A Model of Respectful Discourse

What did you think of President Obama's commencement speech Sunday at Notre Dame? How will the Notre Dame controversy change the abortion debate in America?

A while back, I posted a short piece on the need for an ECRA that garnered quite a bit of attention in the blogosphere. I suggested (clearly tongue in cheek, or maybe not) that just as Evangelicals needed to create an "Evangelical Council for Financial Accountability" to counter questionable accounting and fundraising practices, it might be good to create some standards of rhetorical accountability. I proposed seven such standards.

A few weeks ago, I had the chance to speak with a class of high school students who had been assigned my book Everything Must Change by one of their teachers. One student in particular took umbrage to anyplace in the book where I confronted in a rhetorical muscular way what I saw as injustice. My sense was that this student didn't disagree with me on the issues themselves, but was even more sensitive that I am to rhetoric that pollutes the atmosphere and makes continuing conversation more difficult. I left the encounter even more committed to following the wisdom of Proverbs - seeking "a soft answer" to turn away wrath, and avoiding "grievous words" that "stir up anger."

The President's speech at Notre Dame was an example of the kind of respectful discourse we need when grappling with issues over which we disagree. I was especially interested by his story about fishermen - not only because I wet a line quite often myself, but also because I think there is something quite wise and profound in the point of the story: we can find, in our common humanity, common ground from which we can join to seek the common good.

I have always been intrigued with the powerful (and textually disputed) story of Jesus and the woman caught in adultery, found in John 8. I frequently ponder the image - saturated in significance - of Jesus stooping to write in the dust. Stooping, getting down-to-earth, returning close to the soil (humus) in humility, moving from a high position of dominance to a low position of service and vulnerability ... Jesus joins the woman in solidarity, and he simultaneously refuses to get into a dominance contest with the men. Touching soil, he reminds both would-be-executioners and about-to-be-executed that they are made of the same earth.

Evoking - and perhaps turning - the ancient story of God writing the ten commandments in tablets of stone, he writes in dust unknown words that can be blown away by the next breeze, perhaps commenting on the value of their sophistry and polemics. When he appeals not to their intellect but to their conscience - "whoever is without sin, go ahead and heave your stone" - he brings them down to earth as well. As their stones thud to the ground, not in condemnation of the woman, but in confession of their own imperfection, Jesus' rhetorical wisdom shines through. As I think about the kind of unhelpful discourse that repulses me - and that I too often descend into myself - I find myself confessing, "Lord, I have a lot to learn and a long way to go."

By Brian D. McLaren  |  May 18, 2009; 10:03 AM ET
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