Better to Be Right-Or Holy?

When being being right gets in the way of showing love, we’ve probably got something wrong

In a brazen moment of procrastination, of pretending like I didn't have an enormous editing project due in two days, I indulged in my favorite guilty pleasure: celebrity gossip. After skimming headlines on the usual suspects—Harry, Meghan, Britney, and the Kardashians—I stopped at an advice column and clicked.

The columnist agreed that a woman was technically, legally in the right in a family squabble. Then she asked: “But would you rather be right—or be happy?”

This question struck me. Not just because I love to be right—or because being right makes me happy. It struck me because I actually misread it, my tired eyes seeing instead: Would you rather be right—or be holy? 

That’ll grab the attention. 

Of course, to many, right and holy are one and the same. Once upon a time I thought so too.

I mention it because this question of rightness versus holiness came to fore again this week as I watched as the Synod (governing body, if you will) of my “heritage” denomination, the Christian Reformed Church of North America (CRC), double-down on last summer’s declaration that some queer-ness and all queer sex are unchaste. This stance is still “confessional.” 

Here’s the weird thing: As much as I disagree with Synod, I understand their thinking—and the fear behind it.  

Synod decided what they did because the majority believe they are right—in biblical interpretation, in doctrine, in church polity, in traditional values, and in the eyes of God.

They believe this rightness will save souls and probably save America*—maybe even make it great again. And they believe being right is what God asks of us. 

The problem is, they are wrong. 

But that’s okay—because, as it turns out, so is Jesus.

Consider what Jesus had to say when the Pharisees tried to trap him for healing bodies and sneaking snacks on the Sabbath. Mark and Luke tell the stories.          

The Pharisees were right when they confronted Jesus for picking grain and healing muscles on the Sabbath. Read the Ten Commandments. The Hebrew Scriptures are clear on what one is not to do on the Sabbath—and that is work. 

While picking grain might not have been work for Jesus (his “sin” was one of not preparing. Jesus, you know I’d have packed snacks if I were traveling with you), Jesus was essentially a healer by trade at that point in his life. Therefore, healing on the Sabbath was work for him, just as editing or writing on the Sabbath is work for me (confession: I edit and write on the Sabbath all the time). 

Jesus should’ve come back the next day. The guy with the hand and the woman with the back had been suffering for years. What’s one more day crumbled in pain or tormented by a spirit compared to the eternity of God’s Law? I mean, God wouldn’t have chiseled Don’t Work on the Sabbath into freaking stone if God hadn’t meant it. 

The Pharisees were totally right on this. Absolutely correct. 

And yet, Jesus told the Pharisees they got this wrong. It was not sin, Jesus said, to free—to liberate—a person from Satan’s suffering on the Sabbath. Despite what the Law clearly said. 

Troublingly, Jesus did this sort of thing all the time. He knew the Hebrew Scriptures. He knew the Law. He knew what was right. He knew the stance that held tight to tradition and stood strong against pagan culture. 

And Jesus didn’t follow it. Time and again, throughout the Gospels.

When faced with the question, “Would you rather be right—or holy?” Jesus chose holy.

When rules and rightness competed with Jesus’s ability to heal, to liberate, to feed, to equip, to uplift, to converse, to call, to love, Jesus chose “wrong.” Jesus chose grace. Jesus chose mercy. Jesus chose righteousness. Jesus chose holiness. 

In fact, these choices undergirded Jesus’s whole ministry. They are the essence of the greatest commandment—loving God with all we’ve got and loving our neighbors as we love ourselves. And based on its placement in Luke, I’d guess these choices—or Jerusalem’s failure to understand them—sparked Jesus’s Mother Hen lament: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem,** the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often I have desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!”

Jerusalem was not willing because Jerusalem needed to be right. And were very afraid of getting it wrong. This misguided fear cost them the opportunity to huddle under Jesus’s warm and welcoming wings and to experience all he had to offer. 

I worry our need to be right costs many of us that opportunity as well. 

As I’ve written in previous posts, I believe the CRC’s confessional interpretation of Scripture that excludes many of our queer siblings from full inclusion in the life of the church is misguided. I believe this based on God’s Word, based on Jesus’s life, and based on the Holy Spirit’s leading. I believe this position is dangerous—and not just to the queer community and those who love them. 

Choosing rightness over righteousness—refusing to liberate people’s suffering on a Sunday, if you will—damages us all. It keeps us from being like Jesus and from being with Jesus.

But I know this is scary. It’s hard enough to let go of being right for the sake of happiness. To let go of being right for the sake of holiness is next level difficult. Especially when God’s Word is so “clear.”

I certainly don’t have a handle on this.

I mean, how do we know when it’s okay to be like Jesus and break a rule (even a Bible-y one!) to show hospitality?

How do we know when it’s okay to be like Jesus and loosen our grip on tradition or power or the Law or whatever else keeps us from loving others?

How do we know when it’s okay to be like Jesus and stop worrying about being “right” in order to heal or uplift or show mercy?

How do we know when it’s okay to be like Jesus and sacrifice our comfort and security for the sake of another?

How do we know when it’s okay to be like Jesus?

I mean, as we read in the Scriptures, sometimes Jesus is just wrong. Right?

Ack. It’s hard to be faithful.

But here’s the good news: While we battle over who is right and who is wrong (and what is right and what is wrong?) and who is in and who is out, Jesus stands, his wings outstretched (look, how wide! How long! How high! How deep!), ready, eager, desperate to shelter, to heal, to liberate, to feed, to equip, to uplift, to call, to love us all. Us all.

Because Jesus may be wrong, but he is holy.

*O, Canada. I didn’t forget you. It just got in the way of my little silly.
**Just noticing now how this echoes David’s heartbreaking lament for Absalom. Of course, I have a soft spot for Absalom—and was probably right and holy in his rage at his father!