Some years ago, I was in Amsterdam to speak at an enormous celebration of Christian ecumenism. The speakers were billeted together in a pleasant retreat centre and enjoyed congenial international company. I breakfasted each day with a Roman Catholic monk who was on his way to serve a community in Sudan. The relaxed and warm atmosphere of the conference was very welcome to him; it provided a peaceful preparation for a future where he might be enveloped in conflict.
On the third morning, he disclosed to me that he would be leaving for the Sudan straight after the convention. He was to replace a colleague who had just been martyred. The colleague had refused to submit to the bullying of local militia. His commitment to truth had meant he was caught up in crossfire between rival forces. My face must have registered shock and concern, as I asked what kind of place he was going to. “Well, volatile, I suppose,” he admitted, “but ordinary people are very needy too, and few “outsiders” ever go there.” I wondered out loud what kind of protection the monks had. He shook his head at the word “protection”, and said he preferred to talk about “trust.” Smiling at my obvious fear on his behalf, he acknowledged, gently, that he was well aware that his own time there might also end in death. He explained quietly, “The Brothers rarely come home, you see.”
His replacement of “protection” with “trust” was a rebuke to me, yet it was entirely in keeping with Christian discipleship. It sums up the commission that Jesus gave to his disciples as he sent them out into the towns and villages (Luke 10). They were to go in faith and vulnerability, seek out the people of peace, receive from those they ministered to, and proclaim the Kingdom of God.
The cultures they entered were not enemy territories, but communities where they healed the sick, and spread the good news. These communities might include people very different from themselves, with diverse views and attitudes, but God was sending them to work and serve in God’s kingdom. This was true too of the monk. And what was clear in him was the same mindset that Jesus commended to the disciples; a readiness to speak truth to power in service of people; a mindset of trust in God that extended beyond suffering and death. For truth and trust alone, rather than concern for self-protection, could pivot him into the life-giving service that changes lives.
I fear we see something rather different in the way that we operate today in our Church. In a politically polarised context, where lies proliferate and truth is at a premium, many Christians have seemed preoccupied with self-protection. A need to ensure that our views are safeguarded, our ways are heeded, and our power exerted have replaced, in many quarters, the simple desire to speak truth and trust God. Christians have become defensive in response to secular culture, and have latched on to “trigger” issues which for them define Christian obedience. Yet they have also developed blindspots where we cannot see the Gospel imperative, and follow leaders who have no time for peace or neighbour-love. It is all to easy to become both aggressive and defensive when we have been blinded by the principalities and power operating in high places.
Especially within the Church, trusting God enables us to listen to those who disagree, and look for ways of working to
gether. When we listen without defensiveness, we might find that we don’t always see things aright. When we speak without aggressiveness, we might find that others are more ready to listen. We might find that even in a season of opposition, change can come. We might sometimes even be able to acknowledge that, although we do not convince others, or see the outcome we believe to be right, ultimately, God’s will could yet be done
But when we develop a siege mentality, we end the conversation, and draw to a swift separation. This can harm our culture, but it is even more harmful within our Church. In a climate where Christians seek power rather than vulnerability, guns rather than peace and scorn of others rather than respect, it becomes ever more difficult to trust those who claim to be believers. We can even see them as those we need to be protected from rather than brothers and sisters who love God and are called to love each other in God’s service. So we pull up the drawbridge, batten down the hatches, and retreat to the trenches, but in so doing become ineffective in proclaiming truth to power.
Perhaps we need to gain more insight from the way in which Jesus always spoke truth to power and refused to be drawn into self-protection. The Gospels record how he exposed the hypocrisy of religious leaders, identified the hollowness of those who made a show of faith, and denied the right of his followers to respond with violence. Even more, he did not allow his family to protect him from the crowds; he overruled his disciples, who wanted to protect him from the dangers ahead in Jerusalem; and he rebuked Peter, who tried to protect him from arrest by violence.
Everything about Christ speaks of truth, vulnerability and trust in God, even to the point of crucifixion. My breakfast friend, replacing his martyred colleague knew this so well. Most of us have barely begun that journey. It is an enormous challenge to follow Christ, but even more challenging when we set off in the wrong direction.
