Love is not easily given. Nor is it easily received. And yet the
mystery of love is the heart of Christian faith. Its basis is, as the
First Letter of John tells us, God’s love for us.
This, for starters, is problematic. God’s plan does not mesh
with ours. Contrary to our hunch, our primary task is not to do good
works but to believe in God’s love for us revealed in Jesus
Christ. Our faith in this love, the sixth chapter of John’s
Gospel tells us, is our fundamental work. When we work to believe in
this gift, we accept our salvation. And once we accept it, we are
empowered and sent to love others. The gist is this: “God loves
you, Johnny, so be good,” not: “Be good, Johnny, so God
can love you.”
Messages like this can irritate us, especially if we are self-made men and women. We prefer to earn our gifts and grace. Having achieved our salvation, we can then compare ourselves to others, those lesser people who do not make the grade, those publicans and prostitutes. We can also be jealous of those who seem to have gotten more than they deserve—laggards who came in at the eleventh hour.
An even more disturbing aspect of the gospel of love is that we are
supposed to give it to other people. Freud, in
Civilization and Its Discontents, called this notion singularly nonsensical. Even to love one’s
neighbor as oneself he deems absurd: “Anyone who follows such a
precept in present-day civilization only puts himself at a
disadvantage.”
The harsh realities of life counsel us that if we love others, they
will make a doormat out of us. In fact, the realist in us may suggest
that Jesus himself was made a doormat. Had he used our methods, he
would have grabbed the world by its neck. He would have mustered
armies, enlisted geniuses, and aligned himself with bright
strategists. He would have educated the elite and manicured the
mighty. No such luck.
The reality principle of the world around us often has contempt for
the mystery of love. Its scorn is revealed in those special insults:
“You do-gooder,” “you bleeding heart,”
“you good Samaritan,” “you
turn-the-other-cheek-er.” The most telling ridicule the world
heaps upon a believer appropriately slurs the gospel. Of course,
“God so loved the world as to give God’s only Son.”
But the world also rejects the Word made flesh—and his ilk.
Praying to the Father, Jesus says: “I gave them your word, and
the world has hated them for it; they do not belong to the world, any
more than I belong to the world.”
As Christians, we are sent into the world as Christ was sent. We are
an incarnate people. In terms of our civil societies, we are a people
of inculturation. Our faith lives in and through the cultures we
inhabit. Herein lies the splendid diversity of all the ways our faith
is celebrated. The one mantle of baptism is arrayed resplendent in
Leeds, Galway, Nairobi, Santa Fe, or Seoul.
But the Incarnation is also about realities beyond this world and its
ways. It is a testimony to truths that extend further than the reach
of the earth or any culture. This is why the world will hate the
bearer of Christianity. Or at least it should.
Inculturation is not the same as “acculturation.” To
become acculturated is to capitulate to the wisdom, myths, and reality
of a culture. It reduces the faith to a mere function of ethnicity or
ideology, a mere handmaiden of revolution or capitalism. Faith must
always resist acculturation, or it will have nothing to say to the
world or to the culture. Acculturation tames faith; it makes it a lap
dog for pop, rap, or politics.
Herein lies the conflict between faith and culture. Is our culture the
last word on reality? Or is there some other truth, some other wisdom
which defies our cultural wisdom and dogma? Many resist the
possibility. “Face the real world, Father. Money talks. Power
talks. If you can’t accept the facts of life, you’re not
going to make it in this world.” (Was Judas—the one who would be
replaced by Matthias—just being a realist when he deserted the
cause?)
Be realistic. “Everybody’s getting a little on the side.
Everyone has a price. You have to look out for number one.” Such
are the dogmas of cultural indoctrination. They intimidate believers
into submission. Cultures that wield such clubs will spurn the gospel
and its bearers.
So it happened in the Rome of the Caesars and the Florence of the
Medicis. So it happened in Communist Russia and militarized El
Salvador (what a strange combination of words). So it happens in
capitalist America, where our young are taught that to follow the
gospel is to be an unrealistic goof. The world which evangelizes hate
will always hate the gospel of love.
Jesus knew this. He prayed for our strength and our protection:
“Consecrate them by means of truth—your word is truth. As you
have sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the
world.”
We would have settled for an easier job.