Living the Disarmed Life

Following the example of Jesus himself, the first Christians and the writers of the New Testament were quick to see in the book of the prophet Isaiah a description of the innocent sufferings of Christ. They read there:

He was counted among evildoers...For our welfare he was chastised...Mistreated, he bore it humbly, without complaint, silent as a sheep led to the slaughter, silent as a ewe before the shearers...They did away with him unjustly,...though he was guilty of no violence and had not spoken one false word (Isaiah 53:4-9).

In all ages, these words concerning the One called the "Servant of the Lord" have been beloved by Christians for the portrait they paint of our crucified Master. Yet when we find these same words echoing in the New Testament, it is not only because they are beautiful words to describe Christ and his sacrifice on behalf of sinful humanity; it is because they constitute a call to the Christian to do likewise. There we read:

If you have done right and suffer for it your endurance is worthwhile in the sight of God. To this you were called, because Christ suffered on your behalf, and left you an example; it is for you to follow in his steps, he committed no sin, he was guilty of no falsehood; when he suffered he uttered no threats... (1 Peter 2:20-22).

The innocent, silently uncomplaining suffering of Christ is, in this teaching of Peter, not only an act of Christ on our behalf from which we benefit; it is also an example of Christ for our instruction which we are to follow. This portrait of Christ is to be painted again on the ordinary canvas of our lives. Had not Jesus himself said that those who would follow him must deny themselves and take up their cross? What then does it mean for the Christian to bear a cross?

We meet in this world some suffering which is our own fault; we bring accidents upon ourselves by our carelessness, or punishment by our own offenses. This is not "bearing a cross"; as Peter wrote, there is no merit in taking punishment for having done wrong. "What credit is it," he asks, "if when you do wrong and are beaten for it, you take it patiently?"

We also sometimes suffer in ways we cannot understand, as from an unexpected or unexplained illness or catastrophe which strikes us. Such suffering the Christian can bear, trusting in God's supporting presence and learning to depend more fully and more joyfully on God's sustaining grace. Yet this is not what Jesus was talking about when he predicted suffering for his disciples.

The cross of Christ was the price of his obedience to God amidst a rebellious world; it was suffering for having done right, for loving where others hated, for representing in the flesh the forgiveness and the righteousness of God amongst humanity, which was both less forgiving and less righteous. The cross of Christ was God's overcoming evil with good.

The cross of the Christian is then no different; it is the price of our obedience to God's love toward all others in a world ruled by hate. Such unflinching love for friend and foe alike will mean hostility and suffering for us, as it did for him.

Jesus instructed his disciples, simply and clearly, not to resist evil. He said, "Whoever slaps you on the right cheek, turn and offer him the left. If he sues you for your shirt, let him have your coat as well, ... Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, only so can you be the children of your heavenly Father who sends sun and rain to good and bad alike" (Matthew 5:39-45).

In saying this Jesus was not a foolish dreamer, spinning out futile hopes for a better world, thinking that if only we keep smiling everything will turn out all right, with our opponents turned into friends and our sacrifices all repaid. He knew full well the cost of such unlimited love. He foresaw clearly the suffering it would mean, first for himself and then for his followers. But there was no other way for him to take, no other way worthy of God. Jesus' teaching here is not a collection of good human ideas; it is his divinely authoritative interpretation of the law of God.

In two thousand years the world has not grown much more loving. The example of Cain, who killed his brother, still sets the basic pattern for dealing with conflicts, whether within the family or in the world of nations. Among nations it matters little whether they be religious or not in name; the choice of weapons and the readiness to retaliate are similar. How few are they, how few even within the Christian churches, who in this embattled world seek to be conformed only to Christ, to find in the suffering servant of the Lord, and not in some honored ruler, king, or warrior, the model for their lives!

"It is by this that we know what love is," says the apostle, "that Christ laid down his life for us. And we in turn are bound to lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters" (1 John 3:16).

The Christian whose loyalty to the Prince of Peace puts him or her out of step with today's nationalistic world, because of a willingness to love one's nation's friends but not to hate the nation's enemies, is not an unrealistic dreamer who thinks that by one's objections all wars will end. It is rather the soldiers who think that they can put an end to wars by preparing for just one more. Nor does the Christian think that by refusal to help with the organized destruction of life and property one is uninvolved in the complications and conflicts of modern life. Nor is the Christian reacting simply in emotional fear to the fantastic awfulness of the weapons created by the demonic ingenuity of modern humanity. The Christian loves one's enemies not because he or she thinks they are wonderful people, nor because it is thought that love is sure to conquer them; and not because the believer fails to respect one's native land or its rulers, nor is unconcerned for the safety of one's neighbors, nor because another political or economic system may be favored. The Christian loves his or her enemies because God does and he commands his followers to do so; that is the only reason, and that is enough. Our God, who has been made known in Jesus Christ, is a reconciling, a forgiving, a suffering God. If, to paraphrase what the apostle Paul said, "It is no longer I who love, but Christ who loves in me," my life must bear the marks of that revelation (Galatians 2:20).

No individual created in God's image and for whom Christ died can be for me an enemy, whose life I am willing to threaten or to take, unless I am more devoted to something else--to a political theory, to a nation, to the defense of certain privileges, or to my own personal welfare--than I am to God's cause and God's loving invasion of this world in the prophets, God's Son and the Church.

One of the most difficult things to understand in the history of the Christian church is the haste with which preachers and simple citizens have labeled the selfish interest of their class, their own race, and their own nation, with the name of Christ, making a holy cause of the subjection, or even the destruction, of those whom Christ came to save and to give abundant life.

In any kind of conflict, from the fist fight to the labor dispute, from the family quarrel to the threat of international communism, the Christian sees the world and its wars from the viewpoint of the cross. "When we were God's enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of God's Son" (Romans 5:10).

The Christian has no choice. If this was God's pattern, and if the Lord's strategy for dealing with his enemies was to love them and give himself for them, it must be ours as well.

Out of Every Nation
What does Christ say about the Christian and national loyalty? For centuries, most professing Christians have believed that their faith made them not only more obedient citizens, but also more courageous soldiers; that God helped them not only to love their neighbors but also to hate and destroy their enemies. Since the Roman emperor Constantine allied his government with the church, priests and preachers have been crowning kings, blessing armies, and praying for the defeat of their nation's enemies, all in the name of the Prince of Peace. Almost every theology and every denomination has explained how this had to be so. Today people of the church will argue that even nuclear weapons can be used by Christians against their fellow human beings if only the nation so commands. But what does the gospel say?

The Bible does not ignore the existence of nations. But most often when we read in scripture of "the nations," it is to say that out of every tribe and tongue and people and nation persons have been redeemed to belong to God's people.

"You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God's own people," writes Peter of the Christian church (1 Peter 2:9). The nation to which the Christian belongs first is "God's own people," the fellowship of the saints, the church of Jesus Christ. This "people for God's special possession" is united not by a common language or territory or government but by one and the same divine call and a common response; reconciled to God, its members belong to each other. The unity thus created breaches every wall and rends every curtain, whether of bamboo or of iron.

This new nation, the people of God, is the Christian's first loyalty. No political nation, no geographical homeland to which an individual belongs by birth, can take precedence over the heavenly citizenship which is given a Christian in his or her new birth.

These pious phrases--citizenship in heaven, new birth, people of God--are nothing new. They are in fact so familiar, so well-worn, that it occurs to few Christians to stop and think what it would really mean to take them seriously.

When God calls us to put first loyalties first, this means that Christians of different nations, even of enemy nations, belong more closely to each other, and have more in common with each other, than with their unchristian fellow citizens. Not for nothing do Christians call one another, "Brother" and "Sister." How then could a Christian, for the sake of a country's prestige or possessions, seek to take the lives of spiritual brothers and sisters, when their sole offense was to have been born under another flag?

Not only in Abraham's time was it a testing of faith to be called by God to abandon all else out of loyalty to that "city, whose builder and maker is God," for even more so today, when nationalism has become a religion for millions, will the true depth and reality of the Christian profession of hosts of church people be tested when they must choose between their earthly and their eternal loyalties.

Disarmed by God
"What causes conflicts and quarrels among you? Do they not spring from the aggressiveness of your bodily desires? You want something which you cannot have, and so you are bent on murder; you are envious, and cannot attain your ambition, and so you quarrel and fight" (James 4:1, 2).

These words of the apostle James have not been worn out. When there is conflict among people, whether within small groups or between nations, we try to dignify the clash with lofty principles. We may speak of truth and honor, of democracy and of human rights, of great causes and of noble goals. Yet the apostle is not deceived: "What is the cause of conflicts among you? ... Your bodily desires; ... you are envious."

He has seen deeper than we care to admit. True enough, individuals--and even groups of people, and perhaps even, rarely, a nation--can seek sincerely some unselfish purpose; but only seldom and not for long. If great, noble, unselfish causes are constantly proclaimed to be the guides of a group's actions, even the most gullible of us has learned to check a second time to see what the real reason is.

In international affairs a nation may show great concern, as they usually say, to "liberate" some poor people from "tyranny" when what they really care about is the price of sugar, the use of some mine or port, or the aggrandizement of their political influence. In the dealings between labor and management, each side speaks of the good of the national economy, when the real desire is for an immediate one-sided gain, even at the cost of a rise in prices for everyone. In a neighborhood or family disagreement, we hastily announce that serious moral principles are at stake--honesty or decency--where, as a matter of fact, it is our own pride that drives us.

If we thus understand the true root of conflict among people, this explains a number of things. It explains, first of all, why the Christian is and must be a person of peace. The Christian is not primarily someone who has joined a church, or has accepted certain teachings, or has had certain feelings, or has promised to live up to certain moral standards, though all these things are part of the picture. The Christian is a person who has been, in the words of Jesus, "born anew," who has started life over in a new way, who by the power of God working in him or her is a new person.

Conflict before was a normal, a built-in part of one's nature; but now the person has been disarmed. The spring from which flowed enmity and strife has been clogged; the scrawny shrub of bitterness has been cut down to the stump. It may well spring up again; but the believer knows how to deal with it as with any other temptation--in repentance, confession, and spiritual victory.

The reason, therefore, for the Christian's being called to live above this world's battles is not that one of the Ten Commandments enjoins us not to kill, or not that Jesus as a new lawgiver orders us to love our enemies. The Christian has been disarmed by God. There is no need for orders to love one's neighbors, beginning in the smallest circle of daily relationships, or one's enemies; the Christian is driven to this by the love of Christ within one's life.

The fact that selfish desire is a root of conflict explains furthermore why we cannot really expect whole nations and societies to build a peaceful world. Christian behavior flows from faith; we cannot impose it on entire nations. Many persons, when they hear of Christians whose conscience forbids their bearing arms, will argue that it is quite unrealistic to expect nations to follow this example. This is a strange argument. We do not wait, in our teachings about moral purity and holiness in any other realm, for the world to be ready to follow us before we follow Christ.

We know clearly that to be called by Christ means being different from the world. How then should our living the disarmed life depend on whether nations are ready to lay down their weapons? Jesus predicted that there would continue to be wars as long as this world lasts, just as he predicted that people's faith would grow cold and morals loose. But this cannot be a reason for Christians to follow this world's ways, anymore that the prevalence of theft or of waste is a model for Christians to follow.

When we say that we do not really expect nations to take the path of suffering and discipleship, this does not mean that it is wrong for Christians to desire and to work for peace among nations. The apostle Paul expressly instructs us to pray especially for rulers and for all those in authority, in order that we may lead a peaceful life. God's will is that people should be able to live quiet and godly lives; to permit this is the duty of government before God. We therefore can and should pray and testify concerning the folly of trusting in earthly arms, concerning the undermining of democratic government by peacetime military establishment, concerning the dangers of radioactive contamination and of "accidental war" which the great belligerent powers impose on the rest of the globe, and especially concerning the hideous immorality of the weapons now being devised.

It might even be that with more and more men and women uneasy and disturbed about the menace of militarism, the example and the refusal of a few resolute Christians might sound out as an alarm and a rallying cry for intelligent citizens who were waiting for someone else to have the courage to speak first and to suffer for it. But the Christian does not renounce war because he or she expects intelligent citizens to rally around the cause. They usually won't. Rather, the Christian takes this stand because the defenseless death of the Messiah has for all time been revealed as the victory of faith that overcomes the world.

But wait a minute; someone will be asking, is this the whole picture? Is there not, after all, a moral difference between freedom and tyranny? Is it not our duty to care and even to sacrifice for the preservation of our civilization? Certainly not all such sacrifice can be accounted for as "selfish desires." Are we not socially responsible?

The Christian who has been disarmed by God would here have several things to say, but they may be gathered up into one question. Did not Jesus Christ face the same problem? Was not he, who was just as human as you and I, concerned for the victims of oppression? Was he not, with the thousands who gathered around to make him king, a man before whom the path to political responsibility was opening? Did he not believe that it was God's prophetically announced will to glorify himself by establishing righteousness among the nations and to make Zion the center from which justice would go out to all peoples?

And yet, somehow, all of this did not swerve the Son of Man, in whom we see what God wants a person to be, from his certainty that to seek and to save the lost, his path must be one not of power, but of humility; not of enforcing justice, but of incarnating love. As Peter wrote, "He ... committed his cause to One who judges justly" (1 Peter 2:23). And yet, has not the ministry of this one defenseless man--and of the line of disarmed martyrs in his train across the years--done more to unseat tyrants and to defend basic human rights than all the belligerent zeal of those who were seeking to defend God's people against the godless with the weapons of humanity? For the wrath of individuals does not accomplish the justice of God.

When the apostle Paul says that "the weapons we wield are not merely human" or "not those of the world" (2 Corinthians 10:4), most of us, accustomed to thinking on the "merely human" level, would have expected him to say, "not human but spiritual," or, "Not of this world but other world." But he says, "not merely human, but divinely potent." This is the "almighty meekness" of our reigning Lord.

When the Christian whom God has disarmed lays aside carnal weapons it is not, in the last analysis, because they are too dangerous, but because they are too weak. The believer in Jesus as Lord directs one's life toward the day when all creation will praise, not kings and chancellors, but the Lamb that was slain as worthy to receive blessing and honor and glory and power.

John Howard Yoder--the author of several books, including The Politics of Jesus--was a contributing editor when this article appeared. Adapted from presentations in 1961 on The Mennonite Hour broadcasts in Harrisonburg, Virginia. Much of Yoder's theological work came under review in 2014 after evidence surfaced indicating years of predatory behavior by Yoder and sexual abuse of women. (See "The failure to bind and loose: Responses to Yoder’s sexual abuse" by  Rachel Waltner Goossen in The Mennonite magazine.)