Assessing the risks of Jewish-Christian dialogue.
Jewish-evangelical interchange seems to be entering a new phase. A decade or more ago (when I first took interest in dialogue), the activity seemed limited to an individual here and there. More recently, whole groups of Jews and evangelicals have convened in order to understand each other better. Much distortion remains, however, because we often prefer to talk about rather than with one another.
Difficulties arise when the two communities try to engage in dialogue. First, they are basically different, like oranges and apples: the Jewish community is a culture, the evangelical community a religious faith. Evangelicals, for example, do not understand how an atheist can be a Jew, but Jews have no problem with that combination.
Second, the groups must overcome the bitter legacy of Jewish-Christian relations from biblical times to the present. This ominous cloud hangs over any current endeavor.
Third, the impression lingers that dialogue implies weakness or uncertainty as to one’s own convictions. Or else, it represents a risk that one group may uncritically accept an alternate point of view and slip from the solid rock of their faith.
Fourth, differing theological vocabularies can cause problems. Take the Protestant doctrine of grace. I remember a Roman Catholic theologian who got so exasperated with a Protestant’s insistence on the principle of grace that he blurted out, “I agree, I agree, now can we get on to something else?” But Jews are not Roman Catholics; our appeal to salvation by grace may sound to them like escaping from responsible action. It may appear as not necessarily approval, but acquiescence in the holocaust. We don’t always understand each other as we attempt to have dialogue. Often we are tempted to draw early and unwarranted conclusions.
How do Jews view evangelicals? It’s hard to say precisely. “Where there are two Jews you have at least three points of view,” goes the familiar Jewish saying. But here are some general conclusions.
Jews in the U.S. take note of the evangelical presence. Ten years ago they did not. Rabbi Arthur Gilbert used to distinguish among Roman Catholics, Protestants, and evangelicals, insisting that evangelicals should be represented in any kind of interaction. But he was the exception, not the rule. Jews appreciate the substantial evangelical support for Israel. They understand that the support is not uniform but it is distinctive when compared with the Christian community as a whole. But they also feel that evangelicals may be supporting them for the wrong reason, particularly in the hopes of their latter-day conversion. If that is the case, and evangelicals tire of Jewish resistance to them, the Jews fear that evangelical support may languish or even take some covert form of anti-Semitism (understood as hostility toward the Jewish people as such).
According to Charles Clark and Rodney Stark in Christian Beliefs and Anti-Semitism, orthodox Christians’ narrow view of salvation leads them to proselytize. But when Jews reject their message, Christians often get hostile. This tendency, which is common among evangelicals, threatens the Jews. And further, evangelicals refuse to admit the danger or fail to see that it operated in the past. Jews accept the fact that evangelicals are evangelistic. That is not their major concern. What troubles them is when the Jew is singled out for evangelism.
Many of the widely held stereotypes about evangelicals have been picked up by the Jews. The Elmer Gantry image is all too common to them as well. In short, the Jewish community would like to believe the good will so lavishly expressed by evangelicals. They would like to believe that evangelicals have a genuine concern for Jews, not as pawns in Christian eschatology, but as fellow men and women, and elder brothers and sisters in a monotheistic faith. On the whole, their desire to believe seems stronger than their misgivings.
Now I will speak as an evangelical to evangelical Christians about the Jews. I do not at all mind if the Jews listen, and I welcome any response from either community.
Evangelicals dismiss too quickly the anti-Semitism associated (sometimes in an incipient form) with orthodox Christian tradition. While the comments by Harold O. J. Brown and John Warwick Montgomery in CHRISTIANITY TODAY (Aug. 18 and Sept. 8, 1978) have much to commend, they seem to illustrate this point. Justin Martyr not only ably defended Christianity, he accepted the persecution of Jews as a just recompense “for crucifying our Lord.” Chrysostom gives more than a little evidence of hostility toward the Jews. Luther never recommended the mass extermination of Jews, but his vitriolic attacks were enough to influence others. Evangelicals ought to recognize anti-Semitism whenever it threatens, even if it comes from our church fathers. (We may also err in reading too much into comments of some of the fathers and improperly faulting them.)
Evangelicals should not go on a guilt trip, however. This would solve nothing and would likely intensify the problem. It is enough that we repudiate anti-Semitism wherever we find it, in ourselves or in others.
The more difficult task for evangelicals lies with the alleged roots of anti-Semitism in Scripture. Our immediate reaction is to ask whether the prophets were anti-Semitic; if not, then neither Jesus nor the disciples should be considered so. But this is not adequate. Several sensitive areas remain: Jesus’ scathing attack on the Pharisees, John’s references to “the Jews,” the falling away of Israel, and Jewish culpability in the death of Jesus. I will only comment on these briefly.
When Paul stood before the Sanhedrin, he announced, “Brethren, I am a Pharisee, a son of Pharisees; I am on trial for the hope and resurrection of the dead!” (Acts 23:6, NASB). He did not say that he had been a Pharisee prior to his experience with Christ on the way to Damascus. Now Paul hardly would have said that he was a Pharisee if Jesus had categorically denounced all Pharisees as hypocrites. It would also be difficult to appreciate Jesus’ warning to the disciples to “beware the leaven of the Pharisees” (Luke 12:1), as if the disciples might fall prey to the same hypocrisy. We must not interpret selective attack on the Pharisees to apply to Pharisees in general, much less to Jews as a whole.
John’s references to “the Jews” reflect the growing separation of Christians (both Jew and Gentile) and the Jewish community as distinguished from them (see also 1 Thess. 2:14–16). He uses the term in contrast to the disciples of Jesus, whether Jew or Gentile (John 5:16, 18; 7:13; 9:18; 10:31; 11:19; 18:36). At one point (John 4:22), he breaks the pattern to record Jesus’ comment that “salvation is from the Jews.” If we do not read more into the phrase than John intends, we will find no basis for anti-Semitism.
Paul carefully orchestrates the theme of Israel’s falling away (already familiar from the prophets) and the ingathering of the nations (anticipated in the prophets). He asserts that the falling away provides no cause for the Gentiles to become complacent or arrogant (Rom. 11:18), and the ingathering is to make the Jews jealous (Rom. 11:11). Concerning the obstinate nature of his people, Paul concludes, “I say then, God has not rejected his people, has he? May it never be! For I too am an Israelite, a descendant of Abraham, of the tribe of Benjamin” (Rom. 11:1, NASB). NO fair appraisal of these words can justify hostility toward the Jews.
The question of Jewish responsibility for Jesus’ death has been variously understood. Some even charge the Jews with deicide. When Rabbi Gilbert asked my opinion years ago, I replied that Jesus died for the sins of all humanity, and that the sins of the Jews should not be singled out. I still feel comfortable with that answer.
What shall we draw from these brief observations? The conditions that gave rise to anti-Semitism are already in place: the establishment of Christianity as distinct from the Jewish community as such, persecution, and the increase of partisan polemics. But Christians were admonished by teaching and example to love rather than hate the Jews, and as grafted branches not to boast over those who were originally part of the vine.
This point is critical for evangelicals because they take Scripture seriously. They can discover in Scripture the circumstances that gave rise to anti-Semitism, but they will find no justification for walking that dismal road. In fact, the reverse is true. The pages plead for them to love all humanity, the Jew no less than any other. Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, “We cannot hate what God has created and claim to love Him.” Anti-Semitism is a denial of the evangelical faith.
Evangelicals would do well to keep in mind a corrective to anti-Semitism: we ought to see in Israel both the wrath and the mercy of God, not wrath alone. And we ought to weigh our own standing before God in terms of his mercy and wrath, not mercy alone. This balance will help us immeasurably as we confront the Jew.
Jews are a part of this beloved world, not a device to trigger the end days. Love them for themselves; help them as we would help others; build bridges of friendship.
And what of evangelism? Evangelicals have the feeling that if something moves, we must convert it. We are too concerned with visible results. It is our responsibility to share our faith with whoever cares to hear, but the results are in God’s hands.
We should also keep in mind the striking similarities between Jews and evangelicals: the high regard for Scripture; allegiance to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; the awareness of being a people of God; common elements in ritual and worship; the legacy of suffering for our faith; and a hope that transcends all the tragic events of life. However we wish to explain it, we have a special kinship. That, too, should be part of our approach to the Jew.
Samuel Schultz shared with me an experience that illustrates this kinship. One day he was waiting to view the famous Isaiah scroll and two bearded rabbis stood in line before him. When they came to the scroll, they stood transfixed before the ancient text while tears trickled down their faces. Once they gained their composure, they moved quickly on their way, probably without knowing how deeply my friend would identify with their response to the sacred text. They were, each in his own way, people of the Book.
I conclude with an appeal to dialogue. By nature dialogue suggests the willingness to hear and be heard. It suggests that we go beyond speaking at Jews to speaking with them. Rightly understood, dialogue does not compromise the integrity of those who participate or the communities they represent. I have never met a person I could not learn from or one so profound that I had nothing to offer in return. The opportunity today for Jewish-evangelical dialogue is unprecedented. With these thoughts in mind, therefore, let us proceed with care, but proceed nonetheless.
G. Douglas Young is founder and president of the Institute of Holy Land Studies in Jerusalem. He has lived there since 1963.
