A verse to carry us into the real world

“A servant of the Lord must not quarrel but must be kind to everyone, be able to teach, and be patient with difficult people.”

I rehearsed the words over and over again to myself, the thin pages of my Bible quiz book growing finger-worn. Bible quizzing, if you haven’t heard of it, is a ministry that encourages teenagers to memorize Scripture and then compete with other teens in nationwide competitions. The adult quizmaster sits before two teams of rapt adolescents and asks them questions about the Bible. The opposing teams spring from their seats, sometimes cutting the quizmaster off, to recite passages of Scripture word-by-exact-word. Some teens forgo all other hobbies in this pursuit and sincerely bond with their assigned text and their teams. (My mother still remembers coaching a quiz team that went all the way to nationals—especially one dedicated girl who, on the long bus ride north, had Cheetos stuck in her braces.)

I was not one of those hobby-forsaking teenagers, and hence never excelled at quizzing. But I did bend very patiently over the text of 2 Timothy 2:24. And as every quizmaster and coach hopes, in the end it was not the contest that made a difference in me—it was the Scripture.

Sensing its pacific potential, I wrote the verse down on my sacred list of “qualities my future husband must have.” I had undergone a major theological shift already in my life, and was accustomed to hearing men I admired parse words and deconstruct complex spiritual arguments. Some were sincere defenders of the truth. Others liked the sounds of the smart words coming out of their mouths. They liked to believe that everyone who disagreed with them had done them a profound wrong and deserved their scorn. They felt no need for discussion or charity, and simply separated from those who saw things differently. With this guidance, and with a teenager’s ideological polarity, I found myself falling into the ungentle pit of the zealous moral convert. My best friend called my new manners my “theological frying pan”—intended for bashing “wrong Christians” over the head. Once I realized that this method of relating drained the life out of me and made me blind to parts of the world I might have enjoyed, I resolved that I did not want the man full of his own words; I wanted the gentle man, and I wanted to be a gentle woman.

In college I met, for the first time, many friends who agreed with my theological perspectives. But in time, their perspectives changed in places mine did not. Some bore the change graciously. Others made me feel that the tables had turned. I, for the first time, became the object of scorn. It made me question all over again: How can Christians bear differences that fall so close to their hearts?

The answer is, with the awesome strength of God’s gentleness. God does not quarrel. He is kind to everyone, and patient with the difficult. His heart is mysteriously both stronger and more tender than we can dream.

The Bible is, of course, the best preparation any adolescent can have for their rocket launch into what some call the “real world.” This verse—this gentle, beautiful verse—serves as unique equipment for Christians who will live among other Christians who disagree with them. And really, isn’t that all of us?