Canter Bridge

This business of Christian witness in a world gone mad is exquisitely complex. And beautiful.

Balance is required, a certain astute way with a dance.

Why did I once think things were simple, easy, and clear?

The apostle has an angle. Always, an angle:

Therefore, since through God’s mercy we have this ministry, we do not lose heart. Rather, we have renounced secret and shameful ways; we do not use deception, nor do we distort the word of God. On the contrary, by setting forth the truth plainly we commend ourselves to every man’s conscience in the sight of God. And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing. The god of this age has blinded the minds of unbelievers, so that they cannot see the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. For we do not preach ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake. For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ. (2 Corinthians 4:1–6 NIV)

I remember, as though it were yesterday, a three-decades-ago pastor taking me under wing in a small-but-very-large controversy about ‘secret societies’ and membership in a New England church that was risking the bold move of taking its principal cues from the Christian gospel.

A spiritual violence was in play. This pastor was the still point at the center.

‘The gospel of Jesus Christ is public’, he explained to me. ‘You put things out there where they can be discussed, debate, refuted, questioned, embraced, rejected. There are no cards played close to the vest, no esoteric logic, no secret handshakes.’

Or words to that effect. I’m not sure he mentioned the handshakes.

It made sense back then. It makes better sense today, me dancing uneasily around the awkward fact that I am now the age he owned back then, with only half the savvy. Half the stillness.

By working with utterly sincere transparency, the apostle struggles to make clear, we commend ourselves to every man’s conscious in the sight of God. He, she, they make their own decisions, assess their own risk, choose their own future.

But we commend ourselves to them by never allowing ourselves the short-lived luxury of half-truths and deceptive motivations. We have only one asset: our credibility. If, when we have had our say, declared our truth, staked our claim, they believe we have hidden nothing in a rolled-up sleeve, we have won the battle that is ours to fight. The rest falls to other warriors, other risk pools, other destinies.

Yet, paradoxically—good grief, will I never know the luxury of a simple truth!—we do not preach ourselves.

This is the dance, the delicate pas de deux with contested reality that is the essence of Christian testimony, this is the part that is ours.

Pick me to pieces. Lash me with your hard questions. Think of me what you will, I’ve nothing to hide from you. Sneer at me or declare your undying loyalty.

It means nothing to me, really, at the end of my trembling day.

There is Jesus. Walk this way.