A couple of weeks ago I was invited by Grant Sobek, one of our Pinnacle youth, to speak as part of an interfaith panel at Brophy Preparatory High School in downtown Phoenix. Four years ago, Grant helped to found an interfaith club at his school, and the work that Grant and his fellow students have done to transform understanding among people of different faith backgrounds is clearly evident on that campus. This particular panel consisted of a Buddhist minister, a Conservative Jewish Rabbi, a Jesuit Catholic priest, and me, a Protestant minister. Each of us was asked to represent key perspectives from our traditions on such topics as central beliefs and practices, views on caring for the environment and issues surrounding inclusion. We did this panel discussion three times, each with about 30 young men from the school present (with a few faculty members too). There was a clear mutuality among the four panelists, each person speaking to commonalities and differences among the four faith perspectives represented with candor and graciousness. I tried my best to shed some light on what being a “Presbyterian” is (that the word presbyter means “elder,” that we stem from the Protestant Reformation, that we hold a high view of education and biblical literacy, and that the Queen of England herself, though she is Anglican when she is in England, is Presbyterian when she is residence in Scotland, etc.) 

At the end of each panel session, the students attending were able to ask questions. At the very end of the last session, a young man asked the Conservative rabbi, “So, do Jews believe Jesus was at least a prophet?”  The rabbi, with some rancor in his voice, said, “No. Jesus was just a guy, then repeated emphatically, “Jesus was just a guy.” Then the bell rang, and all the gathered students needed to rush out to the next event on their schedule. No more discussion.

I was left feeling a little empty at that moment, because the conversation couldn’t continue. I tried to engage the rabbi, just in general conversation, as we walked to lunch. He was distracted by multiple phone calls, and just after he’d sat down to lunch, he said, “I’ve gotta go. You know how ministry is….” And he was gone. 

I have taught comparative religion in both university and church settings. I know what different Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, and Buddhist perspectives are on Jesus. I’ve had great conversations with Jewish rabbi friends about Jesus. My friend Rabbi Nina, who herself has taught comparative religions, has said to me, “Mike, I learn more about Christianity from you than I ever knew.” What made me sad in this instance with the Conservative rabbi was knowing that the last 2000 years of Christian mistreatment of Jewish people has marred the relationship between Jews and Christians, making nearly impossible any conversation Jews and Christians can have about Jesus. 

There is a whole field of theological studies called apologetics. This is the practice of making reasoned arguments about the divinity of Jesus. The practice of “defending” Christ begins in the New Testament itself, where authors such as Paul make an impassioned and thoughtful “case for Christ.” 

I don’t think of myself as much of an apologist. I considered myself not as have been argued into faith, but lovingly enticed into the kingdom. When I first went to college and people would ask me, “Mike, what do you believe about Jesus?” with a certain expectation of getting into an argument, I would say, “Follow me around for a month, observe what I do, and then you tell me what you think I believe. If my actions don’t reveal what I believe, then my words will always fall short.” 

Thinking back to the rabbi, I can only imagine that my best “case for Christ” that I could present would be simply to love him with the love I have learned through Jesus the Christ. And that’s it. Where words would fail to convince that Jesus was (is) something more than “just a guy,” love would suffice. And I learned this from Jesus. 

What’s your best case for Christ?