I'm Really Trying to Be Paul

I just want to know the story.

I am asking a genuine question, grounding it as best I can in curiosity rather than snarky judgement.

My pastors have focused the last month of their sermons on Romans, Chapter 12. Four weeks, one chapter. Yet their messages - particularly the final message in August - present teachings that absolutely contradict the guidance of Paul's letter. There are even verses that my pastors quote that they explicitly violate just minutes before or after.

I think I understand the story they're trying to tell. I just cannot see how they veered so far off course. I want to learn more about the connections they see and how they see the alignment between their message and this scripture. Because I see a stark and dangerous departure, an alarming unmooring of their rhetoric away from Romans 12.

I'm not a Biblical devotee; this is not a work of literature that I know well. My wife is the voracious scholar. I only pick it up when prompted, but I always find connections that affirm and reinforce the goals I have for my walk. Romans 12 is a short, specific, even simple outline for how Christ wants us to approach and interact with each other. It even has an undercurrent of defiance -- Paul knows he is challenging a history and a culture of subjugation, perhaps even challenging our own primal, subconscious instincts that drive us into the worst kinds of individualism, nationalism, and tribalism. 

And so I feel called to unpack this chapter and describe the story I'm telling myself about how my pastors' messages splinter away from this important scripture even as they are trying to illuminate it. I hope to interpret Paul's guidance while following his example, presenting a loving critique that honors its subject. My pastors are very good people. They work incredibly hard to build a real community of heaven on Earth. I want to help them.

Paul's Guidance for Debate

"Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord." (Romans 12:10-11)

Paul presents the prime directive here - love thy neighbor, honor them above yourself. But it's immediately followed by a warning: don't let your fervor pull you away from the Lord. Don't let the conviction behind your beliefs lure you into behavior that does not build that love and that honor. The tension here speaks to a fundamental question that many of us wrestle with: how do we approach those whom we disagree with?

We cannot address this tension without challenging what we believe about debate. So much of our society has become argumentative, and the binary nature of our culture has reduced the act of disagreement to a zero-sum, winner-take-all-and-loser-gets-cancelled conflict. In the best case scenario, it's a game that gets too competitive. Worst case: we stop talking to certain people entirely because we are only interested in vanquishing enemies. But we desperately need to re-think this approach. We can leverage specific language to keep our love in place even as we challenge or question the ideas of others. Debate can lead to a consensus around the ideas that survive the test of argument. 

"Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the faith God has distributed to each of you. We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us."   (Romans 12:3-5)

The key is to maintain a generous mindset while engaged in debate. This is more than avoiding judgement; you can do that by de-personalizing your language: "I disagree with that point" rather than "I disagree with you." A generous mindset takes it a step further, where you honestly believe that your partner in the verbal wrestling is genuinely trying to achieve something noble. They are worthy of your honor because you believe they are doing the best they can to build a better world. They may have a different vision of what that world looks like than you do, and they may have a very different way of trying to build it, but if you turn your heart towards theirs, and re-cast the debate as a partnership and not combat, then you are ready to listen genuinely and build the discussion on love and honor. 

Sounds like a bit of a process, right? Especially as you imagine the toughest nut to crack on your social feed or at your family Thanksgiving. Can you fake it until you make it? Yes, to some extent. Start by framing your understanding of the issue with "The story I'm telling myself." This is language that comes from Brené Brown - it quite accurately describes how assumptions and biases burrow their way into our thinking. Our brain craves order and structure so much that it will take whatever bits of information we have and actually concoct a story that allows them to make sense. The narrative is meant to bridge the gaps in our knowledge. Sometimes, it even masks those gaps, yet the tidiness of the story is so seductive that our mind will cling to it. If you're going to recount your own understanding of a topic - especially if the topic engages passionate feelings - framing it as "The story I'm telling myself" pulls you out of that emotional center -- the very place that often derails civil discourse. It also shows to your partner that you are conscious that it is your story, and you recognize that it may have some pieces that need to be reconsidered. It's a story, after all, and you're open to revisions. 

This can also shift your perspective in the debate to one of curiosity over judgement. (Yes, I'm channeling Ted Lasso here.) Now that your arguments are framed around your story, you can debate with the goal of unpacking your partner's story. Respond to your partner's views with questions, rather than rebuttals. And be careful to weed out any whiff of judgement in the language you use. 

Aside: Let's be honest, here. Many of us have a default setting for judgement. It's our go-to in certain situations and conversations. It may even be an impulse that is affixed to certain people -- as soon as we see them or hear their name, the inner judge calls out. Shifting our language toward a generous place will take time and effort when this is our starting point. So, we can start by faking it in a couple of ways:

1) Keep the judge inside. Whatever they are screaming in your head, don't give an external voice to it. Notice the judge, but don't share what they say.  

2) Lean into questions that sound genuinely curious. That means being careful with the words and also the tone with which you ask. Your first step may be to dial down the snark and aim for a neutral tone. And that's fine. 

Practicing Paul

Now here's an authentic example from that recent sermon I alluded to at the start. I'll try to illustrate here the range of responses: pure judgement to cynical assumption to neutral question to generous question.

Pastor: "I'm an agent of Truth and because I'm here you could prosper, but I ain't going to cow to a world of Lies just to suit your sensitivities... I'm too kind for that. I'm too kind, I got too much character for that. How do you measure the level of your character is by what you succumb to." [sic]

- Judgement response: "So you're a bully who thinks bullying is kind."

- Cynical assumption: "What you're calling 'kind' sounds a lot like bullying. If you know they are sensitive to something, why would you push so hard against it?"

- Neutral question: "I'm not following. What does it look like, exactly, to challenge a 'world of lies' kindly? How does a person prosper through that challenge, when they have sensitivities that are vulnerable during that challenge?"

- Generous question: 

"The story I'm telling myself is that you intend to confront anyone that you suspect of telling or perpetuating a lie, and you intend to prioritize this confrontation over being mindful of another person's sensitivities.  Is that a fair summary?

I agree with the premise that deliberately lying is a sin, and that the truth should be defended against such disinformation. I also agree that kindness, if it's truly genuine, can sometimes require us to have conversations that are uncomfortable. If I care deeply for someone, I want to have the courage to steer them away from a bad decision or a destructive habit. But I wonder how we determine whether someone is telling a lie (or repeating it), as opposed to someone sharing a thought or belief that just doesn't match our beliefs. If we are the sole arbiter of whether someone is lying, this seems to contradict Paul's guidance to "Not think of yourself more highly than you ought." 

So if Paul calls us to "honor one another above (our)selves," including the "different gifts (that we have), according to the grace given to each of us," would asking the person questions, and learning more about their perspective, keep us more aligned with these directives without abandoning our belief in or pursuit of truth? How do we reconcile the defense against disinformation with Paul's command to approach others with humility?"

How did generosity get so wordy? Let's break it down.

First, let's delve into why the first two responses are so brief. They're abrupt and sharp by design; these are retorts. The giveaway is the number of times "you" appears in the first two replies. "You" is the subject, which makes both of these more pointed and personal despite other language that tries to create some distance like "what you're calling 'kind'." The second remark may be a question, but it's clearly grounded in cynicism rather than curiosity. It's a classic move: "I'm phrasing this as a question to try and sound polite, but I'm pretty sure I know what your answer is, or I'm confident that you don't really have an answer for this because it's such a wicked burn wrapped in a question." 

The neutral reply softens a bit because it removes "you" completely. The subjects in these sentences are all depersonalized -- "a person", "it". This is also the first time that we see clauses joined together juxtaposing both sides of the dilemma: "How does (something happen), when (this other force pulls against it)?" This also makes the neutral response longer than the first two rebuttals.

Then we get the generous questions, which seem like a mini-essay. But the opening paragraphs are key because, first, they center on the speaker, using "I" as the subject.  The entire first half of the response is spent with the speaker summarizing their own understanding and highlighting points of agreement. The sharing of your own narrative establishes the partnership.  And when you begin to challenge part of the argument, it's still framed using "I", as in "I wonder...." This is an explicit way to make sure curiosity governs the discourse. 

The language of juxtaposition soon takes over: "How do we (option A) as opposed to (option B)?"  "How do we reconcile (A and B)?" We're also using the pronoun of partnership - "we" - even as you present challenges to the initial argument. All sides are acknowledged and honored, and no argument (not even your own 😉) is given any more status than another. And you don't have to stay anonymous in the debate to do this; your language can make it personal in a positive way.  You can call them out and call them in at the same time.

More to come

As the U.S. enters a season where debate will be in the public spotlight, I hope to provide more samples of language that can harvest the value of testing each other's ideas while maintaining grace in relationship. May we connect each other and confront, together, the really difficult problems in front of us. Inevitably, we will disagree. My hope is that, when we do, we seek the "agree" more than the "dis."