We are living in a culture that demands immediate answers. And it seems this phenomenon applies perhaps also to the modern Evangelical church. Our tendency is to try and put God into a box. We’ve created these systems of theology, and they seem to explain everything, right? We have an answer for this and that. It feels like nothing is outside our ability to give an answer. It can be remembered back several years ago, while working in a newsroom, the boss would actually give the speaker trouble for answering questions with the phrase, “I don’t know.” A question would be asked, and instead of conjuring up an answer, the speaker would just say, “I don’t know.” The boss wanted a real answer right then and there. But the speaker’s point was that the answer just wasn't known yet—it needed more digging. In a newsroom, facts are everything. Getting it right is always better than making up a ‘good’ answer just to sound like you know what you're talking about. There is a profound difference between a ‘de facto’ answer that provides comfort and the honest admission that a truth requires deeper exploration.

       And that pressure—the journalistic impulse to deliver the answer versus the theological reality that truth is often a prolonged journey—that tension defines our current moment in the church. It has been noticed that even when we don't have a reasonable answer, we’ll provide a subpar one. Personally, the speaker doesn’t like that. It’d be much better to hear an answer that moves toward being reasonable, or—if that’s not possible—an admission that one simply doesn't know. That they don't possess all the facts. That seems to relinquish pride. We can be prideful and act like we know everything, but the truth is that none of us has all the answers. And certainly, this fluctuates more in certain Christian circles than others. Certain churches suffer from it more. Perhaps there’s a correlation between the more conservative circles and this type of thinking, or perhaps there isn’t. But the goal is to be open-minded—to be open to what the answer might actually be. That’s the best place to be. When we are open-minded, we can take in new information that we currently don’t have, and we can learn. And learning leads to a greater expansion of the mind—to a greater enlightenment, we might even say.

       To see this tension in action, today we turn to Luke chapter 4. Here we find Jesus returning to his hometown of Nazareth—a pilgrimage site much like our own. Let’s read the first part there. Luke chapter 4, beginning in verse 16:

“And he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up. And as was his custom, he went to the synagogue on the Sabbath day, and he stood up to read. And the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written,“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.” And he rolled up the scroll and gave it back to the attendant and sat down. And the eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. And he began to say to them, “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing” (ESV).

       We know that if we live in a different city from where we grew up—or even a different state—and we return home, we will often go to the church we grew up in if we are Christian. If we are Jewish, we return to the synagogue. That’s just the way it works. For the speaker, this is often the practice at the holidays: returning to the church that was grown up in—at least one of them that is still in operation—which is a Presbyterian church—to the precepts of Calvin himself. We all have a different church we return to with different roots.

       For Jesus, the roots were tied to the Jewish religion—the original religion from 2,000 years ago, the one we read about so in-depth in the Old Testament. For them, their Bible was, in fact, the collection of writings that we call the Old Testament. So, Jesus is returning to his hometown church, just like we do, and at this point, it appears he is already at least somewhat famous. He is famous enough, in fact, that he’s asked to speak. That’s probably not something that will happen to most of us—unless we are a famous politician or something like that. And what is interesting is that he is given the scroll of Isaiah. Now, did he pick this Scripture to read? Well, we really don’t know for sure. It’s either that it was the assigned reading for the day, or that it was something he decided to read. It is understood that a visitor, and we can certainly call Jesus a visitor, could have some freedom in selecting a passage to read back then. That’s what some theologians have noted.

       But nevertheless, he still has to seek out this particular section, for the scroll is several feet long. He has to unroll it and locate the part to read. But we know—or should know—Jesus was pretty familiar with the Scriptures. Why does he pick this passage? What is the purpose? Well, we actually do know what the purpose is, because we know the rest of the story. We know that this writing from Isaiah was actually a prophecy, and wasn’t just any prophecy—it was a prophecy about Jesus. What Isaiah wrote is what Jesus was about to do; it was what he was here on earth to do. The Good News, the Gospel, was going to be proclaimed. And this message of salvation just wasn’t meant for the high and mighty. It wasn’t just meant for the well-to-do, the upper class, or the upper-middle class. Isaiah says it was for the poor. Let that sink in. God cares greatly about the poor. He is sending his message to them to say that they are included.

       And Jesus goes further than that. He says that not only do they get to hear the message, but that God is giving liberty to the captives. You see, Satan had people held in captivity. Sure, people were captive due to their sin, but it wasn’t just that. They were captive due to demonic power. Isaiah specifically mentions the blind receiving their sight, and this certainly shows that people will be healed of their sicknesses. But this particular condition is mentioned because it represents something greater: the liberation from the blindness that is over people’s minds, and over their thoughts. It’s not that Jesus is here to just "capture" everyone guilty in their sin; He’s here to save us from the oppression and the addiction of it. And Jesus points directly to this reality when He tells the crowd in Luke, “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

       Let’s continue in the passage. Luke 4:22: “And all spoke well of him and marveled at the gracious words that were coming from his mouth. And they said, “Is not this Joseph's son?” And he said to them, “Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, ‘“Physician, heal yourself.” What we have heard you did at Capernaum, do here in your hometown as well.’” And he said, “Truly, I say to you, no prophet is acceptable in his hometown. But in truth, I tell you, there were many widows in Israel in the days of Elijah, when the heavens were shut up three years and six months, and a great famine came over all the land, and Elijah was sent to none of them but only to Zarephath, in the land of Sidon, to a woman who was a widow. And there were many lepers in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed, but only Naaman the Syrian” (22-27, ESV).

       At first glance, the crowd seems open; they are amazed by His words. Yet, this acceptance carries a dangerous flaw: presumptive knowledge. They speak in familiar terms—“Don't you know who he is? He’s Joseph's son.” And while they are technically correct in placing Jesus within their community, this familiarity allows them to reduce His cosmic reality into a mere local, minor celebrity. They grasp at the title 'Joseph’s son' and use it to enforce ownership—the feeling that because He is ours, His power belongs exclusively to us. This entitlement brings Jesus into conflict with their expectation, prompting his pointed retort: 'What we have heard you did at Capernaum, do here in your hometown as well.' Jesus, in his character, will not be reduced to a mere local performer. He compares their limited vision to the Israelites of old, who refused help when it came from outsiders—to a Gentile widow in Sidon during famine, or to Naaman the Syrian cured of leprosy. To their ears, this was tantamount to blasphemy. They build sacred walls around their community, believing God's favor is a communal commodity to be guarded. But Jesus demonstrates that in times of deep need, God often reaches beyond those walls—to the Gentile widow or to Naaman the Syrian. They guarded rigid boundaries and believed God’s blessing belonged solely within their group. But in reality, Jesus was demonstrating the painful truth: they were actively losing God’s favor because their hearts remained closed. Their pride, rooted in these clear boundaries, blinded them; they could not perceive that God was reaching outside their circle, and this inability to widen their vision is what causes the initial marvel to curdle into violent hostility.

       Luke continues in verse 28, “When they heard these things, all in the synagogue were filled with wrath. And they rose up and drove him out of the town and brought him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they could throw him down the cliff. But passing through their midst, he went away” (Luke 4:28-30, ESV).

       The Jewish people’s sense of exclusive entitlement to everything God had to offer—even his favor—had been completely turned upside down by Jesus. And unfortunately, they saw no other way to rectify that problem than to throw him off a cliff. They wanted to kill him. Yet, this spirit of exceptionalism doesn't always erupt into violence. It often manifests in quieter, more mundane ways—even in our own day and age. In fact, this was recently brought into sharp focus during a vacation stop at Michie Tavern near Monticello in Virginia. Now, the food there is so popular that you often have to wait in line. While standing there waiting, a man was noticed in a shirt emblazoned with the words: "Right Doctrine Matters.” And at that point, the thought came to mind, “That’s a riot.” No desire was had to talk to this man. It felt so ironic: here we were at the foot of the little mountain, steps away from where Thomas Jefferson championed the idea of treating others with respect despite our differences—and here was this man, basically creating a confrontation before a single word was even spoken. His shirt essentially shouted, "Look at me! I have all the answers! Ask me about the Universe!" There was the feeling of a genuine sense of sorrow for his family, who were standing right there with him.

       And this brings up that behavioral psychology saying, and it rings so definitely true: 'Defensiveness invites attack.' Think about it. When you put up a banner proclaiming your views so boldly, out of context, defensiveness just begs for a reaction. Maybe it would have been better to say something like, 'Living Truth Guides our Path.' It’s a subtle shift. But when we wave 'Right Doctrine Matters’ in the air, what are we really saying? We are inadvertently saying, 'We are superior to you. We have all the answers!’ And even if we think we have the absolute truth, doesn't that approach always feel a little too rigid? A touch severe, perhaps?

       You see, that kind of declaration puts us on collision course. So many Christians—it has been seen firsthand—are quick to draw lines in the sand against anyone whose doctrine doesn't match theirs. And they feel it’s a Biblical duty to cut them off sometimes. Yes indeed. They feel they must police the purity of the message. But in that rush to defend our own position, we behave exactly like the crowd in Nazareth—we become those who want to throw someone off a cliff simply because they don’t hold our specific version of the truth. And this is programmable, folks. We were all programmed by what we were taught. So, how do we audit that programming? If our current understanding is wholly dependent on prior teaching, how can we be certain it holds the title of 'the rightest’ anyway? Does the Holy Spirit confirm our specific doctrine? If He does, doesn't that run into contradiction when He accommodates those of other backgrounds—like an Eastern Orthodoxy or a Roman Catholic person? Think about Jefferson, for instance. Remember, it was he who defended the Baptists' right to preach, even though he didn’t agree with what they said. He basically said, “Even though I don’t agree with it, they should have the right to speak it.” That’s a humble position, isn’t it?

       When we put up signs like 'Right Doctrine Matters,' we are trying to control the narrative—we are demanding our answers be accepted, just as that boss in the newsroom tried to impose a desired conclusion onto the toughest question. But humility, like Jefferson’s accommodating silence, recognizes that some truths require more digging than a soundbite allows. This is what people today miss. They miss the fact that God deals with all Christians. He doesn’t choose who he deals with based on your personal doctrine. That doesn’t make any sense. God meets people where they are. God acquiesces and tolerates a lot of poor doctrine—doctrine that doesn’t line up with the truth. Do you get that? Do you understand that? Or is your doctrine correct and everybody else’s wrong? Sure, we all have doctrine we feel is "the rightest," but how do we treat others who disagree with it? Do we wear a shirt where we basically admit that we don’t tolerate anyone else? You don’t want to be like the crowd here in Luke 4, do you? The speaker certainly doesn’t want to be. Hopefully, none of us wants to harm our fellow brothers and sisters simply because they have a different doctrine from ours.

       And yet, when you really think about this, a different story comes to mind. Names aren’t going to be mentioned here, but it’s about a very famous pastor here in America a while back who attacked another, less famous pastor—simply because he didn't agree with this other guy’s up-and-coming theological position. The idea was this: that time doesn’t work linearly, the way most of us have always thought of it. The argument was that time is, in so many words, in the process of becoming. That God interacts with the world based on what happens through free will choices. It’s not that God has already predetermined every single thing that’s going to happen, but rather, God allows certain things to unfold. Regardless, this attacking pastor went so far as to try to get the other man expelled from his professorship. Can you believe that? He didn’t work with him. He didn’t even know him. He was on the other side of the country. Yet, he wanted to damage this man’s life just because he didn’t like his doctrine. It’s very interesting, but does he not realize he lives in a country that freely allows him to hold his own doctrine without persecution? And—in just to go down a little rabbit trail here—if England had won the war, the government might not have been nearly as supportive of his right to his own theological position, at least not until the 1800s, and not truly until the late 1900s.

       Now, unfortunately, this mind is not convinced that anything being said here is going to change the minds of the die-hards. That’s probably not going to happen, because they’re just going to turn into that same crowd we saw in the Bible. But there are some of you out there who will hear this, or at least consider it. If we’re wrapped up in pride, we really need to think about that. We need to learn how to relinquish that pride—to be more like Jefferson—and stop letting it take hold of us. God loves us, yes, but he also loves a lot of other people, too. When the Apostle John said, “For God so loved the world,” did he mean just the ones who were "chosen"? Or did he mean anybody and everybody? That’s really something to stop and think about. Hopefully, we can say the reality is that he doesn’t just love us and a few others. Instead, we ought to be like him—to realize that we should act from a place of love, rather than pride. Love is a higher state of awareness, a higher state of consciousness. When we love what we believe, people aren't going to be as combative about what we have to say. And, look, all of us are growing to some degree. We all have new things to learn. None of us has already learned everything there is to know.

       A lot of people who hold on to this pride in what they believe aren't actually trying to do anything wrong. It’s just, they don’t understand yet. They haven’t had that "Enlightenment" moment. And for a lot of people, that might not come until much later—maybe even after this life, when they pass away. In fact, it seems like most people don’t come to understand the importance of tolerance and kindness until it’s too late. It was a revolutionary idea back in the 1700s—no pun intended—and yet, it’s still a revolutionary idea today. People can try to act like they aren't prideful, but that’s not really going to help. When we know someone who is self-inflated, we just have to remember that they probably aren't even aware of it. They don’t understand, and so, in their own mind—in their own "programming"—they’re going to act in ways that aren't the best. God deals with this every day, and we have to deal with it, too. But God doesn’t cut people off. In the case of the crowd in Nazareth, they may have cut Jesus off. Sometimes, it’s not that we’re afraid of others, but we’re afraid of how they’re going to respond to us. We have this inkling that they aren’t tolerant, and we’re afraid they won’t accept us—even if we’re willing to accept them.

       Look, if we realize today that we have a problem, we have to understand that just feeling guilty about it isn’t going to fix anything. In fact, it usually just heaps more guilt on top of the guilt we already have. And yeah, this is understandable—we want to feel that guilt right now. We want to feel like we’re doing something because we’ve identified a problem, but that doesn't actually move the needle. So, once we’ve let that settle in, the best thing we can do is actually ask ourselves: Why do we feel the need to be so intolerant toward others? We have to go deeper than the surface. Once we ask that, we can start working our way down to the root. And honestly? It might just be insecurity. Maybe we use our religion as a way to puff ourselves up—to make ourselves feel 'better' than someone else just because we belong to this specific group. Or maybe it’s about recognition. We want people to see our participation; we want the leaders to give us some kind of applause.

       But here’s the truth: our pride is rooted in insecurity. When we act pridefully, it’s usually because we’re scared that who we are right now isn't 'good enough.' So, we try to artificially inflate ourselves just to feel okay about our actions. And it seems a lot of this comes from that idea of being 'totally depraved.' It’s that first tenet of Calvinism that seems to be so problematic for so many people. Think about it. If you truly believe you are totally depraved, of course you aren't going to feel good about yourself. But the problem is, that idea goes against the very core of God’s design. Modern psychology has actually shown us this. It just doesn’t make sense to say you're affected by sin in every single thing you do—it’s just not experientially true. We don't see people who don't believe in Jesus acting without any good, and we know that even before we believed, we didn't act 'bad' in every single area of our lives.

       So, how do we hold our beliefs? Because, let’s be real, we’re all currently believing in something, and we’re going to keep believing things. Instead of being defensive, we should try being grateful. That feels like a much healthier way to approach it. If we can be grateful that these beliefs exist—that we can hold them without some kind of governmental persecution—then that’s a good place to start. To be grateful for our beliefs is to honor the process of our growth, much like information gathering in the newsroom honors the painstaking verification process. We move past the performance anxiety of needing to 'win' the argument, and instead find grace in simply holding what we have with thankful hands. Think about what life would be like if you didn't have your beliefs. You’d probably be pretty lost. But when we hold what we have with a thankful spirit? That changes the dynamic, doesn’t it? It makes us less eager to try to force our opinions on everyone else. Now, sure, we can share our opinions, as the speaker just did about Calvinism. People might agree, and some won't. And yeah, we might be disappointed if they don't, but that doesn't have to be a cause for defensiveness. It’s not a reason to get sad or gloomy or to lash out at people. If we just focus on how much we love and enjoy our own beliefs, we kind of become immune to that disappointment. We become immune to how others respond to us.

       That is how we develop real security. We want to be secure—it’s the only way to live, and it’s how God designed us to live. Just the fact that we’re taking accountability for this right now is a big first step. We have to recognize the problem before we can move forward. That kind of authenticity gives us the strength to actually deal with it. And with Christ’s help, we can actually grow out of this. We can become balanced people—people who feel good enough as they are, and who can actually be a help to others. That’s what Jesus wants for us. He wants us to have this inner calmness because we understand how God works—how much He puts up with. He is calm, and we can be calm like Him. We can rally to support and comfort other Christians who aren't exactly like us. We have to realize that people don’t have to be our ‘carbon copies’ for us to have a friendship with them. After all, when we leave this world and go into the next, that’s what’s going to happen, right? We’re going to be friends with everyone there. So, we might as well start being friends right now. That’s how we live in a way that leads to that grand saying at the end: 'Well done, good and faithful servant.’" (Matthew 25:21, ESV).