As mentioned in my previous post, I’ve been combing through some recent books on violence and nonviolence. One of the most fascinating ones I’ve read on the topic is Ron Sider’s Nonviolent Action: What Christian Ethics Demands but Most Christians Have Never Really Tried (Baker, 2015). Good. Night. This book is good! If you love history, if like reading about revolutions, if you love Jesus and beauty and courage and want to see how faith applies to the real world, then you’ll love this book. But if you want to believe what you’ve always believed, and if you’ve always believed that violence is the only way to defeat the really bad guys in the world, and if you think that nonviolence is just for for cowards, liberals, pot-smoking hippies, and people who couldn’t win a fight anyway, then you probably won’t like this book. “Don’t confuse me with the facts,” you’ll say. “Just let me keep watching my old WWII documentaries.” Ron Sider is a top-notch scholar with a prophetic megaphone. He shook the evangelical world back in the 70’s with his ground-breaking book, Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger, and this book is very similar. Those of us who advocate for nonviolence often face our cynical critics who roll their eyes and pat us on the head. “There, there. That pacifism stuff is a cute idea. But in the real world, there are really bad people who want to do really mean things to nice people. When it comes to really bad people, nonviolence doesn’t work.” You can believe this if you want. You can believe that violence is the only way to defeat really bad forms of evil (how’s that been going, by the way?), and you can also believe that 2 + 2 = 5. But in the real world, nonviolence is actually just as effective as violence in taking care of the really bad guys. Actually, I’m wrong. It’s not just as effective. It’s more effective. Like two-times more effective. According to the most thorough study on 325 violent and nonviolent insurrections against ferocious dictators armed to the teeth, “nonviolent resistance campaigns were nearly twice as likely to achieve full or partial success as their violent counterparts” (Sider, p. 159). Unfortunately, the American narrative is so bent toward violence that we have no category for this. Saying that nonviolent campaigns have been more successful is like saying 2 + 2 = orange. It doesn’t compute. It doesn’t make any sense. I tell people this and they just stare at me like I’m speaking Japanese. But it does work. According to actual history (and not just Marine advertisements and Fox News), nonviolent campaigns contain power. Real power. Moral power. Political and economic power. And Sider has done a fantastic job documenting such movements. He begins by looking at successful nonviolent revolts among the Jews in the first century (toward Pontius Pilate and Gaius Caligula) and then spends a good deal of time talking about several ironically successful nonviolent revolts in the 20th and 21st centuries: Gandhi’s Salt Campaign (pp. 19-25), MLK’s civil rights movement (pp. 27-45), nonviolent campaigns against the U.S.-backed atrocities in Nicaragua in the mid-1980’s, which Sider witnessed first-hand, the Revolution of the Candles in East Germany (1989), Liberia’s female-led liberation movement in the early 2000’s, nonviolent campaigns during the Arab Spring of 2011, and many others. The historical and ethical point is clear: nonviolence works. It’s a powerful force. We don’t need to return evil for evil. God has provided us with a better way. A more effective way. A more Christian way. Sider is not alone. There are several books and documentaries that talk about the power of nonviolence. Peter Ackerman and Jack DuVall’s A Force More Powerful, Mark Kurlansky’s Nonviolence: The History of a Dangerous Idea, and Erica Chenoweth and Maria J. Stephen’s, Why Civil Disobedience Works, which surveyed the 325 violent and nonviolent insurrections mentioned above. As these books have shown, Gandhi was right: “Non-violence is the summit of bravery” (Sider, 17). Nonviolence has proven time and time again to be an effective means of confronting evil. But Christians shouldn’t embrace it because it’s the most effective means of confronting evil, but the most faithful means of following Jesus. As MLK used to say, nonviolence is not just politically expedient but morally compelling. We serve a slaughtered Lamb who defeated evil by absorbing violence and rose to tell the tale. Jesus didn’t turn the world upside down by endorsing an American ethic of power, but by introducing the world to a countercultural ethic of enemy love. They have conquered him (Satan) by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, because they loved not their lives even unto death” (Rev 12:11). Originally published by Preston Sprinkle at Theology in the Raw, used with permission https://theologyintheraw.com/nonviolence-more-powerful-than-violence/

A common objection to the claim that Jesus and the authors of the New Testament were opposed to all forms of violence is that neither Jesus nor anyone else speaks out against it. When soldiers asked John the Baptist what they should do in response to his message, for example, he told them not to “extort money,” not to “accuse people falsely,” and to be “content with [their] pay” (Lk 3: 14). He didn’t tell them to leave the military. In a similar fashion, when Jesus encountered a distraught Centurion, he healed his servant and praised his faith without saying a word about his leadership role in the violent and unjustly oppressive Roman-governed army (Mt 8:5-13; Lk 7:1-10). Along the same lines, without commenting on his military service, Mark reports that a Centurion confessed faith in Jesus when he witnessed how he died (Mk 15:39). And this same attitude gets carried over into the early church. Indeed, the first Gentile who came to Christ in the book of Acts was yet another Centurion. As Peter preached the Gospel to this man and his household, the Holy Spirit fell upon them and they were all baptized without a word being uttered about this man’s military service (Acts 10:44-8). From Augustine to Aquinas to Luther up to the present time, these episodes have been frequently cited to justify Christians serving in the military. This line of reasoning is misguided, in my opinion. First, this is an argument from silence. One could use this line of reasoning to argue that Jesus and the authors of the New Testament were not opposed to a good many things we know they were in fact opposed to. For example, Jesus didn’t rebuke the Samaritan women who had been divorced five times and was presently living with a man who was not her husband (Jn 4:16-8). Does this mean that Jesus condoned divorce, remarriage, and co-habitation outside of wedlock? Nor did Jesus rebuke the tax collectors and prostitutes he regularly fellowshipped with (Lk 5:29-30; 15:1). Does this imply that the religious authorities were correct in surmising that Jesus had no objection to these occupational choices (Lk 7:34)? James even praised the faith of Rahab without saying a word about the sinfulness of her career as a prostitute (Ja 2:25). I doubt anyone would want to argue that this implies that James thought prostitution was compatible with the Christian faith? The truth is that we can only infer what a person believes by what they actually say, not by what they fail to say, and what Jesus and the New Testament authors uniformly say about violence is that it is forbidden for followers of Jesus. It is simply illegitimate to overturn or qualify this clear and consistent teaching with an argument from silence. The weakness of the argument from silence becomes even clearer when we notice that, with the exception of the Jewish leaders of his day, Jesus never denounced the sin of the people with whom he interacted. In sharp contrast to other prophetic figures of his day, Jesus never denounced the sinful practices and policies of any ruling political authority. Indeed, he refused to even weigh in on the hot political topics of his day, despite the efforts of others to get him to do so (e.g. Mt 22:15-22). We find a similar attitude running throughout the NT. For example, Paul confesses that, while we must discipline the behavior of Jesus-followers within the context of a kingdom community, we have no business passing judgment “on those outside the church” (1 Cor 5:12; cf. 1 Pet 1:17). To the contrary, Paul declares that the only message the church is to announce to people outside the church is the message of reconciliation that God has given us: namely, that in Christ God “was reconciling the world to himself…not counting people’s sin against them” (2 Cor 5:19, emphasis added). Far from pointing out people’s sin, our message is to be that God has already forgiven their sin! It is apparent that Jesus and the New Testament authors are simply not interested in trying to improve the ethical behavior of the people and governments of the world. In this sense it is fair to say that the New Testament doesn’t contain an ethic for humans in general, and perhaps even fair to say that the New Testament doesn’t espouse pacifism, in the sense that it doesn’t advocate non-violence for all people and as an end in-and-of itself. Jesus and the authors of the New Testament are rather exclusively focused on the call of disciples of Jesus to love enemies, which therefore rules out killing them. The very fact that Jesus established the ability to love like this to be the distinguishing mark of a child of God (Mt 5:44-5; Lk 6:35) indicates that he did not intend his command to function as a universal ethical principle. Hence, the general posture of the New Testament is that, until one submits to the Lordship of Christ and is filled with his Spirit, there is no point addressing the incompatibility of a person’s lifestyle or occupation with the will of God. Indeed, Paul’s teaching on the message of reconciliation that ambassadors of Christ are to preach actually precludes this. And since none of the several soldiers that are spoken of in the New Testament were disciples, it is hardly surprising that we find no critique of their occupation. I will close one final important observation. While the silence of Jesus about military service doesn’t indicate that he thought military service was compatible with following Jesus, it does illustrate how God meets people where they are at without judging them. The Holy Spirit simply fell on Cornelius, the Roman Centurion, without first requiring him to leave the military. Luke doesn’t tell us how Cornelius resolved the dilemma this put him in, but we need to appreciate how messy his dilemma was. The Roman military had no provisions for military leaders to suddenly opt out of service as a “conscientious objector.” Indeed, walking away from one’s military role was considered treason and was punishable by death! But I am glad Luke doesn’t tell us this, because if he had, we might be tempted to turn it into a formula that we’d try to apply to all Christians in military service. This is precisely what we should never do, for God works in the particulars of each person’s unique and messy life. Cornelius, together with whatever house church he joined after his conversion, would have to work out the messy implications of his salvation “with fear and trembling,” trusting that “God” was working in them “to fulfill his good purpose” (Phil 2:12). This is why I don’t believe anyone has any business questioning the authenticity of a military person’s faith, whether they are serving in the U.S. military or in a military that opposes the U.S. Yes, we can and must clearly espouse the New Testament’s teaching on the prohibition on violence for Jesus-followers, and I will candidly admit that I for one don’t see how following Jesus can be reconciled with military service. But neither I nor anyone else is in a position to apply this to individuals who haven’t invited us into their lives. We must rather simply trust that God is meeting them, and working in them, where they are. And if it seems to us that their chosen occupation makes them sinners, we are to remember that the speck of dust we think we see in their eye is nothing compared to the tree trunk of sin that protrudes from our own (Matt 7:1-3). Originally published by Greg Boyd at ReKnew, used with permission https://reknew.org/2016/01/12009/

As India erupted in Hindu–Muslim strife, a young Christian responded to Gandhi’s plea: “Where are the Christians who live according to the Bible?” I first saw Mahatma Gandhi when I was twelve, when he came to our state of Kerala in south India to help remove the age-old injustice of caste discrimination. He addressed a huge gathering on a river bed near my school, and I found a seat on the sand near where he was sitting cross-legged on a raised platform. He spoke about vegetarianism, not about national issues, but it impressed me immensely – he spoke in Hindi rather than English, and I saw him as a symbol of the resurgent India. At that time, Gandhi was already famous in Kerala because of his 1924 action in the nearby town of Vaikom to open the Shiva temple to Hindus of all castes. For centuries, outcastes had been forbidden to enter the temple, and notices even prohibited them from using the town’s roads. Gandhi’s nonviolent campaign to abolish this humiliating segregation had been the first major test of his teaching of satyagraha (“soul force” or “truth force”). On coming home from hearing Gandhi, I told my mother that I was now a vegetarian. (I would remain one for the next eighteen years, until moving to Uganda, when I gave it up in order to dine in fellowship with my African brethren.) From that day on, I began to follow Gandhi’s teachings. Despite my conflicting feelings toward British missionaries, whom I admired for their sacrificial work to uplift the so-called untouchables in Kerala, I began to participate in the Quit India movement pressing for India’s independence from Britain. Although as a twelve-year-old I would not have been able to articulate what drew me to Gandhi, I now see four facets of his life and teaching as keys to understanding him. ... Originally published at Plough, used with permission https://www.plough.com/en/topics/community/leadership/what-gandhi-taught-me-about-jesus

I want to thank Doug Wilson for the challenging and thoughtful dialogue about the issue of guns, violence, and the Christian way. I’m sure Doug’s a busy guy, so in no way do I assume that he needs to, or desires to, keep responding to my posts. My flurry of blogs on the topic began as an effort to continue our Q Denver dialogue, but over the last couple posts, I’ve moved beyond the Wilson-Sprinkle debate and have tried to shore up some thoughts on the topic in general. In any case, this will probably be my last post for a while on the topic. So I’d love to end where we began: by looking at the scriptural and theological support for what I call a Christocentric nonviolent ethic. But first, let me state a few things in summary form about our dialogue. I don’t view the gun control debate to be central to the Christian conversation about violence and nonviolence. Whether “more guns means less crime” or “more crime” is a step sideways in the discussion about Christian ethics. Even if “more guns” does “mean less crime,” this doesn’t make “more guns” the Christian way. As I’ve said before, just because something might beeffective doesn’t make it faithful to Jesus. There is a certain logic to stuffing every murderer and pedophile and thief in a gas chamber, and this might lessen crime and make society a better place. But this doesn’t mean it’s the Christian thing to do. The whole “love your enemies” nonsense pretty much throws a wrench in that engine. I actually haven’t decided on what I think about gun control and gun violence. Based on the research I’ve done, I would certainly lean toward more gun control as a way to lessen gun violence, but I still have a lot more work to do. And I certainly believe that America is infected with a militaristic spirit, which is celebrated on a national level yet mourned when it blows back in our faces on an individual level. Such spirit inevitably spawns societal violence. In any case, as a gun-owner myself (I own more guns than Doug Wilson; hippee ki-yay…!), I’m certainly not against guns per se. At the same time, my values as a Christian are not shaped by the 2nd amendment, which, as a man-made law, is neither here nor there. I sort of shrug my shoulders at how earthly kingdoms try to rule the world—the Babylons and Romes and Americas of our day. King Jesus rules over all, and this will become very clear in due time. As stated throughout my previous blogs, it’s a shame when the discussion of Christian ethics cites a few verses out of context and then spends the bulk of its attention drumming up theoretical scenarios to try to show the impossibility—or at least inconsistency—of the nonviolent way. To be blunt, most American Christians assume a secular narrative about how we should use lethal force to defend our families, kill the enemy if he’s trying to kill us, and support our troops as our nation fights against worldwide enemies.Then, when faced with a scripturally based nonviolent ethic, they turn to theoretical scenarios to show that this won’t work. It’s odd that I’m the one who is often ridiculed for suggesting a nonviolent ethic; ridiculed by Christians. Our whole method of going about constructing a Christian view of violence and nonviolence (and gun control) is deeply syncretistic. I’ve still yet to see a compelling case, driven by Scripture, biblical theology, and early church history, for using violence as a Christian way to defeat or confront evil—that is, stopping bad guys from doing bad things. Almost every argument I’ve seen is profoundly utilitarian, secular, and almost completely (sometimes completely) ignores the nature of Jesus’s upside down kingdom. It usually comes down to cultural assumptions salted with a few (mainly Old Testament) verses taken out of context, which are then baptized in the bloody images from Revelation. So, let me lay out my reasons for advocating for Christocentric nonviolence in the briefest way I can. The evidence for my following points can be found in my book Fight: A Christian Case for Nonviolence [now titled, Nonviolence: The Revolutionary Way of Jesus]. 1. Jesus’s vocation as “Messiah” was loaded with militaristic expectations. The Jews expected a military conqueror who would destroy his enemies. Jesus’s posture and teaching was diametrically opposite to these militaristic expectations. In other words, Jesus constructed an intentional paradigm shift designed to create new ethical categories for how Yahweh followers are to confront evil. People who say that Jesus and his followers didn’t use violence because they were a small group and it wouldn’t have worked against the massive Roman empire should stop saying they believe in a divine Messiah. There’s nothing in the New Testament that shuns violence for utilitarian reasons. 2. Jesus never acted violently to fight injustice or defend the innocent. And there were many innocent people suffering right under his nose in first-century Palestine. Jesus endured unjust accusations and physical attacks, and yet he never responded in kind. He was spit upon, punched, slapped (Matt 26:67), and had his head pounded with a stick (Matt 27:30), yet he never used violence to defend himself or attack his perpetrator. Jesus therefore models his own command to not “violently resist evil…but turn the other cheek.” Jesus was tortured and crucified unjustly for treason, yet he offers only forgiveness and love toward his enemy. Jesus’s life is peppered with violent attacks, yet he never responds with violence. He embraces suffering, not because he is weak, but because suffering contains more power in defeating evil than using violence, and suffering is the pathway to resurrection glory (Rom 8). In doing so, Jesus shattered all Jewish expectations of how a Messiah should act. It’s not that Jesus just happened to act nonviolently. Rather, he directly and intentionally demilitarized the meaning of messiah and kingdom. 3. Jesus taught his followers to follow the same rhythm of nonviolence and enemy-love. “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, and pray for those who abuse you. To one who strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also” (Luke 6:27-29). Whenever violence is mentioned, it’s always shunned. There’s no biblical evidence that only some of our enemies are to be loved, or that we should love our nonviolent enemies, but kill the ones who are trying to harm our families or our nation. Jesus’s countercultural commands are unqualified and absolute. And whenever the disciples try to confront evil with violence, they are rebuked (Luke 9; 22). Now, some will say that Jesus’s nonviolent journey to the cross was necessary for Jesus to atone for our sins. He had to suffer; he had to die. His nonviolence was theologically necessary not practically mandatory for all. But the Bible says that it was both… 4. Jesus’s nonviolent journey to the cross was both theological and ethical. Yes, Jesus had to die, so he chose not to resist his death. But NT writers view his nonviolent journey to the cross as a pattern for believers to follow. 1 Peter 2, Romans 12, Philippians 2, and other passages draw upon Jesus’s nonviolent journey to the cross as a model for believers to follow. The sheer volume of NT commands that flow out of Jesus’s teaching andposture in the face of violence is striking. “Bless those who persecute you, bless and do not curse” (Rom 12:12:14) “Do not repay anyone evil for evil…” “Never avenge yourselves…” If your enemies are hungry, feed them, if they are thirsty, give them something to drink” “Overcome evil with good” (Rom 12:17-21) When reviled, we bless; when persecuted, we endure; when slandered, we speak kindly” (1 Cor 4:12-13) “Let your gentleness be known to everyone” (Phil 4:5) “See that none of you repays evil for evil, but always seek to do good to one another and to all” (1 Thess 5:15). “Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps. He committed no sin, neither was deceit found in his mouth. When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten” (1 Peter 2:21-23). “Do not repay evil for evil or reviling for reviling, but on the contrary, bless” (1 Pet 3:9) “strive for peace with everyone” (Heb 12:14). The author of Hebrews commends believers for “joyfully accepting the plundering of your property, since you knew that you yourselves had a better possession and an abiding one” (Heb 10:34). Again, all of these commands flow out of the life and teaching of Christ; what he said and what he did; what he taught and how he lived—especially in his last days as he journeyed to the cross. By far, the most dominant WWJD moment in the entire New Testament is when later writers referred back to Jesus’s nonviolent teaching. There is no single ethical theme that garnered as much interest among our inspired authors as Jesus’s nonviolent posture. That’s kinda huge. 5. Even though injustice and evil were rampant in the first century, there’s no verse in the New Testament that commands or allows believers to use violence to confront evil or defend the innocent. Some say: using violence to defend the innocent or defend yourself is never forbidden in the New Testament, and therefore it’s okay. But given the dominant and pervasive rhythm of Jesus’s nonviolent posture and countercultural teachings on how we are to treat our enemies, I believe the burden of proof lies with those who think that violence can be used against our enemies in certain circumstances. There are many more passages which would suggest that Christians shouldn’t use violence against their enemies (Matt 5; Luke 6; Rom 12; the book of Revelation), compared to possible passages that would permit a believer to use violence. 6. The pre-Constantine early church almost unanimously read the New Testament the same way I do. This is striking. Shocking, actually, and profoundly so. The early church could hardly agree on anything. They couldn’t even agree on the nature of Christ or which books should be in the Bible! But when it came to the question of killing, whenever early church theologians (whose writings we have) address the question of whether Christian should kill, they all say “no!” Origin, Tertullian, Cyprian, Athenagoras, Lactantius, Arnobius, and others always condemned killing; Christians should never kill. They even went out of their way to distinguish between unjust and just killing—that is, killing bad people who deserve it. Yet Christians aren’t ever to kill, even if they deserve it. Across the board, killing is always and everywhere forbidden. Christians should never kill. Here’s just one example from Lactantius: When God forbids killing, he doesn’t just ban murder, which is not permitted under the law even; he is also forbidding to us to do certain things which are treated as lawful among men. No exception at all should be made: killing a human bing is always wrong because it is God’s will for man to be a sacred creature (Lactantius, Divine Institutes). Anyway, that’s a 1,000 word summary of my 70,000 word book, and the most concise way I could sum up a very complicated topic. I fear that my non-pacifist friends have not appreciated the upside down rhythm of the New Testament’s prescribed method of dealing with evil. And, as I said before, I have yet to see a compellingChristian case made for the sanctity of using violence against evil. One that makes sense of the nonviolent posture and teaching of Christ, the New Testament’s pervasive repetition of Jesus’s nonviolent commands, and the early church’s strikingly unified celebration of this ethic. The early church would have yawned at this blog. To be honest, I tend to ho-hum all the theoretical scenarios thrown my way, in light of such rich and multilayered Christian reasons for advocating a nonviolent way of life. Faithfulness, folks. Jesus calls us to faithfulness, not perceived effectiveness. When I face my Savior, I want him to know that I tried my hardest to live a faithful life which sought to replicate his own life on earth. Originally published by Preston Sprinkle at Theology in the Raw, used with permission https://theologyintheraw.com/nonviolence-in-brief/

I just finished James Atwood’s book America and Its Guns: A Theological Exposé and I’m sitting here stunned. The statistics, the stories, the indifference, the political power plays in the face of innocent deaths, the role of money in the whole debate—even when lives are at stake. I know this is a messy topic and it defies simple answers. But this book has certainly blown the doors off my thinking on it. Let me start by saying, as I often do, that I own guns. I hunt and fish and listen to country music and all that business, but I also love people more than I love my guns. Like many things that are morally neutral yet capable of becoming an idol, I like my guns but I don’t love my guns. I enjoy hunting and shooting, but gun rights are not my raison d’etre—my reason for existence. And if stricter gun laws would save more lives—even 1 life—then I’d eagerly vote for more laws. People are more important than guns. And last time I checked, Jesus believes that our freedom should be used to help people not hurt them. Atwood’s book contains a lot of statistics. I haven’t triple checked them all to see if they are legit (he does provide ample evidence). But even if they’re marginally close to the truth, they’re scary enough to take notice. Every year in America, 30,00 people are killed by guns. Among the 30,000 people killed every year, about ½ are suicides, 10,000 are homicides, and 500 are “accidental deaths”—children exploring daddy’s loaded Glock and such (p. 129) Over 3,200 children are killed every year by a gun (p. 127) Nearly 1.7 million kids under the age of 18 live in a home where firearms are both loaded and unlocked (p. 110). Children in America are 12 times more likely to die from a gun than the next 25 industrialized nations combined (p. 5) While 10,000 people are murdered by a gun every year in America, the next highest gun-murder rate occurs in Canada (200), Germany (194), Spain (60), England and Wales (39), Australia (35), and Finland (17) (p. 6). Let’s pause and linger on that last point for a second. I’ve often heard (and might have even said) that criminals don’t buy guns legally. It’s the good guys not bad guys who would be without a gun if we had stricter gun laws. If we tighten our gun laws, the criminals will simply get them some other way. If this were true, then why don’t we see many more gun-related murders (or deaths) in other countries? Why is America leading the way at nearly 10,000 gun-related murders and the next highest country is Canada at 200? If the bad guys can easily get guns illegally—and I suppose other countries have bad guys too—then why don’t bad guys in Canada, Germany, and Spain use guns (illegally) to kill people? Let’s get back to the statistics: America owns more guns than any other nation. It possesses over 300 million privately owned guns, which is almost 1 for every man, woman, and child. There are currently 512 armed militias in the U.S., which is 3x higher than in 2009 (p. 50). More American citizens were killed with guns between 1979 and 1997 (651,697) than all the servicemen and women killed in battle since 1775 (650,858) (p. 52). In Texas, people with a concealed weapons permit were arrested for weapon-related offenses at a rate 81% higher than that of the general population aged 21 years and older (p. 66). In the year 2,000, gun violence cost the American people 100 billion dollars (p. 123). About 500,000 guns are stolen from homes, cars, gun shops, manufacturers, and the military every year (p. 156) Among all the developed countries, 86% of all murders occur in the United States (p. 160). 80% of the guns confiscated in violent, drug-cartel related crimes in Mexico come from the United States. Apparently, we’re exporting our gun-violence (p. 181). Women are 5 times more likely to be a victim of domestic homicide when her partner owns a gun; 1/3 of all murders of American women are committed by their intimate partners (p. 108) These statistics are startling, especially if you’re a woman or a child. And yes, I’m well aware of Mark Twain’s instructive dictum: “There are lies, damned lies, and statistics.” We can’t base truth on statistics alone. However, we also can’t base truth on anecdotal stories or personal opinions alone. Even if you think you’re safer by owning a gun, this doesn’t make you safer by owning a gun. Some say that guns actually save lives, or that your uncle Bob once shot a potential murderer and saved tons of lives. But this doesn’t capture the broad scope of what’s going on. Statistics aren’t inerrant and they can be misused. But in the words of my friend David Kinnaman, statistics are better than your personal guess and anecdotal stories. Do guns actually saves lives? Of the 30,000 gun deaths a year (including 10,000 murders), how many “bad guys” are killed by a gun? According to the FBI, there are only 150-200 justifiable homicides a year, and most of these are carried out by law-enforcement (p. 189). With over 10,000 gun-related murders per year, the 100 or so justifiable homicides per year doesn’t seem worth it. Now, different people will promote different statistics. Apparently Dr. Gary Kleck, who’s rounded criticized by Atwood, says that guns save the lives of 2.5 million people every year. According to Kleck, this includes verbally telling a killer that you have a gun (54%), pointing a gun at a criminal (47%), or shooting a “warning shot” with a criminal present (22%) (pp. 100-101). This is where it gets super messy. Who do you believe? Which statistic is accurate? The tough thing about Kleck’s research is that he’s largely going on personal testimonies. Every single Joe and Frank and Billy Bob who said that his dag gum pistol done did scare away that no good criminal is taken at face value. But how de we measure this? How do we know that if Billy Bob didn’t own a 12 gauge, the intruder would have killed his family? Can we take personal testimonies at face value? Because 12 million people have claimed to have seen a UFO and 1 million people say they’ve met a space alien. Asking people their opinion on a matter (“was it your gun that scared him away?”) is risky business. Even if Kleck’s research is accurate, the best thing we could do is keep a gun close at hand and load it with blanks. One of the things that Atwood continues to point out is the ease by which people can purchase guns at gun shows. “Felons, domestic abusers, terrorists, youth, and persons with adjudicated mental illness can go to a gun show and buy a gun from unlicensed sellers with no questions asked” (p. 12). And this does concern me. I’m not ready to say that American citizens can’t own guns, and neither is Atwood. He’s an avid hunter and doesn’t want to strip America of all its guns. He’s only arguing for stricter gun laws that help keep guns out of the hands of people who shouldn’t own them. And unless his statistics are all out of whack, this makes good sense to me. I do have a few critiques of Atwood’s book that go beyond mere typos (which were plentiful; see pp. 34, 45, 136, 174). Most of my critiques have to do with Twain’s thoughts on statistics. As I said, I think there’s a valid place for statistics; we need to consult them. But we also need to recognize that statistics can be used to support one’s agenda. Atwood would often cite a statistic and then build a “see, look at that!” kind of argument. But I need more. Statistics, while helpful, need to be put on the stand and asked a thousand questions. For instance, 15,000 of America’s gun deaths are suicide. This immediately raises many questions in my mind. Would they have committed suicide without a gun? How do we know? Do other countries have non-gun-related suicides? How many people committed suicide without a gun when they could have used a gun? I’m also still wondering about the whole “guns save lives” pushback and I’m not convinced that Atwood has proven that guns don’t save lives. (It’s a moot point, of course, when we look at this question through a Christian ethic of nonviolence.) Atwood kept poking fun at the statement “guns save lives” throughout the book but only took 3 pages to address it head on (pp. 99-102). Within those 3 pages, he didn’t really prove that possession of a firearm, saying you have a firearm, or shooting a firearm in the arm has not been a successful way to scare off an attacker. Personally, I need to look deeper into Kleck’s research and his (many) critics to see what I think. At the end of the day, however, I was deeply compelling by Atwood’s study. I’m not sure how anyone would argue otherwise, and I’m genuinely interested to hear what I’m missing. America possess more guns (300 million) than every other nation by far. And America consistently has the most gun-related deaths and murders than every other nation by far. I guess I need to see a compelling argument that shows how these two startling statistics are not related. Originally published by Preston Sprinkle at Theology in the Raw, used with permission https://theologyintheraw.com/america-and-its-guns/

Augustine of Hippo and Howard Thurman of Daytona Beach follow the shocking implications of Jesus’ teachings on violence in the Sermon on the Mount. The Sermon on the Mount stands at the heart of multiple theological traditions and controversies, particularly its teachings on violence. Some insist that Jesus meant for us to live out these teachings fully now; others argue that this will only be possible when he returns. But what if the practical dictates of the Sermon are not the first thing we ought to focus on? What if instead of asking, “Is the Sermon practical?” or “Does nonviolence work?” we ask instead, “In what way does the virtue of Christ work in a violent world?” Two very different figures who have asked this question are Augustine of Hippo and Howard Thurman of Daytona Beach. Augustine on the Sermon’s Call to Suffer the Unjust Augustine preached on parts of the Sermon several times, and finally, in 393–394, sat down to write a full-length exposition of it. The Sermon is, he says, ultimately a teaching on the nature of wisdom: the Beatitudes are a kind of ladder to be climbed, with each step preparation for the next. We ascend through the Beatitudes, through poverty of spirit and mourning evil, through meekness and mercy, in order that we might be able to be pure in heart, to see God. Treating the Beatitudes as maxims that build on one another, he writes: Therefore, there are seven maxims which constitute perfection, for the eighth starts anew, as it were, from the very beginning: it clarifies and approves what is already complete. Thus, all the other grades of perfection are accomplished through these seven. [1] Footnotes 1. All references from Commentary on the Lord’s Sermon on the Mount with Seventeen Related Sermons, transl. Denis J. Kavanagh (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America, 1951). Originally published at Plough, used with permission https://www.plough.com/en/topics/justice/nonviolence/how-to-win-enemies

The following post is written by my friend Sgt. Dean Meadows (USMCR). Dean served several years in the Marine Corps, but after coming to Christ and wrestling with what the Bible says about violence, he became a zealous advocate for nonviolence. Here’s his story: What is a former Marine doing writing about non-violence? I know it may seem strange or maybe even a little radical. For most Christians I talk to these days, it is. But my question is why? Why is Christian non-violence a “radical” idea? I passionately believe it shouldn’t be, yet it is a teaching, which is widely neglected from our pulpits on Sunday mornings. I also believe the reason why most Christians in America don’t embrace Christian non-violence is their allegiances are mixed between State and Savior. However, as I unpack my journey, I hope we will all revisit scripture and what it says about violence. “The Few. The Proud. The Marines.” No other branch of the military attracted me like the Marine Corps. The idea of changing myself into a valiant warrior to serve my country was something I had always thought about growing up. However, that all changed on 9/11. As I watched the Twin Towers crumble to the ground in science class, shock, anger, and revenge permeated my body. No longer was joining the Marine Corps a thought; it was my mission. I was determined to fight America’s enemies. Thus, I signed up to do a six-year reserve contract with the plan of going to college and becoming an officer in the Marine Corps. At that point, I was determined to “kill em’ all and let Allah sort them out.” On March 19, 2006 I found myself in Fallujah, Iraq doing convoy security. I essentially saw just about every part (or at least it seemed that way) of the Al-Anbar Province. I rode to the Syrian boarder, Jordanian boarder, and even passed through Saddam Hessian’s hometown of Tikrit. During that time (when I wasn’t exactly practicing my faith) I rediscovered Jesus. Here I thought the 120 degree temperature, sand, grit, long days, and short rests would forge me into a new person; yet, it was in the midst of the longest eight months of my life, I discovered God had already changed me—from sinner to saint. As I returned home, I focused more on my relationship with God and took on the role of youth intern for the Piedmont church of Christ in 2007. I found myself teaching classes, preaching, and trying to answer questions I had never considered, coming from teens. It is here where my journey to non-violence really begins. I had my first encounter with a gentleman who, at the time, I believed to be crazy, and perhaps the biggest loon I’d ever come across. His name was Justin Bronson Barringer. I met him during week six of Carolina Bible Camp. As we talked that week there were many things we had in common; he loved to camp, Duke basketball, and enjoyed substantive Bible conversations. However, we were diametrically opposed on the issue of violence. Justin believed that Jesus taught a non-violent gospel and I didn’t. Leaving those conversations I simply chalked everything up to Justin being crazy and me being right. But something about those conversations made me go back and look at the words of Jesus. After much proof texting and focusing on what Jesus didn’t say, I found myself to be “right.” Even after two years of Bible College and four years in ministry, I still ignored and suppressed the words of Jesus regarding violence. I would read statements like, “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” or “He who lives by the sword shall die by the sword,” and they made me uncomfortable. After all, there are bad people in the world who wanted to hurt America and it was ok if Christians (especially if they’re Marines) serve out the pain, torture, and death. There was just one problem: I wasn’t being honest with the text or myself. It gnawed and gnawed at my conscience, “Am I being honest with the text?” So I began to think harder about Christianity and non-violence. During this period of intense study I picked up Nonviolence: The Revolutionary Way of Jesus by Preston Sprinkle. As I navigated the book with lawyer-like precision, I looked for holes in the book. The first hole was with Preston himself, not because of anything he had done to me personally, but because he was challenging my view on Old Testament violence. The Marine in me thought, “Who is this guy? Who is this softy, tree hugging, anti-American, communist, Francis Chan look alike, telling me, even in the Old Testament God restricted Israel when it came to war?” So I went back and looked at the passages mentioned in his book, and came to the conclusion: the text of scripture was correct. God actually did restrict Israel mightily in regards to war. At the end of the book and studying the passages mentioned by Preston, I couldn’t relent anymore. It was time to submit my will to God’s will. I noticed in Acts there are at least 13 instances where Christians are persecuted. The most famous of all is the persecution in Acts 8 by Saul of Tarsus. What was the Church’s reaction? Did they rise up and fight? Did they send in the F-16’s? Surely, they didn’t “take that lying down!” They “went about preaching the word (Acts 8:4).” That was their mighty weapon against persecution…the preaching of Jesus the Christ. They didn’t use violence, but preached the peace of Jesus. I’m convinced the church in America can look like the church of the first century. But in order for this to be accomplished, in part, the church must give up the sword wielding allegiance to the state which so many embrace. If we are serious about Jesus, we should be serious about non-violence. The world is violent and brutal; Jesus has called us out of the world, to be different, to be light in a dark world where we are merely sojourners. Originally published by Preston Sprinkle at Theology in the Raw, used with permission https://theologyintheraw.com/the-few-the-proud-the-plowshares/

My question is regarding what Jesus taught regarding disciples in law enforcement. I am an ER nurse, and I have always strongly supported and respected the nobility and sacrifice of the job. I also realize that not every officer has such a 'pure heart' towards the job. I am left wondering if Christians are doing wrong by their profession simply because they use force to protect the public at times? This has always seemed preposterous to me in the past, but I realize that perhaps my faith is too tied to this world and is in need of correction. What do you understand Jesus' heart to be on the matter? Jesus did not teach directly about Christians working in the police force, though he did speak explicitly about relationship with enemies in Matthew 5. If anything, we modern Christians have been too eager to accommodate the Savior's principles to our enlightened notions of politics, nation building, and use of force. It is a valuable for us to think through these issues. Though not all Christians will agree, the literal meaning of Jesus' words is not hard to grasp. You asked what Jesus' heart is on the matter. That is easy to answer: love for enemies (Luke 6:17-31). What does that mean to you? That's the question I think we must encourage Bible believers to ask themselves. originally posted from Douglas Jacoby, used with permission. https://www.douglasjacoby.com/q-a-0822-christians-in-law-enforcement/

Germany, 1934. Eighteen months after Hitler’s rise to power, Plough’s founding editor warned of the threat of a second major war – and foresaw that the international peace movement, which he had championed, would be powerless to stop it. His reflections remain unsettlingly relevant today. Does pacifism suffice? I don’t think it is enough.When over a thousand people have been killed unjustly, without trial, under Hitler’s new government, isn’t that already war? When hundreds of thousands of people in concentration camps are robbed of their freedom and stripped of all dignity, isn’t that war? When in China and Russia millions starve to death while in other countries millions of tons of wheat are stockpiled, isn’t that war? When thousands of women prostitute their bodies and ruin their lives for the sake of money, isn’t that war? When millions of babies are murdered by abortion each year, isn’t that war? When people are forced to work like slaves because they cannot otherwise feed their children, isn’t that war? When the wealthy live in villas surrounded by parks while other families don’t even have a single room to themselves, isn’t that war? When some people build up enormous bank accounts while others earn scarcely enough for basic necessities, isn’t that war? When reckless drivers kill tens of thousands of people each year, isn’t that war? We do not advocate a pacifism that believes it can prevent future war. This claim is not valid; there is war right up to the present day. We do not represent a pacifism that believes in the elimination of war through the restraining influence of certain superior nations. We do not agree with a pacifism that ignores the root causes of war – private property and capitalism – and tries to bring about peace in the midst of social injustice. We have no faith in the pacifism held by businessmen who beat down their competitors, nor do we believe in a pacifism whose amiable representatives cannot live in peace with their own spouses. Since there are so many kinds of pacifism we cannot believe in, we would rather not use the word pacifism at all. But we are friends of peace, and we want to help bring about peace. Jesus said, “Blessed are the peacemakers!” If we really want peace, we must represent it in all areas of life. We cannot injure love in any way or for any reason. So we cannot kill anyone; we cannot harm anyone economically; we cannot take part in a system that establishes lower standards of living for manual workers than for academics. We must spurn anything that breeds hatred or oppression. In other words, we must live like Jesus. He helped everyone in body and soul. Our whole life must be dedicated to love. From Eberhard Arnold, talks on August 9 and 17, 1934, translated by Gladys Mason. Originally published at Plough, used with permission https://www.plough.com/en/topics/justice/reconciliation/is-pacifism-enough

Since the war broke out in Ukraine this week, I’ve had several people ask what a pacifist would say about all this. Over the last month, my co-author and I have been doing a lot of podcasts and interviews about the book, one of which came out yesterday as Russia invaded Kyiv. No author can predict the timing of their book, and a land war in Europe wasn’t on the radar when we wrote it, mostly because violence is an enduring feature of the world, and the occasions for talking about Christian nonviolence in that kind of world are legion. I didn’t write directly about this yesterday, for two reasons. The first—and this is not a dodge—is that the first action is that of prayer, an appeal to God for safety and for the kingdom to come on Earth. Seriously: stop watching the news, and pray. But the second reason that I didn’t write about nonviolence yesterday -perhaps the most serious one-is that discussion of nonviolence in the context of a conflict’s outbreak comes across as a judgment upon those who fight. One of the major faults of much pacifist discourse is that it speaks of nonviolence as a possession, a matter of the right structure or right set of tactics and beliefs, and that if employed properly, will end violence. Christian nonviolence, far from this, is a matter of discipleship in the world, and is much better seen, in all of its iterations, as an aspiration, and as a penitent journey. It’s sinners being called by grace into the life of God by way of the work of Jesus: this will involve the renunciation of violence and the embrace of reconciliation, but this is a life we lead within a world of violence, one in which violence always remains both a possibility and a feature in which we participate, structurally, relationally, and politically. The sooner that Christian pacifists stop talking about war in such high perfectionist terms, the better: it makes a mockery of the deaths of those in war to describe their deaths as examples of what happens when a moral theory is put into motion or when it fails, and not as flesh and blood beings who have died. As such, the time for discussing Christian nonviolence is primarily before and after conflicts: in the midst of things, Christian nonviolence remains no less true, but as a matter of discourse, having an analytic debate about Christian nonviolence makes it sound as if—on top of being exposed to violence—the dying should be judged for their failure of fighting back. Any proposals for “ending” violence which emphasize the structural first and solely don’t understand that violence always comes out sideways, in the cracks. Part of the legacy of the 20th century which we address in the book is that nonviolence becomes more fulsome as our acknowledgments about violence become more full: violence is not something “out there” in the political realm of geopolitics solely, but within the folds of our relationships, in our economic arrangements, within local politics as well as international relations. And so, violence is not something you can outflank structurally or tactically: it persists as an enduring feature of a world in which sin remains in operation. Violence is, at it were, a surd, and will persist. So, if it doesn’t solve wars, why Christian nonviolence? The short answer is that because it’s true, that it bears witness to the way of Jesus, a way which frequently fails and is destroyed. Another way of putting this plainly, one which just warriors will agree with (for wrong reasons) is this: Christian nonviolence does not solve wars. I say this plainly, because no other form of moral reasoning about war promises to solve wars either, apart from vile forms of realism which treat war as a phenomenon about which we cannot have moral discussions. [1] Just war reasoning, the other major option for thinking morally about conflict, sometimes pretends sometimes that it is a mode of reasoning which “takes seriously” violence, but does so at the cost of making violence’s ubiquity a structural liability of Christian discipleship: we have to accept not simply the presence of violence, but the active and disciplined use of it. This to my mind is a bit specious, and the trajectory of just war thought has emphasized the ways in which it links moral action to violence: just war thinking has done careful work for centuries about the conditions of engaging in war and the conduct within it, but little (until very lately) about the post bellum phase, what happens after the conflict. If moral action in war is linked to the right use of violence, then it is predictable that the post-war space has been left out the picture until recently. The predictable results have occurred: by not having this aspect, the peace which just war thinking aims at is better categorized as the cessation of violence, not the promotion of peace. [2] I say all of this to underscore this basic point: violence, as a feature of a broken creation, is not going anywhere, and so any moral accounting of a response to violence cannot begin from the premise of what “ends” it. That being said, any number of tropes about nonviolence, Christian or otherwise, persist. Nonviolence does not, contrary to its stereotype, exclude the need for the restraint of evil, the protection of the neighbor, or the long view of hope for a reconciled region, and this is where I think Justin E.H. Smith's essay today is just wrong: the pacifist is not one who exists in a pure state, but one who embraces suffering for the neighbor at their own cost, and who does so in fragmented ways which still entail violence. Do I think that nonviolence is true? Only if by that we mean that it will fail and yet still be true to the revelation of Jesus Christ, and what it means for Jesus’ disciples to be disciples in a violent world. In war, violence breaks open in a way which is equivalent to the demonic taking up flesh and walking around. And in that space, there will be some who continue on, but many who do not, taking up arms in defense of their loved ones. And the pacifist of all people must minister and support ministry in that violence, if for no other reason than to do so mirrors the truthfulness they proclaim, both with respect to violence’s ubiquity and God’s call. There are many resources which nonviolence has that do not involve washing their hands and walking away, including (and not limited to) praying for those in the fight, dismantling the machinery of war, working for the restraint of the aggressor, making way for evacuations, leveraging influence for conflicts to end, binding up the wounds, and work for reconciliation over and over again. That God accepts us while we were yet murdering God on the cross is the sign of both the depth of God’s love for enemies, and the hope that even death is not the end of the truth of that love. So, go pray. And then, do the things that your hand finds to do. 1. The fatal flaw here to this line of argument is this: placing wars beyond good and evil is done in a desire to provide solace for those who find themselves involved in them and in morally fraught situations. But if wars are those things beyond good and evil, but rooted in necessity, those who participate in wars always have war as a space that has no continuity with ordinary life and cannot be reconciled with the rest of their lives. Odysseus can never come home. 2. Augustine famously argued that the just war is aimed at peace, and that the violence done by the just warrior is in service to peace. This, to his mind, limited the means available to the just warrior in combat. Originally posted on Christian Ethics in the Wild, used with permission. https://myleswerntz.substack.com/p/pacifism-does-not-end-the-wars

The picture above captures me frantically running around during basic training at the Air Force Academy (Summer 2010). I had heard that it was said, “war is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things.” I also believed in the Bible, but it seemed to be lacking color. It is hard to forget the summer after my first year at the Academy. After an arduous freshman year at the base of the Rockies in Colorado Springs, I received the sweet reward of visiting one of my dearest friends from growing up in Quito, Ecuador as a “missionary kid.” As we sat at the dinner table his family asked me what the Academy was like and my instinctual response involved performing air push-ups while seated and spewing John Stuart Mill’s famous words from the depths of my mind. Everyone had a good laugh and pointed out the extreme evidence of my thorough brainwashing. My first year of college had cleverly customized my core. Just war quotes did not always flow freely from my mouth. I had examined the differing views on Christian participation in war only one time, for a high-school English essay. To be honest, the default position on the Christian attitude regarding war embedded the conclusion to that essay far before I gave credence to unbiased research. Throughout high-school I had developed an interest in service, and the time quickly came to fill out those frightful college applications. I fervently populated application forms with my dreams of grandeur and used lines like, “I desire to be part of something far bigger than myself.” I wanted to be a world changer and my dreams neatly fit through the military door I perceived God had opened. The Academy seemed a world away, but off I flew. During my sophomore year at the Academy something began to itch and stir. I flew down to visit my parents who had moved to Haiti. Witnessing the intensity of need and suffering in that earthquake-stricken country drove me to a fretful realization that I lacked a vision for my education. In response, I postponed the Academy and flew off to Mozambique to work with a Christian non-governmental organization. My time in Africa culminated with me standing in a crowd of expats staring at a recently opened hospital. The wards were full, but there was not nearly enough medicine for the patients, and the administrator struggled to find food for his own staff. I had spent countless hours trying to get this hospital in operating condition after flooding, but I felt frustrated and fruitless. My efforts seemed to have no impact. I got on another plane with my tail between my legs and flew to my family in Minnesota. When I returned to the U.S. I reapplied to the Air Force Academy and considered some other options for college. I even had some time to ask the people around me what they thought about Christians serving in the military. With one lonely exception, the voices collectively recited the default position I had always heard. I heeded the majority position and off I flew back to Colorado. During my last two years of college I developed great friends, did well in school, and bounced around churches. But, to be honest, despite a desire to walk in holiness and purity with the Lord, my life was a perfect illustration of the lukewarm believer. This spiritual sloppiness carried forward with me as I moved on to Massachusetts to attend Harvard’s Kennedy School of Government for graduate studies. Graduate school bombarded me with new experiences and ideas. Although finding a church was at the top of my priorities, I always found a reason to move on to the next thing. I pressed forward with my studies and placed my hope in the plotline of my career, but I could not shake a sense of spiritual disarray and loneliness. One fateful morning I walked into a biblical Greek class offered in Harvard Yard taught by Dr. Finny Kuruvilla. He informed the students that reading the Bible in Greek is similar to reading passages in full color instead of black and white. I am colorblind so this hooked me. As I endeavored to study the Bible in its original language something surprising happened: I found a church fellowship who strove for obedience to God’s word, and I learned about early Christianity. The things I began reading made complete sense in a stunningly obvious way: the early Christians took the scriptures literally and seriously and did not provide contrived explanations to dismiss demanding teachings. They stood for non-resistance and peacemaking (Matthew 5:33-48). It is difficult to identify a piece of evidence that summarizes over 300 years of early Christian writings, but even the the Council of Nicaea presided over by emperor Constantine affirmed that Christians had cast aside their military girdles in response to Christ’s call (read the 12th Canon), placed their hope and efforts in His church, and chose to sacrificially serve those afflicted by war and injustice (1 Timothy 2:1-4). I could not say the same. An internal earthquake kept me up at night for months thinking about the implications of Jesus’ summons and the gospel of His kingdom. My whole life I had placed my hope in the plot of my career aligning with God’s will, but I had neglected simple truths. After a period of discipleship and fellowship with a faithful people, I had no excuses left to ignore the simplicity of Scripture. My sentiment echoed Martin of Tours, an early conscientious objector, “Hitherto I have faithfully served Caesar. Let me now serve Christ.” I could not continue in military service and take an oath of allegiance to words that contradicted a Nazarene with the eternal perspective. I explored different avenues to leave the military, but for a legion of reasons, applying as a conscientious objector and possibly taking on educational debt was my only option. Large cups of coffee got me through long nights of assembling a sixty-page application to leave the Air Force. My heart pounded in the moments leading up to the official submission of my application; there was no going back. On the one hand, it was agonizing to share my new convictions with many people I love, respect, and cherish who dutifully support and serve in the military. But on the other hand an overwhelming confidence and peace surrounded a new-found hope in the story of the Messiah who conquered evil with love. The high-school dreams of grandeur I chased throughout college and beyond pale in comparison to living as citizen of His kingdom. After a brief period at a base in California following my graduate studies, the Secretary of the Air Force approved my request for separation, and I received an honorable discharge. The decisions high-schoolers make will follow them forever. During college my thirst for righteousness was slowly quenched with laxity and other distractions I chose to follow. I wish I could replace the many hours I spent in devotion to government training with prayerful study of Scripture. Since I cannot, I will do everything I can to persuade others to learn from my mistakes and strive to compensate for lost time. I can say with confidence that out of all the kingdoms, states, governments, and military strategists I have studied, the empire that Jesus founded upon love is the greatest. I now seek to serve Christ through being a part of Sattler College and raising an army to bring forth His kingdom to all nations. In the picture above, an overwhelming joy had come over me by the time Dr. Kuruvilla was called to be a witness at my conscientious objection trial (3:41 pm on April 13, 2017). Many voices had vied for my attention in this journey but now Jesus’ words rang loudest of all: “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” The simplicity of Scripture had at last filled my faith with color. Originally published at Sattler College, used with permission https://sattler.edu/blog/2017/11/6/color-vision-of-a-conscientious-objector

I finally feel free to admit it. I am (mostly) pacifist – I say mostly because my beliefs and thoughts have’t been field tested yet. Before you think I’m crazy and buy me a plane ticket to Pennsylvania to live with the Amish, let me share a few of the reasons why I am pacifist and clear up some misconceptions about pacifism. 1. Where you start determines where you will end, and I want to start with Jesus. Whenever I mention that I am pacifist, one of the first things people say to me is something along these lines: “What if someone attacked your wife and the only way to save her was to kill her attacker?” or “What if killing 10 people saved the lives of 1,000?” These hypothetical situations are intended to reveal the ridiculousness of my non-violence. They are fantastical situations that make violence seem like the only answer. Simply put, I don’t answer these questions, because I want an ethic based on the person, work, and character of Jesus, not hypothetical situations. If we start with hypothetical situations, we can justify just about anything under the sun. But if we start with Jesus, there is a clear trajectory. He came to fulfill the law and the prophets (Matt 5:17), said that being angry with our brother or sister was analogous to murder (Matt 5:21), taught us to love and pray for our enemies (Matt 5:44), and to bless rather than retaliate (Luke 6:27-31). In his death on the cross, he submitted to the violent means of the world and triumphed them, not with more violence, but with resurrection. When I look at the life and teachings of Jesus, I see him choosing non-violence instead of violence, extending love to everyone, not just those in his tribe. And I want to be like Jesus. So I start with Jesus and I trust that if I follow him, he will give me wisdom to discern the various situations I will find myself in. I do think the hypothetical situations betray how deeply pragmatism has influenced they way we think. The gospel of America is “The ends justify the means.” So if we happen to protect our family, but kill 20 people in the process, then it was a good thing. If violence gets us to the end or the goal that we want, then violence is a necessary means. When I read Jesus, he doesn’t seem very pragmatic to me. In feeding the 5,000, wouldn’t it have been better for him to teach the crowd efficient farming techniques? In healing the blind man, did he really have to put spit-laden mud in his eyes? “You can see, now go wash your face!” In fact, Judas was chastised for his pragmatism, wanting the woman’s perfume to be sold and the money given to the poor. Instead, Jesus let her pour it on his feet and head. The ways of Jesus are not the ways of the world. And when we begin to follow him, it is inevitable that we will be at odds with the world. 2. Pacifism is not abdication and it’s not “the easy way out.” For many, when they hear that I am pacifist, they think that I don’t care about the poor, weak, marginalized, hurting, and oppressed. People assume that my choice to avoid violence means that I am unable to care for those might be living under a dictatorship. But pacifism isn’t abdication and it isn’t indifference. In fact, I care deeply for the plight of the poor, weak, and marginalized. I want to see that they find freedom from the ills of society and from their oppressors. I want to see justice roll down the mountains like a river. And I want to pursue that justice through peaceful, non-violent means. If anything, my choice to be a pacifist does not make my life easier but calls me to a new level of creativity and imagination. To seek peace and justice without violence is not a common solution in our day and age. Our culture is so used to seeing violence as a means to solve problems that the idea of peace-making seems outdated and outright ridiculous. As a pacifist, I am committed to justice for all without the use of violence. And that is not easy. 3. I don’t have it all figured out. I am usually hesitant to label myself pacifist at all because it leads people to believe that I have it all figured out, that I’ve thought through every nuance and am able to stand behind each tenet. I wish I could say I was that thorough in my thinking, but I’m not. I sometimes still watch violent movies and enjoy seeing the bad guy beat up. I enjoy playing video games where I am the hero and the journey to justice is with fists and feet. I really like The Walking Dead and I’m pretty sure, in the zombie apocalypse, all pacifists either die or give up their pacifism pretty quickly. Do these examples reveal how far from pacifism I truly am? Maybe – I don’t know. I’m a work in progress and I don’t have it all figured out. I’m thankful that Jesus walks with me and is patient with me as I work out what it means to be a disciple in the 21st century. Originally published at The Two Cities, used with permission. https://www.thetwocities.com/practical-theology/why-i-am-mostly-pacifist/