True power—and peace—come through humility and obedience. That’s a price few are willing to pay.
—Fred Smith
Nothing I know starts fights faster than the subject of peacemaking. In principle, of course, everyone is for it. But it’s amazing how defensive and hostile people get trying to make peace.
The situation reminds me of when the current interest in small groups was just beginning. Speaking at a gathering that included many small-group fans, I mentioned I felt the dangers of small groups outweighed any potential benefits. Many wouldn’t speak to me afterward.
To me, this demonstrated what I was trying to prove: those particular small groups, at least, weren’t based on love but fear. People weren’t there for what they could give, but for emotional security. By saying, “I love you,” they were trying to ensure their own protection, hoping talk of love would keep people from hurting them. They were really expressing a fear of, not a love for, other people. Relationships were based only on a negotiated nonviolence.
So when a foreigner came in and expressed a different view, they joined together in hating him because “he wasn’t for love.”
Later I told them I was actually doing an experiment—to prove they really weren’t as loving as they thought. The Bible says if you love those who love you, so what? Pagans and publicans do that.
They were still angry with me, and maybe rightfully. Likewise in peacemaking, ideals are preached, but pragmatics often reign.
One of the reasons peacemaking in churches isn’t a popular item is because some people have a vested interest in conflict. Like union bosses and management negotiators, ending the war means they lose their jobs. I’m afraid some religious leaders also need conflict. They carry their greatest power in leading the fight to purify the church. They claim they’re defending the faith; they act as if they’re defending God. Personally, I don’t think God needs defending, especially by those who are basically hostile.
We’ve been so imbued with the idea we must fight Satan that we get the notion faith involves lots of fighting. But rather than personifying the purity of Christ, more likely we’re trying to establish our self-righteousness.
Any time I’m arguing with a brother, I need to check my attitude carefully. If I’m enjoying it, if I feel righteously glad to be in the dispute, then the war is probably not justified.
Part of our problem is our desire to be seen as successful. For example, many evangelicals are almost gloating over the decline of the liberals. They’re acting as if their spirituality somehow contributed to the liberals’ downfall. No—our attitude must be one of humbly offering assistance, water to the thirsty.
One famous evangelist exhibited this spirit recently when he was planning a campaign in a large amphitheater. Six liberal ministers, who didn’t deem it worthwhile to participate, somewhat arrogantly invited him to defend his position before them. With a gentle spirit, he went. Immediately they told him, “We admire you as a person, but your message is just too simple for us.”
He responded softly, “What happens when you preach? Do prostitutes become virtuous? Do murderers become converted? Do thieves become honest?”
“We don’t know what happens after our sermons,” they said.
The evangelist continued, “I would like to be an intellectual. All my life I’ve envied intellectuals, but when I try to preach that way, nothing happens. Only when I have used the simple message of the gospel have these things happened. Now, do you feel I should change?”
He didn’t condemn them. He took time to meet with a half dozen skeptics and say, “Hungry, guys? Here’s where I found the nourishment.” To me, that’s the spirit of peacemaking.
This is different from mere tolerance. This is what I call “objective acceptance.” It’s burying the hatchet but not burying the issue.
If we have differences, I think we must define them very sharply. In fact, my wife criticizes me at times for pressing my friends so hard to find out where they stand on issues. I do it because I think surprises hurt friendships. If we press each other and discover exactly what we believe and what we’re going to do, then there are few surprises. And we can accept our difference.
We must learn to be comfortable with both similarities and differences. Our tendency is to hide differences and focus only on areas where we’re alike. That’s a mistake.
I was asked to speak to the annual meeting of Christians and Jews in a large city. After I accepted, I got a call from a Protestant minister who nervously said, “Mr. Smith, I would like you to agree not to embarrass our Jewish attenders by mentioning Christ.”
“Are there going to be blacks there?” I asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“Would you like me to come as a black?”
There was silence for a moment before he said, “You can’t.”
“It’s going to be just as difficult for me to come as a non-Christian,” I said. “If I’m introduced as a Nashvillian, does that mean I can’t mention Nashville? If you’re going to introduce me as a Christian, can’t I mention the source of the name? That doesn’t make much sense.
“Let me put it another way,” I continued. “Suppose I’m walking down the alley behind my house at night, and I see a Hell’s Angel standing next to his motorcycle, and I start saying, ‘Hi, friend. We’re both human, we both live in Dallas, and we’re both seeking meaning in our own way.’ What do you think is really on our minds—our similarities or our differences?”
So I told this story at the meeting. It helped establish communication. Intelligent, realistic people want to understand differences.
This is true also of peacemaking. We don’t do away with differences; we define them with great clarity—but also with objective acceptance. We don’t say, “You’re polluted because your thoughts are different from mine.”
Condoning or converting?
Objective acceptance and tolerance are two different things. Tolerance is satisfied with the status quo; it too often is merely a euphemism for apathy.
Objective acceptance doesn’t mean you never try to change people’s views. Sometimes you should. But you admit to the people involved you’re trying to change them. You don’t manipulate them.
I know an avowed nonbeliever, for instance, who’s a professor at a Christian school. I would have no compunction about sitting down with him, praising him for his scholarship and intellectual abilities, but also saying, “In my opinion, you shouldn’t be teaching in a Christian school.” And if I got enough agreement in the administration, I’d have no qualms about removing him—not as though he were some kind of cancer, but because I don’t think that position should be filled by that man.
You can’t fill an engineering department with people who aren’t engineers. I’m not for witch-hunting. I’m simply saying that objective acceptance allows you to accomplish your purposes but in an honest, fair way. The process must be as Christian as the result.
That’s the spirit of peace, not merely of tolerance.
Defending faith or living it?
Among Christians, perhaps the greatest temptation is to defend the faith but not personify it. If you do that, you cannot make peace.
This tendency to say one thing and be another is one of the problems with our society. Teachers used to be models; now they want to be instructors. They know the responsibility of living as an example is very, very heavy. As mere instructors, they can refuse the burden of responsibility for exemplary personal integrity.
Likewise in the Christian world, we have no shortage of those willing to join the fighting squad, to be Christian marines. But we don’t have too many willing to personify the love of God. Those who personify Christ rarely get into fights. I don’t find Mother Teresa doing anything but helping the poor; she seeks no recognition. She’s personifying the spirit of Christ, and who wants to start a fight with her?
I have a friend who’s a top executive and one of the most profane men I’ve known. Some time ago he was working on a major acquisition and phoned me. “I need someone’s objective thinking,” he said. “Can I come down and spend the weekend with you?” I hesitated. He’s a brilliant man, a Ph.D., but so profane. Should I expose my family to him? After a quick prayer, I said, “Sure, come on down.”
He came and was a perfect gentleman. On the way back to the airport, he said, “Fred, I want to thank you. You didn’t change me, but you didn’t let me change your family life either. You still prayed and read the Bible. I appreciate your accepting me that way.”
A few years later, he showed up at our laymen’s institute and the next day told me he wanted to become a Christian. Why? “I’ve dropped into churches for years looking for what I found last night,” he said. “I’ve never felt such joy, such love, and I want to be a part of it.” So he accepted Christ.
Unfortunately, I suggested he visit a denominational leader in his home state who also was an outstanding businessman. The two had lunch, but it was during a time of tension in the denomination, and the leader spent most of the time castigating the opposition. To this day, my friend has never been back to church.
I think we’re losing a great many people because they see the fighting. They want joy and peace. As little as they know about Christianity, they look at squabbling Christians and say, “This can’t be it.”
In the middle of it
What if you’re already involved in hostilities? The responsibility of the Christian is to turn up the light and turn down the heat. We must look at every situation redemptively.
We don’t redeem situations by changing organizational structures. We redeem them by bringing in a different spirit—the spirit of Christ—even if it means we’ll lose. As difficult as this is for me personally, it’s still true: If I can’t win in the spirit of Christ, I should lose. It’s God’s will for me to lose.
If I’ve got to maneuver or manipulate or go behind someone’s back, it’s not God’s will.
Peacemaking is an action that springs out of an attitude. We’ll have differences, but they mustn’t make us mad at one another in the body. When you’re angry at a fellow believer, you raise the temperature, and I don’t know any time when you’re supposed to bring fever to the body of Christ.
The spirit of Christ, when truly exhibited, can actually reduce the inflammation.
One of my few firsthand experiences with this truth happened in a small-town church when I was young. I asked to be the song leader, and the pastor said, “Will you make me one promise?” I was so eager for the job I said yes.
“Promise me you will not say one bad thing about anybody in this church for as long as you have the job.”
It was contrary to my nature, but I made the promise. And kept it. Never since have I received the love I received in that place.
Years later I began wondering about that and went back to the pastor. I reminded him of the promise and told him how amazed I was at the results.
“It’s very simple,” he explained. “If you never say anything bad about someone, you’re never afraid to face that person. If you’ve spoken against someone, something inside tells you that person shouldn’t like you, which raises a spiritual wall. Plus, if people never hear you say anything bad about anyone else, they’ll believe you never say anything bad about them. And they’ll love you for it.”
I saw the sheer practicality of it, and it worked! But I must admit I haven’t always practiced it since.
Power source
It’s amazing that with the nearly universal desire for peace, very few people are willing to pay the price it requires. Like the rest of the traits mentioned in the Beatitudes, peacemaking is admired as an ideal and ignored as a reality. Too many of us prefer power to peace.
What Christians must remember is that power does not come by vanquishing someone else. Power doesn’t even come by defending the right causes or by the purity of our theology.
No, true power—and peace—come through humility and obedience. And that’s a price few are willing to pay.
Copyright © 1997
