by Fr Ron Rolheiser
Have you ever noted how we spontaneously react to a perceived threat? Faced with a threat, our
primal instincts tend to take over and we instantly freeze over and begin to shut all the doors opening to warmth, gentleness and empathy inside us.
That’s a natural reaction, deeply rooted inside our nature. Biologists tell
us that whenever we perceive something or someone as threatening us, paranoia instinctually arises inside us and has the effect of driving us back towards a more primitive place inside
our bodies, namely, the reptile part our brain, that remnant still inside us from our evolutionary origins millions of years ago. And reptiles are coldblooded.
So too, it seems, are we when we’re threatened.
This, I believe, helps explain much of the paranoia and violence in our world today as well as the bitter rhetoric that, almost universally, is blocking any real possibility of meaningful
discussion apposite our tensions today within politics, economics and our churches.
We live in a bitterly polarised world.
All of us recognise this, and all of us see a lot of cold-bloodedness inside world politics, inside the politics within our own countries and communities and, sadly, not least inside
our churches.
What we see in nearly every discussion today where there is disagreement is a cold, hard rhetoric that is not really open to genuine dialogue and is, invariably, the antithesis of charity, graciousness and respect. What we see instead is paranoia, demonisation of
those who disagree with us, ridicule of our opponents’ sincerity and values, and blind self-defensiveness.
Moreover this bitterness and disrespect, so contrary to all that’s in the Gospels and to all that’s noble inside us, is invariably “sacralised”; that is, it is rationalised as demanded by “God” because we believe that what we are doing is for God, or for truth, or for country, or for the poor, or for mother nature, or for art, or for something whose transcendent value, we
believe, justifies our bracketing both Jesus and common courtesy.
If you doubt this, simply turn on any radio or television station that does commentary on politics or religion or listen to any political or religious debate today. We are, as
John Shea puts it, more skilled in justification than in self-examination; but, then, we can sacralise our disrespect and lack of elemental charity.
But, in doing this we are far from the Gospel, far from Jesus, and far from what’s best inside us. We’re meant to be more than the reptile part of our brains and more than the instincts we
inherited from our ancient ancestors, the beasts of prey. We’re called to something higher, called to respond to threat beyond the blind response of instinct.
St Paul’s own reaction to threat can serve as a template for what our ideal response should be. He writes: “When we are ridiculed, we bless; when persecuted, we endure; when slandered, we respond gently” (1 Corinthians 4, 12-13).”
Earlier, in the same letter, he had already given another counsel in regard to dealing with opposition.
His counsel: Live with enough patience inside opposition so as not have to defend yourself —
let God and history do that for you: “It does not concern me in the least that I be judged by
you or any human tribunal; I do not even pass judgment on myself; I am not conscious of anything against me, but I do not hereby stand acquitted; the one who judges me is the Lord.
Therefore, do not make any judgment before the appointed time.”
Admittedly, this is difficult. Our instinctual self is not easily subdued. Like everyone else, I struggle a lot with this. Every time I hear or read someone who dismisses my preaching
and writing as heretical, or dangerous, or (even more biting) as lightweight fluff, the reptile part of my brain stirs to do its ancient job and my natural instincts bitterly resist the high road that St Paul so wisely counsels. Natural instinct does not want to try to understand
the position of the one who has belittled us, nor does it does not want to bless and endure and respond gently. It wants blood. I suspect that everyone’s instincts work in the same way. Natural instinct doesn’t easily honour the Gospel. But that’s the test; indeed one of the
litmus tests of Christian discipleship.
When we look at the core of Jesus’ moral teachings and ask ourselves, what more than anything else sets Jesus apart from other moral teachers? What particular challenge of his might serve as a litmus test for genuine discipleship?
I submit that at the core of Jesus’ teaching lies this challenge: Can I love an enemy? Can I bless someone who curses me? Can I wish good to someone who wishes me evil? Can I genuinely
forgive someone who’s been unfair to me? And, perhaps even more importantly, can I live in patience when I’m in tension, not rushing to defend myself, but leaving that defence to history and to God?
Oblate Father Ron Rolheiser, theologian, teacher, and award-winning author, is president of the Oblate School of Theology in San Antonio, Texas.
Fr Rolheiser’s website: www.ronrolheiser.com

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