“I want blood.”
“It’s time to nuke the whole damn area.”
“We need to turn the Middle East into a parking lot.”
“Burn every last one of ’em.”
These aren’t the words of some fatalistic card-carrying heathens, or a group of wild-eyed anarchists bent on blowing-up the world.
These are the words of faithful, loving, professed followers of Jesus Christ.
They are the guttural responses of Christians, to the unfathomable new horrors revealed on our news feeds each day at the hands of the Islamic State; responses that are understandable, justifiable, and completely natural—but are they Christlike?
This certainly isn’t the first time followers of Jesus have had to wrestle with the seeming incongruity of complete devotion to a teacher who preached so clearly and consistently against violence and force, and yet the overwhelming desire to utilize both; but it is an extremely challenging and pressing one.
The terror we’re witnessing is beyond comprehension; the brutality, staggering. It’s as wasteful and as evil and as disgusting a presence as we can encounter on this planet. If anything is the enemy of Life, it’s this.
So our shared outrage is completely correct, as are our cries for swift, absolute, blinding revenge on those who burn and behead and rape innocents.
It all feels quite acceptable and even righteous, until we’re faced with the words of Jesus:
You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well. If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.
“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect. (Matthew 5:38-48)
When we need to, we Christians can do some fancy footwork around lots of stuff in the Bible, and we can perform some acrobatic theological gymnastics to make it say all kinds of things to fit our fancy, but some stuff is just really difficult to dismiss or exegete our way out of.
Jesus’ clear words against violent responses to violence, echoed here and so often through the gospels are such “stuff”, and they force us to ask some really difficult, potentially faith-shaking questions:
When we scream for planes to be dispatched and bombs to be dropped and villages to be torched and refugees to be turned away, are we forced to ignore the heart of Jesus as we do so?
Can we simultaneously claim Christ, while demanding the lives of those who murder, along with any collateral damage in the process?
Just how seriously are we Christians supposed to take all this “bless those who curse you” and “do not resist an evil person” stuff?
When does showing compassion for innocents suffering, justify violence toward those inflicting it?
Does Jesus command us to turn the other cheek, even when we’re being beheaded?
To be completely honest, I hate even having to give this a second thought, though if I don’t, I wonder what my faith is really made of. If I can’t call upon the teachings of Jesus when they seem the most counterintuitive and when they are the most difficult, do I really trust Him?
It’s easy to feel the urgency of the incredible suffering of those on the ground, whose throats are pressed against the blade, and of the families of those who’ve been tortured and humiliated and murdered, and want to immediately act in power. I want that too. Yet the early Church similarly faced extreme violence and persecution of their own, and we never see a response of force.
We see instead, a faith in Divinity that trumps the fear of humanity.
In the Book of Acts, the apostle Stephen sees the glory of Jesus, while being brutally stoned to death by religious zealots who claim righteousness. The question we’re faced with, as we reflect upon him and those other suffering saints of the early Church, may be whether we trust God enough; not to allow us to forcibly defeat violence, but as Jesus modeled so beautifully on the Cross, and the apostles did at the hands of the stone throwers; to faithfully endure it and overcome it. While I admit, that prospect here seems terribly, horribly wrong, that may be my own anger trying to shout out Jesus.
Simple pacificism may not be the only possible path for a follower of Christ, and it may not be the one we’re called to as a nation in times like these, however we certainly sit in a profound tension as we weigh Jesus’ words, and witness his life and ministry. When we see his response to his own undeserved, violent persecution, it should cause us as Christians to at least pause and question how our faith is supposed to function when we face attack.
Just how does the Gospel message get worked out in opposition to the bloody mess of terrorism?
Does the denying of self that Jesus preached so often, also refer to our very reasonable desire for revenge in the face of terrorism? Does it refer to the natural aggression that rises up in our own collective hearts when we experience violence? Is it binding, even if we feel our violence is justified by our deep faith convictions? (We need to remember, that faith-justified violence, is exactly the evil we’re claiming to combat here).
Jesus, from the moment his feet hit the planet, was about a different path, an unexpected response, a narrower way.
The Sermon on the Mount, sees him continually speaking the refrain to the people, “You have heard it said… but I tell you…” He’s letting them know that to follow him, means aspiring to another level; one not based merely on instinct or simple reciprocity.
We do at least need to ask what that higher plane of faith might look like when confronting something like the IS. Otherwise we as Christians could find ourselves on the slippery slope of always resorting to violent solutions for violent problems, and easily become the “eye for an eye” people we despise—and the very kind Jesus warns us about.
This surely and sadly won’t be the last time evil human beings will do horrible things to innocent human beings, and we’ll once again be challenged to respond as followers of Jesus.
Many believers will cite Old Testament passages as religious justification for violent responses to bad people, and that’s certainly their right. However, Jesus came and lived and taught hundreds of years after those conflicts. There is certainly a peripheral understanding of Rome as a political force in the New Testament, but that is something largely separate from the life of disciples of Christ. There is very little to be found in the gospels that gives us much wiggle room, to do much other than pray for, forgive, and love our enemies.
I don’t want to do that right now. Right now, I want blood and I know I’m not alone.
I’m not even sure how to love these enemies, but even if I knew I doubt I’d really care to.
For a person and for a people claiming obedience to Jesus, that’s a huge problem, especially when facing something as evil and insidious as the IS, or any other forms of senseless violence and oppression.
We are after all, believers in the Divine but made of flawed flesh and bone.
We want what is reasonable.
We want what is rational.
We want what is humanly justifiable.
We want life for life.
But does Jesus allow or sanction that?
Right now, I’m pretty sure that I really don’t care to know the answer.
Right now, I just want blood.
If you’re a Christian, how do you construct a working theology regarding violence used in the alleviating of suffering?
