"Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You build tombs for the prophets and decorate the graves of the righteous. And you say, “If we had lived in the days of our ancestors, we would not have taken part with them in shedding the blood of the prophets.” So you testify against yourselves that you are the descendants of those who murdered the prophets."
Why did Jesus put a negative spin on good actions and noble sentiments? The Pharisees built tombs for righteous men. That’s good. Instead of commemorating conquerors they honored brave souls who were killed for telling the truth. Shouldn’t the Pharisees have been commended for disavowing murderers and embracing martyrs? Jesus seems impossible to please.
Some time ago it dawned on me that there is a damning subtext to the words that Pharisees used when honoring the worthy dead. Jesus alluded to it, but for a long while it escaped my notice. Now I have detected the same theme cropping up in other contexts too, and it makes me wonder about the ways in which our words betray inner corruption even when we’re trying to be good.
The Pharisees said, “If we had lived back then, we would not have killed the prophets.” Good. But wait a minute. Why didn’t they say instead, “If we had lived back then, we hope that we would have endured persecution like our fathers the prophets”? That thought did not occur to them. It seemed that they knew which group they really belonged to. Ultimately, they identified with murderers, not murderees. They acknowledged their affiliation even when they were trying to say the right thing. They were so at home in the camp of authoritarian persecutors that holy men of God were still “them” and not “us.”
Jesus was saying (if I may paraphrase), “Deep down, you know who your spiritual ancestors are. Your words betray you. And, as a matter of fact, you are cut from the same cloth as they. Despite your disavowals, you are going to do just what your killer ancestors did.”
Jesus’ strong words might awaken us to subtle ways in which we reveal our own corrupt affiliations. Maybe these embarrassing slips of infelicitous expression will help us uncover and repent of character flaws we did not know we had.
Take for example some curious wording in the third stanza of the Christmas hymn “Oh Holy Night”:
Truly He taught us to love one another;
His law is Love and His gospel is Peace;
Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother,
And in His name all oppression shall cease,
These are wonderful sentiments right? Especially when you consider that they were written in 1855 when slavery was legal in much of America. Author/translator (and stout abolitionist) John Sullivan affirmed that, under the Lordship of Christ, oppression was to cease, chains were to be broken, and slaves were to be regarded not as property but as brothers (as in Paul’s letter to Philemon, verse 16).
That is great as far as it goes. But ask yourself, “Who is singing this Christmas carol?” I’m afraid the answer is, “Masters and those who identify with them.” The song does not say, “The master is our brother,” which a slave could sing. Nor does it say, “The slave is a brother” or “Masters and slaves are brothers,” which both could sing together. The lyric is written in the first-person voice of masters and their ilk who by their magnanimity grant brotherhood to the enslaved. While seeming to express equality before God, the form of expression actually excludes slaves from joining in the song! It did not seem to occur to the author that they might want to be in the choir too.
Oops.
My lovely (and longsuffering) wife has gotten used to hearing me respond to assorted aphorisms and rhetorical flourishes with, “Why didn’t they put that the other way?” or, “How would it sound if we flipped that perspective?” This technique is useful in undermining popular bits of sage counsel that are supposed to inspire us but that in my mind just fuel self-regard. Take for example that old piece of relationship advice that begins with the words, “Fall in love with someone who wants to know your favorite color…” and there follows a list of the ways in which the person worthy of your love is obsessively focused on you. I like to ask, “Why doesn’t that list instead begin with the words, ‘Fall in love with someone whose favorite color you want to know…’?”
Recently I heard a popular parable in which an undervalued object is dismissed by the ignorant but prized by the knowledgeable. The moral was that you should associate with people who know your true worth and reward you accordingly. You’re a diamond in the rough, so you should gravitate toward people who “get that” about you and are in a position to give you nice things. Hmm. It seems to me that narcissists will find that advice easy to heed. But a humbler approach to the same parable places oneself in the role of one of the evaluators. Then the moral becomes, “Strive to find value in those whom others overlook or dismiss.” (That, by the way, is what Jesus did in Luke 21:1-4 when he exalted a poor widow.)
In the Chicago area where I live there is a very large institution founded by sex abusers that regrettably calls itself a “church.” For many years it has run an annual Leadership Conference in which it pays wealthy people large sums so they can tell us how to be important. I’m still waiting for them to run a Followership Conference. (“Followership?” I imagine them saying. “Is that in the Bible?” Yes, it is, actually. Quite a bit.)
I imagine that bookstores in the Kingdom of God will undergo a serious revamping. The largest section will be labeled “Other-Help.”
If you are a Christian and eager to be a good follower of Jesus Christ, then strive to be aware of and to root out your subtle identifications with murderers, masters, egoists and leaders. Take your place instead with the persecuted, the servants, the self-forgetful helpers and the humble followers. God will take care of your exaltation at the proper time.
