Since June 2007 I've been teaching a weekly Bible study on the Gospel of John at my parish. Last night we finally made it to the "Book of Glory," chapters 13-20, which marks a key transition from Jesus' public ministry to his private discourse to his disciples prior to his passion, crucifixion, and Resurrection.
One of many themes or qualities that has often caught my attention during this study is how Jesus, far from being a meek, mild, and mellow fellow, is often downright confrontational, purposefully (and very strategically) entering into debate and argument with various religious leaders, including those intent on doing away with him. Anyone who opines about how Jesus is all about "love"—that is, a sentimental, sickly love based in non-dogmatic affirmation—has never seriously read the Gospel of John. It's not that Jesus doesn't talk about love (on the contrary), or that the Apostle John doesn't write about love; rather, the love that Jesus demonstrates is a clear-eyed, firm, and challenging love that has no interest in being comfortable, let alone avoiding confrontation.
In keeping with that fact, one of the great themes of the Gospel is of the separation of light from darkness: "In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it" (Jn 1:4-5). In John 8, Jesus declares, "I am the light of the world; he who follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life" (8:12). Put into modern parlance, this is rather dogmatic stuff; that is, Jesus is making definite, distinctive statements about who he is, and in doing so he is drawing a clear and emphatic line between those who follow him and those who reject him. Suffice to say, the man who a bit later states, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father, but by me" (Jn 14:6) is not the sort of man who cares about winning brownie points for avoiding polarizing positions.
And yet Jesus also talks about and demonstrates humility and service. In chapter 13, having washed the feet of his disciples—a task suited for slaves or servants—Jesus said the following:
You call me Teacher and Lord; and you are right, for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have given you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Truly, truly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master; nor is he who is sent greater than he who sent him. If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them. I am not speaking of you all; I know whom I have chosen; it is that the scripture may be fulfilled, 'He who ate my bread has lifted his heel against me.' I tell you this now, before it takes place, that when it does take place you may believe that I am he. Truly, truly, I say to you, he who receives any one whom I send receives me; and he who receives me receives him who sent me." (Jn 13:14-20)
This is the sort of paradoxical language that can bring on a strong case of cognitive dissonance for a modern reader—if they don't misrepresent what Jesus said and did. For example, someone might say, "Hey, Jesus is simply saying, 'I'm just like you guys. So if I can be humble, so can you!" But, of course, Jesus has already spent time claiming that he is, "I AM"—that is, he is divine (Jn 8:58)—and that he is the Teacher and Lord of the disciples.
Or, we might be tempted to say, "Jesus is showing them that true love is about serving one another." That is true, but if we stop there, we might overlook these unsettling words from the next chapter: "If a man loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him. He who does not love me does not keep my words; and the word which you hear is not mine but the Father's who sent me" (Jn 14:23-24). An essential part of loving God is obeying God, and that obedience comes from believing the words of Jesus, including his claim that he is God, he is the way, the truth, and the life, he is the Savior of the world.
The point I'm getting at is simply this: contrary to what far too many people think, true humility and theological conviction are not only compatible, they will be evident in those who are most aware of who they are in the eyes of God and in relation to the person of Jesus Christ. Put another way, a true disciple of Jesus Christ does not have to decide between being attentive to doctrine or being concerned with serving others—he must do both. (Which is one reason why Pope Benedict's first encyclical, Deus Caritas Est, had two part: the first on the theology of love, and the second on the practice of love.) The service and love that Jesus demonstrated in the Upper Room and on the Cross was part and parcel of Who he is and What he was sent by the Father to accomplish. If this simple but apparently upsetting truth was put on a bumper sticker or coffee mug, it might be in the form of "Theology matters!", or, "It's the theology, stupid!"
This false dichotomy between theological truth and lived humility informed a great deal of the media coverage of Pope Benedict's visit. It became something of a game as to who could create the most simplistic and misleading contrast: the gentle, loving John Paul II vs. the dogmatic, rigid Benedict XVI, or the old, harsh Ratzinger vs. the new, loving Benedict. It was all nonsense. But it reflects, I think, the very sort of "either/or" mentality with which many people see (or claim to see) in the Gospels: the harsh, condemning Jesus vs. the loving, meek Jesus. But if Jesus truly does love the world (Jn 3:16) and is the light of the world, sent by the Father, should we be surprised that he expresses displeasure when the world rejects him, his Father, his message, and his disciples (Jn 15:18-27)?
An example of this dichotomy, as it pertains to the Vicar of Christ, can be found in a column in today's Chicago Sun-Times, "More German shepherd than Rottweiler," written by Cathleen Falsani. There is, first, the obligatory contrast with John Paul II, along with all of the usual descriptives:
During the reign of the beloved, highly personable and thoroughly
Polish Pope John Paul II, Ratzinger had been the head of the Vatican's
Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith -- the Vatican's doctrinal
enforcer.
Many people were disappointed that the new pope was the man they
knew as the austere, hyper-conservative cardinal nicknamed "God's
Rottweiler."
In the three years since Pope Benedict assumed his role as shepherd
of the world's more than 1 billion Roman Catholics, he has not ruled
with the iron fist that some Catholics anticipated. But he hasn't
entirely filled the shoes of Pope John Paul II -- an international
superstar with the robust physique, artsy disposition and almost
mischievous twinkle in his eye. (Although the fire-engine red loafers
Benedict has taken to sporting are a step in the right direction.)
(I'm hoping that Falsani is simply trying to be cute with that last sentence; if not, it ranks very high on the Shallowness Meter.) Then, having created—or relied on, as it were—the stereotype of the Dogmatic, Iron-Fisted Ratzinger, Falsani contrast him with the new, loving Benedict:
Benedict showed the warmth and kindness that people who have known
him privately for years insist is very much central to who he is. [Note: Yes, they keep insisting and wondering: "Is anyone ever going to listen to us?"] Even
before he landed on U.S. soil, the new pope addressed the sex-abuse
travesty head on, calling it shameful and incomprehensible.
After he landed, the pope continued to talk about the scandal and
met face-to-face with victims of clergy abuse, a Christ-like pastoral
move that was felt well beyond the few souls he met with privately.
How interesting and revealing is that descriptive: "a Christ-like pastoral move..." When Cardinal Ratzinger, as head of the CDF, released the document Dominus Iesus, does anyone recall it being described as a "Christ-like teaching move"? Of course not, because we all know that Jesus would never make absolute statements, upset his listeners, condemn wrong beliefs and behavior, or confront those who denied him! Except, of course, that Jesus did all of those things—and quite often. Yes, Benedict's meeting was Christ-like and it was pastoral, but so are his talks and actions that are often dismissed as "harsh" or "rigid" or "dogmatic." There is not one without the other; they cannot be separated, no matter how hard some people want them thoroughly divorced from one another.
And then there is the word "move." I would let it go, but Falsani concludes her column with this:
While the pope prepared to preach in New York Sunday, I was at a
church in Grand Rapids, Mich., where I heard a sermon that made me
think of him.
The pastor spoke about St. Paul's Letter to the Philippians, where
St. Paul talks about Jesus' tenderness and compassion and says we
should treat each other likewise.
The Greek words St. Paul uses to describe the kind of encouragement
and comfort Jesus offers paints an image, the Michigan pastor said, of
someone walking alongside of you, slipping an arm around your shoulders
and whispering in your ear, "It's gonna be OK. . . . Keep walking."
As he walked among his American flock, that is precisely what Pope
Benedict XVI, in his understated way, did. Much more like the German
shepherd that he is than any sort of Rottweiler.
Well played, Your Holiness.
Thank you.
And please remember that your soft side is also your best.
Ignoring, if possible, the cloying condescension, you have to wonder at the phrase, "Well played, Your Holiness." Another attempt at cuteness, but also indicating (along with the word "move" above) that Falsani cannot see the forest for the trees. Likewise, talk about Benedict's "soft side" is also foolish. Shall we also talk about the "soft side" and the "hard side" of Jesus?
Jesus, in the Upper Room, told the apostles: "Truly, truly, I say to you, he who receives any one whom I send receives me; and he who receives me receives him who sent me." The Holy Father, as a successor to Saint Peter, the first pope, proclaims the fullness of the Gospel, the entire Jesus, the complete story of salvation. If we pretend there is no darkness, we will not see the light of the world, but will, with the world, reject the light (cf., Jn 1:9-10). If we dismiss the teachings of Jesus, we also reject the loving person of Jesus. If we fail to acknowledge the Teacher and Lord, we fail to really serve one another; likewise, "He who does not love me does not keep my words."