, they can then take an honest look at themselves and respond to what they have heard. Are changes needed? Given the group's core values (presuming they have discerned those values), how can they adjust in response to the critique? Do others share the perspective of those leaving? How valid is the critique? Is there any nugget of truth in an otherwise questionable critique that can be mined for value?

Somewhere between the first option of paralyzing self-blame in the face of rejection and and the second option of self-justification by labeling those leaving as the ones with the problem, there is a path of healthy self-assessment that doesn't require placing negative labels on others in order to feel good about ourselves. It may not be as convenient as an internet meme (and comes with its own set of potential pitfalls), but it certainly has more potential for healthy growth as a community.

On Entering the Kingdom of Heaven: Thoughts for Holiness People

Last year I posted three sets of thoughts on this topic -- one, two, three -- and am probably done with the subject for general consumption. However, I still have some thoughts from the perspective of my tribe: the "holiness people" associated with the Church of the Nazarene.

I was introduced to Mildred Bangs Wynkoop's book The Theology of Love in the late 1990s. It was a breath of fresh air to me. I was just discovering new ideas from outside the bubble I had been raised in, where holiness preaching promised freedom from sin and, yet, often produced people who could be described as "mean-spirited." 

I have told the story before of following one of the premiere holiness preachers of my teen years through a cafeteria lunch line and listening to him speak in an irritated, devaluing tone to the young lady working there because the food he wanted was not available. I had noticed a frequent discrepancy between the preaching and the living but thought maybe I just had yet to find a prime example of sanctification. But if this beloved holiness preacher wasn't sanctified to the level of his own preaching, who was? Surely sanctification ought to, at a minimum, generate enough grace and mercy to be kind to a young cafeteria worker who obviously had no control over the menu or the food on hand.

The simplistic answer to this issue is that even sanctified people are still human and get tired and grumpy. Grumpiness is not a sin, it's just grumpiness -- a human response to fatigue and the irritations of life. Grumpy people sometimes direct their irritation toward the wrong people. It's no big deal.

Ok, but, then, what DOES sanctification do for us? The most frequent answer I’ve heard is that it gives us power to refrain from sinning. What is sin? John Wesley famously defined sin as "a voluntary transgression of a known law of God." What known law of God? Again, the easy answer is: "Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt not commit adultery. Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not bear false witness. Honor thy father and thy mother." You know, the Ten Commandments. (This is the answer Jesus gave the young man who asked about inheriting eternal life in Luke 18:18-23, although I'm pretty sure he didn't use King James English in his response. 😁)

Still, as I observed in the first three posts on this subject, pagans often do better than that. They may break some of the Ten Commandments, but they often excel at "love your neighbor as yourself," which Jesus called, along with loving God, the greatest commandment.  

Wynkoop defines holiness as love. And there is actually more to the Wesley quote above. In full it says: "Nothing is sin, strictly speaking, but a voluntary transgression of a known law of God. Therefore, every voluntary breach of the law of love is sin; and nothing else, if we speak properly." (Emphasis added.)

“Love is patient. Love is kind” (1 Corinthians 4:8).

If holiness doesn't make us patient and kind, what good is it? If we don't count impatience and unkindness as "sin," are we true Wesleyans? Aren't these breaches of the law of love? Are all examples of impatience and unkindness in holiness people involuntary and unavoidable, therefore not sin? If so, I ask again, what DOES sanctification do for us? If it's not powerful enough to enable a gracious response to something as trivial as a disappointing cafeteria lunch selection, why bother?

I can't get past the definition I grew up with. Holiness as I heard it preached always seemed to mean following a list of rules: being religious in appearance, doing religious things, keeping oneself clean by avoiding the moral dirt around us. Sanctification was something we could get in a moment and then perfect over a lifetime, having had our sinful nature eradicated and being made pure. I sought that experience for years with growing despair.

Jesus didn't live a life of religious piety that prompted him to move away from people. He was kind to the hurting. He touched the unclean. He hung out with the wrong sort of people. He wasn't afraid of getting dirty. As Rebecca Pippert Manley wrote in Out of the Saltshaker, "It is a profound irony that the Son of God visited this planet and one of the chief complaints against him was that he was not religious enough." Not that he wasn't loving enough. He wasn't "holy" enough.

Holiness, as I have traditionally heard it defined generates a religion long on piety and short on love and compassion toward those who most need it. I try to align the definition of holiness as deeper love and compassion with the messages I've heard, but it doesn't seem to fit. One moves toward broken people, the other maintains a distance from them in order to stay pure.

In my life, I have had to leave traditional holiness preaching behind in order to embrace holiness as love. The first thing I had to do was open the door to the idea that I am not even close to living a sinless life by John Wesley's definition of sin. I am not always kind or patient. Sometimes I am just plain mean. Or grumpy. By choice. (If not a choice in the moment, sometimes a choice in not recognizing and working to avoid my triggers.) I truly dislike some people. It's not a case of "love them but don't like them." The truth is, I don't love them. More, I don't want to love them. In fact, I would be just fine with God smiting them -- just a little. Enough to knock them off their high horse. My love and mercy are far from perfect.

That's not where I want to stay, but it is where I sometimes find myself. In order to move forward, I need to accept that lack of achievement in myself and truly rely on God's grace as a compassionate and merciful God. I don't measure up. I have never measured up. But I am loved by the God who created me, sees and accepts my every blemish, and every day nudges me another step forward. I have not arrived, but by the grace of God, I think I may be making progress.

I like the parallel passages from Matthew's "Sermon on the Mount" and Luke's "Sermon on the Plain." In Matthew 5:48 Jesus says, "Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect." In Luke 6:36 he says, "Be merciful, just as as your Father is merciful" I have heard people explain that "perfect" in Matthew doesn't actually mean perfect, as in flawless. Rather it means completely able to serve a purpose. A perfect tool isn't flawless; but it is completely able to do what it's intended to do. Once again, we're back to the idea of personal qualifications. But what if the goal of a "perfect" life is unwavering mercy toward others? What if that is a goal we always and forever pursue rather than a state we can achieve and then retire from the race? I will admit that the idea of always finding a new goal toward which to strive appeals to me. Every time I finally manage to develop compassion toward one person or group of people, I discover another blind spot I need to work on. I wonder if that old holiness preacher was actively nurturing greater compassion in his heart for the young people serving him in a long string of campground cafeterias. I wonder how often he was able to see them and love them and if he was working on doing it more and better today than yesterday. (For all I know, he may have later apologized to the teen girl in the cafeteria for his irritation.)

The truth is, I fully believe in "heart holiness." I believe God can transform us into people whose primary goal in life is to show love and compassion to all we encounter and who accept every failure to do so as falling into the same category as stealing (from the other person's self-worth), murdering (the sense of value within them that needs to be kept alive and nurtured), and coveting (wanting the self-centered careless life we think others enjoy). It's only when we fully embrace Jesus' call to show compassion and mercy to others that we can see how far we have to go and anticipate moving steadily in that direction.

There is no endpoint for spiritual growth. Maybe someday, with enough perseverance, I can catch up with my "sinner" friends who are entering the kingdom ahead of me. (See Matthew 21:31) That would be a wonderful achievement! I'm still working on it and thankful for every chance I get to see genuine love in action.