Hollow Victories

In the Bible’s Book of Proverbs we find these words: “A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger” (Prov. 15:1). I learned the hard way that it’s one thing to read these words in the Bible and quite another thing to embrace them as words to live by. Too often, I’m sad to say, my words have stirred up anger and hurt.

I was a newly minted pastor, armed with mountains of theological knowledge, and more than ready to lead my first church, or so I thought. A semi-rural congregation in central Texas took a chance on me and invited a twenty-seven-year-old to shepherd their church.

My wife and I were excited, and I felt confident that I was more than up for the task. After all, I had earned one seminary degree and was working on another, and I had taught upper level courses in Hebrew Scripture at both the university and seminary level. How could I not be ready?

The church was more than gracious and loving to my wife and me. We moved into a wonderful parsonage and bought our first pieces of furniture, many of which we still have. Women in the church made some curtains and hung them for us in the living room. The members brought food to fill our pantry. We felt fortunate and blessed to be their pastor.

Eager to show that the small congregation’s expressions of love for us were not unmerited, I decided to preach a series of sermons on the Book of Revelation. Surely, I thought, teaching from this enigmatic book would convince the membership that they had made a wise decision in selecting me to shepherd their flock.

The series started out well enough, as the first two or three chapters are rather theologically benign. Unfortunately, the book has twenty-two chapters! Once I got past the third chapter, I soon discovered that I had stirred up a hornet’s nest of controversy.

One elderly woman, in particular, found my interpretations of the book extremely irritating. One night after church, Bible in hand, she confronted me. She taught a Sunday School class and several of her members gathered around us to listen to what soon turned into a rather heated discussion. I listened for several minutes with what I’m sure must have appeared to her as a condescending smile.

I smugly pointed out how her understanding could not possibly be right by pulling out my seminary training, throwing in a few Greek words here and there for good measure, and using terms that only a trained seminarian would know. I smothered her with my wealth of supposed biblical knowledge.

I watched with satisfaction as her face slowly turned red. I thought to myself that I had proved how she had misinterpreted the passages in question, and that my arguments were beyond dispute—a ridiculous assumption, I might add, for when it comes to Scripture, we are all beggars before God.

In a few minutes tears began to stream down the woman’s cheeks. She hung her head and slowly backed away from me and then walked back down the aisle and out the front door of the church. I stood and watched as she left, convinced that I had won the argument and that she had been put in her place.

I served as pastor of that small congregation for two more years, but that dear woman never warmed up to me. Several of the leaders of the church explained to me that I had embarrassed her in front of her class. In effect, I had humiliated her in the presence of friends she had taught and known for years.

I realized my egregious mistake and tried to strike up conversations with her on a number of occasions, but she had nothing to do with me. I don’t blame her. I may have won the argument that night—maybe—but I had without question forfeited my right to be her pastor.

I have replayed that conversation in my mind many times over the past 45 years. If only I would have respectively listened to her, allowed her to disagree, and given her the right to have her own opinion. There is much in the Bible we cannot prove—one way or the other. In other words, there is a great deal of wiggle room in Scripture.  

I broke the cardinal rule of my pastoral calling—never bruise a tender reed or quench a dimly burning wick (Isa. 42:3). My arrogance deeply hurt a woman of faith. My calling was not to conform her to my theology, but to unconditionally love her. Pastors and priests are not herdsman, driving people to align with their theological views, but are shepherds who gently guide people to a closer walk with God and each other.

I wish I could write that I learned my lesson and never made that mistake again, but that wouldn’t be true. There were times when I lost patience with members, times when I worked harder at winning an argument than earning the privilege of being someone’s pastor.

Don’t misunderstand. It’s not inappropriate to debate or challenge people when they have interpretations of Scripture that may be destructive or out of sync with God’s character. There are times when views need to be questioned. But when people discuss an area of disagreement, conversations must be undergirded with mutual respect, love, and sensitivity.

Disagreements should not be seen as arenas of combat, where one person wins, while the other person loses. Disagreements are opportunities for learning and growing in faith. We must always remember, all of us—clergy, laypeople, academics—that we walk more in the dark than in the light. Our best insights, regarding matters of faith, are mere contributions to our understanding of God, not ironclad absolutes.

To please God we are not asked to win arguments. Instead, we are asked to love each other, to be kind to each other, and to be humble in all that we believe.

A soft answer not only turns away wrath, it opens up a window for all of us to encounter God’s presence.