What Is More Important—Love or Doctrine?
by John Carson | 1 March 2023
“Many a doctrine is like a window pane. We see truth through it but it divides us from truth.” ~Khalil Gibran
“You know, John,” my boss, Ed, said across his cluttered desk, “Doctrine is the garbage of Christianity.”
Whoa! This hit me. I knew Ed had some unusual ideas for an Adventist, but this one grated on my staid Adventist upbringing. Still, his statement, shocking as it was to my sensibilities, resonated in a way I wasn’t equipped to grasp. It was rebellious enough to appeal to something undefinable that had been bubbling up in the unexplored corners of my mind; the corners into which I dared not look. Maybe my subconscious feared what might be revealed.
I didn’t realize then how poignantly or painfully I would face the implications of his statement.
Not too many weeks following that conversation I found my life suddenly turned upside down. This upheaval wasn’t caused by some unexpected catastrophe, but by the resurfacing of long lost and painful memories of childhood abuse. Over several months I prayed, earnestly yet fruitlessly, for meaningful relief from the near debilitating emotional pain these memories evoked. In despair, I went to a Christian psychologist seeking help. He started me on weekly personal therapy sessions, as well as brought me into a therapy group he facilitated. As a result, my life began to gradually even out and the pain to lessen.
Two of the friendships resulting from the therapy group played an important role in teaching me the lesson Ed had shared.
A tragic loss
Raymond, although from a Christian background, had suffered unimaginably cruel abuse at the hands of his own father. He struggled almost continually with the memories, the rock-bottom self-esteem, the addictions, and the tortured dreams but seemed to be making steady, if slow, progress in his recovery.
Rhys was also raised in a church-going family, which from all appearances had been a loving and nurturing environment. The three of us became friends, supporting each other through the struggles and celebrating the breakthroughs and “lightbulb moments.” We set up a biweekly “boys’ night out” which usually involved trying out new restaurants, and talking.
One fateful evening, Rhys and I arrived for our night out—but Ray failed to show. A quick text message to him got no response and after waiting a reasonable time we ordered our meal and settled back to catch up on each other’s lives. Halfway through the meal, I received a text message from Ray’s wife, saying that she had discovered her husband dead by his own hand in their backyard a few hours earlier.
Rhys and I were in shock, our meal forgotten. I don’t know what Rhys was thinking but my thoughts turned to my Savior and how what I knew of Him played into Ray’s eternal fate. I considered what I’d been taught as a child, that those who committed suicide could never enter heaven because they were guilty of murder. I tried to picture Jesus condemning Ray to burn in hell. It seemed incongruous. How could a God of love condemn someone as damaged as Ray had been, by the man who had stood in the place of God in his child life, to that tortuous fate? As these thoughts tumbled through my head a text came to mind: “Now go and learn what this means: ‘I desire compassion, rather than sacrifice, for I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners.” Matthew 9:13 NASB
No, I concluded, the God I knew wouldn’t condemn Raymond to hell. On the resurrection morning He would welcome Ray with merciful arms. He’d take into account the horrific abuse, the yearning heart, the grievously wounded soul, the shattered life. He’d say to him, “You are loved!” Then He’d tenderly wipe away Ray’s tears and escort him across the Sea of Glass. On the far bank, He’d pick a luscious peach from the Tree of Life, hand it to Ray, and say, “Eat.”
Rhys always carried a pocket New Testament with him. I borrowed it and showed him the verse, explaining what I was thinking. His reaction was unexpected. Figuratively, the air between us turned cold. A hard look came into his eyes. Several long minutes of silence ensued. Eventually he rose from his seat, and without giving me a word or a look, walked out, leaving me dumbfounded.
Later that evening I received an email from Rhys excoriating me for my heresy. In terse script, he left no stone unturned in his exegesis of the doctrine of hell and who was condemned to it. He further stated that because I was wrong on such important issues we could only be friends from a distance unless I were to repent of my doctrinal errors. I was hurt and stunned.
Doctrine: the garbage of Christianity? For the first time in my life, doctrine had impacted a relationship that was important to me.
I’m sure Rhys was reacting out of his pain. It’s a condition of humanity, I think, and all too often we use our doctrines as the excuse for transferring our pain onto others. I can’t help but wonder if this isn’t the very sort of thing Jesus was addressing in Matthew 9 when responding to the religious elites. Here he was, sitting with societal outcasts, giving them hope, and these guys were worrying about the Law, in essence transferring their sense of guilt and fear over their own perceived shortcomings onto others.
Doctrine or compassion?
As good or as true as some doctrine might be, maybe my boss, Ed, was correct. No religion, no denomination or congregation, no doctrine was ever intended to be a substitute for loving our fellow man the way Christ loves us. If I sacrifice a child, the vulnerable, someone who is hurting, on the altar of my dogma, I’ve destroyed a life which may never recover. Is my religion, my doctrine worth that sacrifice?
Doctrine, when used as a personal guide for life can be a beautiful and sustaining thing. Certainly, it can enhance and bring unity of fellowship in a community of believers, but when it is used as a cudgel of control or intolerance over others, it is sin. The Jesus of the Gospels did not tolerate intolerance well, unlike the self-righteous Sadducees and Pharisees. Mark Twain once remarked that he’d rather go to Heaven for the weather and Hell for the companionship. Ironically, it seems Jesus felt similarly, which gives reason for hope to those of us who think it worthwhile to keep company with people of “dubious” belief or reputation.
John Carson is a former manufacturing supervisor, now semi-retired, currently living beside the Alsea River on the Central Oregon coast with wife, Dixie, and dog, Johanna.
