I made a commitment to non-violence in 2009, after surviving the coup that ousted Honduran then-president Manuel Zalaya. It wasn't that singular event that persuaded me to commit to peace, but was rather a long series of events that culminated in a so called "moment of clarity."
Antecedents
My spiritual heritage finds its roots in the undercurrent of 16th century religious reform - alternately called the "Radical Reformation," "the Anabaptists (re-baptizers)," or the "left wing" of the Protestant Reformation. Despite some suggestions to the contrary, most scholars now agree that this movement originated in Zurich ca 1524. The hallmarks of this type of Christianity are equality among the faithful, social justice, and non-violence (there are of course other aspects of this heritage that are emphasized by others, but these are the points of emphasis in my religious history).
I grew up always having some notion that lethal violence was bad, and that it was always better for people to live than to die. But along the way I became convinced that there were certain situations where it was necessary for someone to die. Most compelling to me was the history of WWII. I was absolutely convinced that the Allies were right in opposing Hitler's Nazism. This conviction illustrated to me that there are certain situations that demand lethal force.
Exceptions that prove or exceptions that deny?
So let me back up a little bit and explain what exactly I mean by non-violence. Non-violence to me is a pretext for dialogue: It is an orientation of discourse that seeks to answer the injustices of such evils as Nazism before they demand violent response. Non-violence to me is not a reactive measure - a passive resignation to the triumph of evil should it manifest itself in power - but is a proactive stance that seeks to identify evil before it has a chance to take root. That stance attempts to reveal and subvert evil before it demands violent response. The failure in the context of WWII was not the Allied response to Hitler's aggression, but was instead the unwillingness to check the Nazi regime's aggression preemptively.
Make it smaller.
Okay, so Nazi's and the holocaust are extreme examples, and hopefully not ones we are ever going to face in real life (although don't rule it out). What about a mugging? Or a home invasion? What then? Do we condemn our families to death by inaction when it seems unavoidable? Again, the answer is pre-emptive. What can I do to identify those potentialities and undercut them before they become reality? Can I avoid a mugging by how I dress? Can I avoid a home invasion by not flaunting my wealth or by making sure my house is secure? Perhaps not, but I can work towards reforming the social conditions that make mugging or home invasion attractive activities. I can advocate for better working conditions for others. I can commit myself to a community where my neighbors know me and know that I am looking out for their interests, and hopefully they will do the same.
Boil it down.
But ultimately, it boils down to a faith that relies on God for my protection and an understanding of the world that sees Love as the antithesis of fear and hatred. I cannot profess loving someone I kill, and therefore I cannot kill someone if I profess to love them.
NATHAN MYRICK
The Older Brother
This post is inspired by Erwin McManus' sermon of 14 December, 2014.
Have you ever felt like you are on the wrong side of a story? Like the things that happen to you should have happened to someone else, or that the things that happened to someone else should have happened to you?
Have you ever watched someone make a terrible decision and been powerless to stop it? Maybe you've even tried to stop them; tried to explain how they were making a mistake; tried to alert them to the dangers of what they were doing?
Has it ever seemed like the entire country was devolving into violence, anger and hatred? And despite your loud yelling, obvious logic, and confident propositions no one listened to you?
I have.
And let me tell you how I've responded: I've been critical, angry, and petty. I've been despondent, ready to throw in the towel on this whole Christianity thing.
And I've been self-righteous.
I've been angry at the unjust flourishing enjoyed by those who seem to only care about their own interests and getting their own way--no matter what it costs others. I've been livid by what I perceive as self-absorbed piety.
And I've been angry at God for allowing the world to be like this.
But it gets worse. I've been angry at God because the people who seem to be the worst violators of justice and peace are those who call themselves Christians. And even worse still is that these people who claim to follow Jesus are claimed by Jesus too! They enjoy all the benefits of their privileged position, thinking that all they need to do is acknowledge that it was God who gave them that privilege.
And it makes me angry.
So angry in fact that I don't want to go to church, listen to a sermon, sing a song, or talk about Jesus. I've begun to feel as if the people at church are there celebrating themselves and the good fortune of being them.
Breathe.
In Luke 15 Jesus tells the parable that is commonly called "The Prodigal Son." I used to think I loved that story, because that's what good Christians do: they love stories of redemption and hope. But over the years I've begun to like it less and less. Not because I stopped loving redemption and hope, but because I started to realize that my identification with this story was not that of the prodigal, but of the the other son.
I am the older son.
I've never gone off the rails. I've made good decisions. I've done good things in my life. But I am critical and judgmental of those who haven't--let me qualify that-- I've been critical and judgmental of those who are critical and judgmental. I am what I critique. And I need to change.
Not a change that stops calling to a destructive world, but a change in my own heart. A change of how I feel about my fellow "older brother" types. And a change of how I feel about God.
Because the story in Luke 15 is really about God. It is really about a God who loves even the most disgustingly self-righteous as well as the most disgustingly unrighteous and wants to bring both types home. And I need to celebrate when they, like I, come home.
Have you ever felt like you are on the wrong side of a story? Like the things that happen to you should have happened to someone else, or that the things that happened to someone else should have happened to you?
Have you ever watched someone make a terrible decision and been powerless to stop it? Maybe you've even tried to stop them; tried to explain how they were making a mistake; tried to alert them to the dangers of what they were doing?
Has it ever seemed like the entire country was devolving into violence, anger and hatred? And despite your loud yelling, obvious logic, and confident propositions no one listened to you?
I have.
And let me tell you how I've responded: I've been critical, angry, and petty. I've been despondent, ready to throw in the towel on this whole Christianity thing.
And I've been self-righteous.
I've been angry at the unjust flourishing enjoyed by those who seem to only care about their own interests and getting their own way--no matter what it costs others. I've been livid by what I perceive as self-absorbed piety.
And I've been angry at God for allowing the world to be like this.
But it gets worse. I've been angry at God because the people who seem to be the worst violators of justice and peace are those who call themselves Christians. And even worse still is that these people who claim to follow Jesus are claimed by Jesus too! They enjoy all the benefits of their privileged position, thinking that all they need to do is acknowledge that it was God who gave them that privilege.
And it makes me angry.
So angry in fact that I don't want to go to church, listen to a sermon, sing a song, or talk about Jesus. I've begun to feel as if the people at church are there celebrating themselves and the good fortune of being them.
Breathe.
In Luke 15 Jesus tells the parable that is commonly called "The Prodigal Son." I used to think I loved that story, because that's what good Christians do: they love stories of redemption and hope. But over the years I've begun to like it less and less. Not because I stopped loving redemption and hope, but because I started to realize that my identification with this story was not that of the prodigal, but of the the other son.
I am the older son.
I've never gone off the rails. I've made good decisions. I've done good things in my life. But I am critical and judgmental of those who haven't--let me qualify that-- I've been critical and judgmental of those who are critical and judgmental. I am what I critique. And I need to change.
Not a change that stops calling to a destructive world, but a change in my own heart. A change of how I feel about my fellow "older brother" types. And a change of how I feel about God.
Because the story in Luke 15 is really about God. It is really about a God who loves even the most disgustingly self-righteous as well as the most disgustingly unrighteous and wants to bring both types home. And I need to celebrate when they, like I, come home.
Let's Talk About Tone
Over the past few months my social media channels have become more and more saturated with social debates on a broad range of topics. As I have sought to engage these topics effectively, I have become more and more combative in my engagements. This is not due to an intention but to a lack thereof.
Let me explain.
It has always been my purpose in any such debate to advocate for my position with a particular tone: that of gentleness, respect, and love. But over time, this intention became over shadowed by a desire for my voice to be heard. This desire to be heard resulted in an increase in volume, and a decrease in the nuance of my tone.
Think of it like a guitar amplifier.
Many guitar amps sound great turned all the way up. But when I say they sound great, I mean in terms of distortion. I personally LOVE distortion in my guitar amp--a modded 100w Marshall half stack--but the tone emitted from the speakers when cranked and distorted is only appropriate for certain functions. When accompanying a jazz crooner my distorted guitar amp is completely the wrong tone.
It is the same with conversations about justice and equality.
What I or anyone else has to say on those topics may well be valid, needed--even right. But if the mode of purveying that perspective is a cranked up Marshall in an intimate gathering then the beauty of both the gathering and the Marshall is completely lost.
How do you know if it's the right tone?
Does it build up or tear down? Does it belittle or encourage? That is how you know whether the tone of your argument is right. Even if the other party is wrong, you will not be right if your tone is combative and devaluing of their perspective. And from a purely practical perspective, you will never achieve you true aims through combative dialogue.
And friends, I've been combative. And I'm here to tell you I've been wrong.
Not about my positions. I will continue to advocate for the marginalized and the oppressed, because that is what Jesus did and what he clearly expects from his followers. But the way I do so must always be in love. This love does not mean that I silently allow evil to be carried out, but that by my words and actions I expose that evil for what it is without becoming evil myself. And I become evil myself when I fight evil with evil.
And do you know why I fight evil with evil?
Because I am afraid. Afraid of not sticking up for the right cause. Afraid of losing an argument. Afraid of losing face after losing an argument. But fear is always the wrong reason to engage. Fear creates more fear; creates more enemies. But love makes enemies less so. Not by allowing them to do evil uncontested, but by contesting it in such a way as to reveal its depravity without becoming evil in the process.
But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same?And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect. Mt. 5:44-48.
Let me explain.
It has always been my purpose in any such debate to advocate for my position with a particular tone: that of gentleness, respect, and love. But over time, this intention became over shadowed by a desire for my voice to be heard. This desire to be heard resulted in an increase in volume, and a decrease in the nuance of my tone.
Think of it like a guitar amplifier.
Many guitar amps sound great turned all the way up. But when I say they sound great, I mean in terms of distortion. I personally LOVE distortion in my guitar amp--a modded 100w Marshall half stack--but the tone emitted from the speakers when cranked and distorted is only appropriate for certain functions. When accompanying a jazz crooner my distorted guitar amp is completely the wrong tone.
It is the same with conversations about justice and equality.
What I or anyone else has to say on those topics may well be valid, needed--even right. But if the mode of purveying that perspective is a cranked up Marshall in an intimate gathering then the beauty of both the gathering and the Marshall is completely lost.
How do you know if it's the right tone?
Does it build up or tear down? Does it belittle or encourage? That is how you know whether the tone of your argument is right. Even if the other party is wrong, you will not be right if your tone is combative and devaluing of their perspective. And from a purely practical perspective, you will never achieve you true aims through combative dialogue.
And friends, I've been combative. And I'm here to tell you I've been wrong.
Not about my positions. I will continue to advocate for the marginalized and the oppressed, because that is what Jesus did and what he clearly expects from his followers. But the way I do so must always be in love. This love does not mean that I silently allow evil to be carried out, but that by my words and actions I expose that evil for what it is without becoming evil myself. And I become evil myself when I fight evil with evil.
And do you know why I fight evil with evil?
Because I am afraid. Afraid of not sticking up for the right cause. Afraid of losing an argument. Afraid of losing face after losing an argument. But fear is always the wrong reason to engage. Fear creates more fear; creates more enemies. But love makes enemies less so. Not by allowing them to do evil uncontested, but by contesting it in such a way as to reveal its depravity without becoming evil in the process.
But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same?And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect. Mt. 5:44-48.
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