No One Likes a Know-It-All
I remember a classmate in middle school, Ryan, who spoke and acted with complete self-assurance, as if he knew everything. In every class, he would raise his hand and assert his answer as simple fact. At lunch, he would comment on any topic—from sports to movies to politics—proclaiming his opinion as incontrovertible truth. When someone contested one of his decrees, he would double-down with remarkable intensity, raising his voice until his contender was cowed into submission. Ryan had to be right.
As you might guess, Ryan did not have many friends. I would
later learn that his home life was chaotic, to say the least, as his parents
fought for his custody in a protracted divorce and showered him with expensive
gifts to buy his loyalty. I can appreciate now how this turmoil and vacuum of
love engendered a need for certainty and security. But few of us classmates had
that enlightened perspective at the time. All we saw was an annoying
know-it-all, someone eager to tell us how we were wrong. And as the saying
goes…no one likes a know-it-all.
Perhaps you know a know-it-all? If you can call them to mind for a moment, pay attention to your feelings. What do you notice?
Perhaps some resentment. Maybe a little schadenfreude—that bit of pleasure you feel when they are wrong. If you know their wider circumstances, you might some feel pity for them, understanding that their addiction to being right comes from a deep wound.
In any case, it is probably safe to say that you do not feel inspired by their example, motivated by their way of life. If anything, their example probably strikes you as toxic, as reflective of a disease. If it is exhausting just to be around them, imagine how exhausting it must be for them, stuck inside a prison of insecurity and resentment.
“Sharing the
Suffering of Christ”—Or, How (Not) to Suffer
In today’s scripture, Peter plainly advises Christ-followers that they can expect to suffer for their faith. “Do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that is taking place among you…” (1 Pet 4:12). He proceeds to explain that following Christ entails “sharing” the suffering of Christ, a theme that regularly appears in Paul’s letters as well (2 Cor 1:7; Phil 3:10; cf. Rom 8:17; 2 Cor 4:10-11; Col 1:24). Peter means to encourage his audience, to let them know that they are not alone, that Christ suffers alongside them and is leading them (and potentially those around them) into the fullness of life. Their suffering is not needless but meaningful. It is not destructive but redemptive. “Rejoice,” he says, “insofar as you are sharing Christ’s sufferings” (4:13). It is a little bit like growing pains, which are no fun but a necessary part of entering into the fullness of life.
But Peter is also quick to point out that not all suffering is the same. He gives his audience a primer on how to suffer. You may have already caught that little phrase: “Rejoice insofar as you are sharing Christ’s sufferings” (4:13), which suggests that there is also suffering in which we are not sharing in Christ’s sufferings. Peter makes this a little more explicit in his next breath: “But let none of you suffer as a murderer, a thief, a criminal”—so far, so good; I think we can all agree these are actions contrary to the way of Christ. To suffer for harmful deeds such as theft or murder is not the same thing as sharing the suffering of Christ. But then Peter concludes his list: “or even as a mischief-maker,” a word that literally means something like “overseer of another person’s business.” Personally, I think the translation “meddler” gets closest to the sense of the word.
I’m reminded here a little bit of Ryan, my know-it-all classmate from middle school. He was all too happy to oversee the business of others, to tell other people what to do or think. And as a result, he suffered resentment and name-calling and the occasional fight. He suffered mean looks and cold shoulders. His suffering was real, but he was not sharing the suffering of Christ.
I’m reminded also of those flashpoint news stories about Christians who have served in public office or as business owners and have refused to carry out their duties as a result of their Christian convictions. Are they martyrs, suffering for their faith? Or have they made themselves overseers of other people’s business, telling other people what to do or think? Do they suffer for acting like Christ, who ate with tax collectors and sinners? Or do they suffer for acting like tyrants, imposing their beliefs and their will on others?
Why Did Jesus Suffer?
These questions beg the larger question, “Why did Jesus suffer?” What kind of suffering are we expected to share? It’s worth a brief recap:
According to Mark, Jesus first encounters pushback for his words and deeds of grace, such as when he forgives the paralytic, and when he eats with tax collectors and sinners, and when he heals the man with the withered hand on the Sabbath (Mark 2:1-12, 13-17; 3:1-6). According to Luke, Jesus first offends his audience when he declares that God’s salvation is not only for Israelites but also for foreigners (Luke 4:24-30). To summarize from these foundational examples, we might say that Jesus suffered because of the wideness of his mercy.
But to make this point even sharper, even finer, I’d like to point out that Jesus does not suffer for meddling, for making himself an overseer of other people’s business. On the contrary, Jesus steadfastly refuses to impose his way on others. In fact, his refusal to legislate and enforce his will upon others is precisely what distinguishes him from the devil. For it is Satan in the wilderness who tempts him with the possibility of having authority over all the kingdoms of the world, and Jesus refuses (Luke 4:5-7). This temptation pops up again and again throughout Jesus’ life, and he repeatedly refuses. After he’s multiplied the loaves and fishes, the crowd are so enchanted by his apparent power they try to take him by force and make him their king, but Jesus withdraws from them; he will not be the king they want (John 6:15). As Jesus makes his way to the cross, Satan finds voice in Peter’s suggestion that Jesus need not suffer the cross but could be instead a conquering messiah (Mark 8:31-34), and then later Satan’s whisper is implied in the agony Jesus endures in the garden of Gethsemane (Matt 26:36-46). But Jesus refuses the temptation to call down angels, to impose his will on others. As he explains to Pilate, his kingdom is different from the kingdoms of this world (John 18:36).
The ultimate moment of Jesus’ suffering—the cross—was not the resentful response of people who were fed up with a meddler, a know-it-all, an overbearing legalist who had come breathing judgment and condemnation. It was, rather, the frustrated and faithless response of people who could not see how the kingdom of Israel was any closer to being restored. If anything, it seemed further away, as Jesus made friends with all the wrong people—centurions, tax collectors, women of ill repute. How was love going to solve the giant, Rome-shaped problem that occupied their land?
When “Good Men…Do
Nothing”
Perhaps you’ve heard the adage, “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing”? It is attributed to Edmund Burke, a British philosopher of the 18th century. But I imagine a close cousin of it was echoing in the minds of many Judeans when they heard Jesus counsel things like turning the other cheek and not seeking “an eye for an eye” and blessing those who persecuted you. I imagine that some of those Judeans, as they looked upon the cross, thought something similar. Sure, Jesus had healed many people and inspired many hearts, but all of that was small potatoes when you looked at the bottom line and saw that Judea was still firmly in the red, blood red, still a lowly and persecuted occupied territory of the Roman empire. To many Judeans, Jesus on the cross looked like a good man doing nothing. How was this going to change anything?
In other words, many Judeans wanted a meddler, an overseer of other people’s business—in particular, Rome’s business! Just like us, they had an obsession with outcomes, results. They wanted someone who would take matters into his own hands and make good things happen.
What they wanted…was not so different from what Satan tempted Jesus with in the wilderness. We think of the devil as tempting us with evil, but the truth is that Satan tempts us with “good.” “Think of how much ‘good’ you could do, Jesus, with authority over all the kingdoms of the world!” And again and again through Jesus’ ministry, he is faced with the same temptation. To make himself overseer of other people’s business, to do “good” through more effective means, which is to say, more direct and violent means. If he would just call down an army of angels, if he would just declare war against the Roman oppressors, couldn’t he usher in a more righteous world more quickly and with less suffering of the innocent?
But Jesus knows the trap. To usher in God’s kingdom through Satan’s means would actually be to usher in Satan’s kingdom. So Jesus refuses the temptation.
Jesus doesn’t die on the cross so he and his followers can then pick up the sword and execute justice on the world. Jesus dies on the cross to put an end to death, to the sword, to the sin and lies that fuel the world’s circle of violence. While in the world’s eyes Jesus on the cross may look like a good man doing nothing, in the eyes of his followers Jesus on the cross looks like God in the flesh doing everything, absorbing the full blow of sin to put an end to it.
Taking Up the Cross
We live in a very different world from the world to which Peter writes. We do not suffer in the same ways that his audience could expect to suffer. But if we are faithful, we are just as close as ever to the suffering of Christ. Because the suffering of Christ is, at its root, the suffering of not being in control. When we relinquish overseeing the business of others and trying to impose our will or way upon them, we feel powerless. Who are we without our votes to get our way? Without swords or firearms to protect us or a military to defend us? Without lawsuits to ensure justice and perhaps a little revenge?
I don’t mean to suggest these things are bad or wrong, only that they are not part of the way of Christ—and we should be mindful of how our recourse to them might compromise or distort our faith. “Insofar as you are sharing Christ’s sufferings,” Peter writes…. It is another way of inviting us to take up our cross. Which is another way of inviting us to relinquish control over others.
A Franciscan chaplain who served the indigenous people of the Caribbean and Central America during the Spanish conquest of those territories reports that, once, when he was “kneeling beside a dying chieftain, [he] urged him to become Christian before he died so he could go to heaven. The chieftain asked if there were Christians in heaven. Upon being told yes, he shook his head; he ‘would rather go down to hell so he would not be where the Christians were, such cruel people.’”[1] The world has changed a lot since then. But the fact remains that when Christians have meddled—have exercised oversight of other people’s business—they have misrepresented Christ in many ways and given Christ a bad name.
It may feel like torture leaving other people to their opinions and devices…but then we are not alone in that experience, that feeling. Christ bore it too on the cross, when he inaugurated his kingdom. It is worth remembering that at the heart of our faith is a man on a cross, a good man who was apparently doing nothing in the face of evil. But our faith is that evil did not triumph. On the contrary, evil was defeated. “By his wounds you have been healed,” Peter writes, drawing a stark contrast between what appears to us a mortal wound—the end of things—and what for God is redemptive and healing, the beginning of his kingdom.
Prayer
Whose love inspired Jesus
To relinquish control over others,
To live as witness not warrior
…
We see so much in our world
That is broken.
As we pray for your kingdom,
May we follow in the way
Of our king,
Who did not oversee the business of others
But made it his business to love them.
In Christ, by whose wounds we are healed: Amen.
[1] Terence Sweeney, “The
Repentance of Bartolomé de las Casas,” https://www.plough.com/en/topics/justice/the-repentance-of-bartolome-de-las-casas,
accessed July 15, 2025.
No comments:
Post a Comment