A Little Offense Is Good for the Soul

What offends you, and why?

Is being offended always a bad thing?

The question sounds silly to twenty-first-century ears, doesn’t it? Everyone hates feeling offended—feeling “hurt, angry, or upset by something said or done” (Merriam-Webster). Therefore (by the logic of expressivism), offense must be a completely negative experience. It has no redeeming value, except for offering the offender the chance to apologize. If this is how we see offense, then we’ll strive to offend no one and hide from anyone who might offend us. But what if we’re overlooking something that offense does inside us, something good?

I’ve been reading a lot (as usual), and I had the pleasure of working through a friend’s book. Chase Replogle’s A Sharp Compassion is a pastorally sensitive and thoughtful approach to offense. And it is that way for one main reason: the person in focus—Jesus Christ—might as well be called “the offender.” The prophets and apostles called Jesus a “stone of offense” (Isa. 8:14-15; Rom. 9:30-33; 1 Pet. 2:7-8). Jesus himself said, “blessed is the one who is not offended by me” (Matt. 11:6).

What’s with all this offense?

Offense Reveals

We have to ask ourselves not just what offense is but what it does. Offense reveals. Replogle writes, “What offends you can reveal important characteristics about you. Offense can be a form of revelation. It can shock you into seeing things you've overlooked about yourself” (22). So, how does it do that?

Let me ask you another silly question: Do you have any insecurities? That’s where offense can often stem from (though not all offense is tied to insecurity). An insecurity is a feeling of deficiency, often accompanied by fear and anxiety. Our insecurities are the things we are NOT confident about, though we would love to be.

Now, when someone says or does something that pricks a nerve in our insecurity, we get offended. The trouble is we tend to be blind to our insecurities because we build up walls around them. We don’t want anyone else to notice them, especially ourselves. Let me give you an example.

Once when I submitted an article to a journal, the editor (kindly) pointed out in one paragraph: “You should use the active voice.” My instant internal reaction was, “Ahhhh—I know that! I’ve taught advanced writing for a decade. Do you think I did that by accident? Do you even know why we use the passive voice: to change the order of information in the sentence, shift the focus, or link more seamlessly with the previous sentence? There’s more to writing advice than just shouting ‘Use the active voice!’ I mean, come on!”

The pride in my response is obvious, but the insecurity might be less noticeable. If I were truly secure in my writing ability, I would have known that the editor was trying to support me, not tear apart my sense of grammatical competency. He was trying to help my message be even more effective. That’s all. It was my insecurity—my fear and doubt that someone might legitimately think I was ignorant—that gave rise to my offense. My offense revealed my fear of not being perceived the way I wanted to be. I was striving for approval. And the editor’s comment hinted at the possibility that this approval was in jeopardy.

When we get offended, we see who we really are under the surface. Offense reveals. It cuts through the veneer of ordinary responses and points to an insecurity.

Jesus Offends

Now, if Jesus is a “rock of offense,” that means, in part, that he will lay bare our insecurities. What we’ve tried to conceal will be set out in the sun, painfully illuminated by the light of the world.

One example that Replogle mentions is the story of the rich man who came to Jesus seeking eternal life (Matt. 19:16-22). The man claims to have kept all the commandments and lived an upright life. What else does he need to do?

Jesus said to him, “If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.” When the young man heard this he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions.

Do you see the insecurity? The rich man protected himself with his possessions. His wealth was a blanket he wrapped around himself wherever he went. He could do all the moral tasks required of him . . . as long as he had his money, too. But if he lost that, would he really have anything left? Jesus brought the offense. He showed the man his insecurity—his fear that life would not be sufficient without wealth. He walked away sorrowful. Jesus was not enough for him. At least, he didn’t believe in his heart that Jesus could be worth more than his little hoard of wealth. The irony is that though Jesus “was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich” (2 Cor. 8:9). The rich man had chosen the wrong sort of wealth. He sought bits of metal and fine clothing on earth, but he neglected the Maker of metal and cloth. And that Maker was offering himself to that rich man, just as he offers himself to you and me.

Early in his book, Replogle writes, "Only a Christ . . . who is permitted to risk offending can cut deeply enough to heal" (30). It’s painful to have our insecurities revealed. But if they aren’t, how will we heal. Replogle also quotes some beautiful lines from T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets (East Coker IV):

Our only health is the disease
If we obey the dying nurse
Whose constant care is not to please
But to remind of our, and Adam's curse,
And that, to be restored, our sickness must grow worse.

What Are Your Insecurities?

One of the most helpful things I did when reading A Sharp Compassion was ask myself, “What are my biggest insecurities?” It’s always healthy to ask yourself questions like that. For me, approval by others is a big one. That can extend in so many directions. Jesus stands before me just as he stood before that rich man. Jesus has already given me perfect and pure approval before the God of heaven and earth. Because I stand in Christ, I am approved.

But I keep fighting to believe in that approval and seek out lesser forms of approval—from family, co-workers, friends, readers. I need the continual offense of Christ. I need the Spirit to pull up the insecurity again and again and say, “Turn to Jesus. Stare at him. All else is loss.”

What are your deepest insecurities? Your offense can uncover them so that Christ can confront them.