I
struggle with the concept of Christian diplomacy, largely because of my
exposure to the diplomacy of human governments. Rather than seeking to build
bridges between disparate political, social, cultural, or economic populations,
human diplomacy has always seemed to me to involve a language designed to allow
“plausible deniability.” In other words, we recognize our need to talk with one
another. But just in case someone tries to pin us down on an actual
communication of meaning, we can object that “we didn’t mean it that way.”
Diplomatically Rejecting Diplomacy
At
the heart of Christian diplomacy, there must be a commitment to “speaking the
truth in love.” And doing so as clearly and unequivocally as possible. This is
why I agree so strongly with the discussion of such clarity in Paul Louis Metzger’s most recent post, “Thank God
for the Dalai Lama.” And yet it also influences me to state, knowing the likely
controversy among my Buddhist friends, that I do not thank God for the Dalai Lama. My early impressions are not
overcome by Dr. Metzger’s emphasis on the points of agreement, largely because
I don’t know that those points will withstand scrutiny over time. The “popular
Buddhism” of celebrities mirrored that of the Dalai Lama for too many years for
me to expect clarity and consistency in the position of any Buddhist. The
variations on key themes are too many and too frequently shifting to foster a
detailed discussion of actual belief and practice. The Buddhism that has thus
been portrayed to me is essentially a spiritual Lego™ set. Interchangeable
parts that may be arranged, discarded, and/or added to on the whims of the
individual practitioner.
“Why so annoyed, Bill?”
I
do thank God for Dr. Metzger’s post,
and for the discussion that the Dalai Lama sparks. But the impossibility of a
clear discussion of belief and practice in Buddhism merely fuels a smoldering
dissatisfaction with those in my own faith tradition.
Dr.
Metzger points out that in Jesus’ teachings, “one cannot help but see belief in
an immortal God, heaven and hell, and eternal judgment of our souls as central
to Jesus’ ethic.” But he introduces that statement, properly, by noting that
this view is only clear, “apart from dismissing that this text conveys Jesus’
voice, or distorting its meaning.” And yet, so often, I find that my
conversations with Christians involve their willful rearranging, discarding,
and/or adding to whatever portions of Jesus’ words and deeds they choose.
As
with pots and kettles in their blackness, the obfuscation of doctrines and
polity, beliefs and practices, or even the boundaries at which the discussion
shifts from biblical or theological to political, cultural, and/or socio-economic,
leaves me wondering. What is it that we fear so greatly about open and honest
dialogue that we must use “diplomatic language” (in the worst sense of the
term) in order to ensure the “plausible deniability” that allows us to pretend
to have actual relationships with others, even though we cannot bring ourselves
to speak the truth?
I
suspect that it has to do with our attempts to build love for one another on an
agreed-upon truth. What scripture seems to me to suggest, however, is a mutual
seeking for truth, based on the indispensable prerequisite of having decided to
love one another. Thus, finding shared truth must be accomplished by first
accepting our shared concerns as human beings. Not the other way around.
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