Say It With A Smile

At our bible study last week, one of the guys' wives made a delicious zucchini bread. Zucchini is one of those vegetables that's relatively easy to "hide and sneak" into a recipe without your kids being the wiser. Nobody's a big fan of vegetables, though we all know they are good for us and that we should eat them.

Hard truth can an unpalatable thing, difficult for many people to swallow. Perhaps on account of their blindness, trauma, or even social conditioning, people often reject obvious truths reflexively and before even considering its merits. 

As I have observed, it is often the unfortunate tendency of orthodox Catholics who love and live for Truth to adopt the same outrage reflex as the Left when it comes to things like heresy, hypocrisy, and societal dishonesty. Fr. James Martin tweets "pastoral" heretical garbage? Get up in arms. Twitter war started by the SJWs? Get the clubs, bro.

I once took issue with a friend over the place of "tone" in truth-telling and, by extension, evangelization. My friend was a big fan of the Timothy Gordons and the Fr. Altmans because they didn't mince words. I can't listen to these guys, even though they sometimes have the right message. My friend thought tone didn't matter; that is, how you say what you're saying shouldn't matter if what you are saying is true. I thought that was simplistic.  

Truth is, I think we were both kind of oversimplifying things. St. Augustine initially preferred Cicero to the dull sheen of the Christian scriptures because in his eyes the gospels lacked sophistication and rhetorical beauty. And yet, it is the Word that is the way, the truth, and the life (Jn 14:6). Its essence is not in its beautiful language or power of persuasion, but because it is the Truth itself. To my friend's credit, there is a place for the unpolished John the Baptists of the world, of whom there is none greater born of woman (Mt 11:11).

That being said, I still hold that there is a case for how one says something; ie, that tone matters. The old adage rings true here, I think: no one cares what you know until they know that you care. A stranger can quote all the bible verses and catechism at a person they want; if they person doesn't trust the messenger, however, it is likely that the ground is not fertile for the seed of faith to sprout. St. Paul did not write one blanket epistle to all the communities of believers irrespective of their cultural and religious context, but tailored each letter specific to that particular church. St. Damien did not endear himself to the lepers of Molokai simply because he was a priest, but because he showed genuine love and concern towards them, caring for them not in the abstract but in the wretched physicality of their illness. 

Those opposed to Truth, who are blinded to it, are conditioned to adopt a posture of resistance. The light has come into the world, but men prefer the darkness, as scripture says (Jn 3:19) It reminds me of one of Aesop's fables:

The North Wind and the Sun had a quarrel about which of them was the stronger. While they were disputing with much heat and bluster, a Traveler passed along the road wrapped in a cloak.

"Let us agree," said the Sun, "that he is the stronger who can strip that Traveler of his cloak."

"Very well," growled the North Wind, and at once sent a cold, howling blast against the Traveler.

With the first gust of wind the ends of the cloak whipped about the Traveler's body. But he immediately wrapped it closely around him, and the harder the Wind blew, the tighter he held it to him. The North Wind tore angrily at the cloak, but all his efforts were in vain.

Then the Sun began to shine. At first his beams were gentle, and in the pleasant warmth after the bitter cold of the North Wind, the Traveler unfastened his cloak and let it hang loosely from his shoulders. The Sun's rays grew warmer and warmer. The man took off his cap and mopped his brow. At last he became so heated that he pulled off his cloak, and, to escape the blazing sunshine, threw himself down in the welcome shade of a tree by the roadside.

Force-feeding zucchinis, even if it did work, tends to diminish the dignity of the person having it rammed down his or her throat. You can't make people love truth and beauty, but you can present it as something worthy of love. When an enemy of Truth is locked into a rigid, defensive stance of opposition, they are anticipating to lock arms in battle. It is an art of war, then, to flank their sensibilities where they least expect them as a way of disarming. When they are stunned and vulnerable, it is then that one moves in to lay the lethal blow. 

We are Christians, not mercenaries. We do battle first with ourselves, seeking to smother our own egos and selfishness in our cell with the pillow of virtue and mortification. Infused with the grace of faith, hope, and charity and having obtained a modicum of mastery of our own wily natures, we approach our enemies in self-defense, not active aggression. We heap coals upon their heads by opposing our lower natures and instincts--feeding them when they are hungry, giving them drink in thirst (Rom 12:20). In the face of aggression, we turn our cheek to take a blow on the other side. 

What does this look like practically, this "stun and gun" method of Truth-delivery? We must always speak the truth, but to sweeten the spoon we should do it...with a smile. 

We already know that our culture supports the "empty shell" (as Pope Benedict XVI said) of love without truth, which is filled with emotional influences which in the worst case can result in love turning into its opposite. "The individual who is animated by true charity labours skillfully to discover the causes of misery, to find the means to combat it, to overcome it resolutely" (Pope St. Paul VI, Populorum progressio, emphasis mine). 

Imagine an instance in which we are put on the spot in our place of work to affirm that, say, abortion is a kind of healthcare, or that one's sex is irrelevant to their personhood. We can refute their assertion with firmness but disarm them with the smile of charity. In doing so we imitate the Savior, whom Isaiah prophesized would 

"not shout or cry out, or raise his voice in the streets. A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out" (Is 42:1-4). 

For those poised to fight, a smile is the last thing they expect to see. It is important that it is not a self-assured smirk or a insincere saccharine gesture. Our charity must bleed through the lips to stun and melt the hearts of our adversaries in that moment, to transmit that like our Savior, we have not come to condemn but to save. They may resent us for our presumption to claim to not only know the Truth but to possess it; they may spurn our outstretched hands extended from the lifeboat and choose in pride their own demise. They may hate us. 

And yet if we love them in that moment, and let our charity bleed through our eyes, lips, and hearts to communicate that love in that opportune moment of disarmament when they are most vulnerable, we may have the chance to win our brother. In this case, tone does matter because the tone is charity itself. Charity is not a force easily argued against. Because by its nature it is not composed of rhetoric or empty words, but indisputable action which flows through the current of grace. It proves itself, rests on its own two feet. "True virtue is not sad or disagreeable, but pleasantly cheerful" --St. Josemaria Escriva.

Love completely confounds its adversaries. It may not completely appease the mob. It may not keep us from getting strung up a tree. But if we can display our charity in a resolute smile during such attacks as a means of momentary disarmament, it may be enough to blind and confound so that we can slip in a letter of Truth in that moment. And once Truth takes hold in a soul, nourished by the light of grace and sprouting in the darkness, there is no telling the lies it will untie in the process. We may win our brother in the end. 

Undone with a smile.