There’s an old saying about catching more flies with honey than vinegar. I’ve never actually tried it. Although I do know the best way to catch fruit flies. I wrote about it years ago in one of my The Angels’ Portion books. I don’t remember which one.

I learned that if you’re sipping whisky while fruit flies are in the vicinity, they’ll inevitably want in on the action. That’s because they’re attracted to fermented things. And so, watching them land on the rim of my glass, I had an epiphany. Now, to rid my home of these miniature peskies whenever they’re around, I’ll put a little bit of cheap whisky into a glass—about a finger’s worth—and then put the glass into the microwave. When enough have gathered, I close the door, start it up, and watch the microwave impute its truth.

Okay, that’s not at all what I wanted to talk about this morning. My original point was that if you want to draw someone closer, you might want to reconsider the things you’re doing that would cause him to keep his distance. This seems especially relevant to Christians, particularly those who believe their confession of faith is correct and want others to embrace it.

I had a thought while teaching the Ladies’ Guild Bible study here at Our Savior this past Tuesday. I don’t remember what stirred it. I only remember thinking in the moment about how Matthew’s Gospel begins and ends.

Basically, closer to the front of Matthew’s Gospel, near the beginning of Christ’s public ministry, the Lord preaches the Sermon on the Mount. A minute or two into it, He tells His believing listeners they are the salt of the earth and the light of the world (Matthew 5:13–16). Then He ties that imagery together, insisting that others will see His Christians’ good deeds—their demonstrations of faith—and give glory to the Father in heaven.

Now, flipping through to the Gospel’s conclusion, the same resurrected Lord tells us how Christians are actually made. He commissions His Church to go out and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to observe everything He commanded (Matthew 28:19–20).

There’s something remarkable about these two passages standing where they do. They feel almost like bookends. In a practical sense, from the 50,000-foot view, it seems like the Lord is saying that many arrive at Chapter 28’s baptismal font and catechesis having started as onlookers in Chapter 5. They see our demonstration of the faith, and they’re either drawn closer to Matthew 28 or become convinced to keep their distance.

Now, I suppose I should slow down for a quick second to handle some things my confessional Lutheran friends are probably thinking, if only because I had the exact same thoughts.

First, it’s important to remember that we don’t create faith in anyone. The Holy Spirit does it through the Gospel (Romans 1:16). But that doesn’t negate the Lord’s point. It remains foolish to expect anyone to be the least bit interested in receiving Christian truth when the person demonstrating it gives the onlookers legitimate reasons to avoid him.

Second, let’s be careful not to overcorrect. The Christian faith has never depended upon making ourselves agreeable to everyone. This includes the Church’s liturgical forms. In another sense, it’s certainly true that Jesus offended plenty of folks. The apostles did, too. But that’s because the Gospel itself is a stumbling block and foolishness to the world (1 Corinthians 1:23). Not to mention, sin absolutely must be called what it is. Which means false doctrine must be identified, and error must be confronted.

Still, there is a considerable difference between the offense of the Gospel and the crass offensiveness of the person proclaiming it—someone who prefers to make his point by belittling others or calling them names.

But who on earth would do such a thing? Funny you should ask.

Consider someone who insists that another Christian belongs to a heterodox denomination and wants him to leave it. Perhaps he believes the other’s church body has compromised essential doctrines. For the sake of argument, let’s say he’s absolutely right. In fact, let’s grant him the strongest possible theological position. Let’s assume he has every confessional argument available, with God’s Word firmly fixed beneath him.

Now let’s say, rather than reaching out to the other Christian, instead, he routinely insults the man online.

With the better theology in the first man’s pocket, what good does he imagine will come from his behavior, especially toward someone you’d think he’d want to persuade? What good will come from calling the other man names? With Matthew 5 in mind, I think it’s safe to say that if you insult a man often enough, he’ll probably stop listening to you. Call him names often enough—impugn his motives and question his integrity—and he may begin to wonder whether your theology is, in fact, better.

But wait, this gets better.

Now, imagine the one being ridiculed reaches out to the name-caller in private, asking for a chance to discuss the matter openly—to actually give the accuser the opportunity to defend his comments and debate the existing differences. Imagine the name-caller refuses the invitation, claiming it was obviously extended in bad faith and would only lead to a lose-lose situation for himself.

That’s quite a missionary strategy, isn’t it, to call someone names and make accusations, then refuse an invitation to substantiate them, ultimately pinning the refusal’s inevitable fallout on the person asking to talk.

I’m pretty sure a plan like that won’t draw an opponent to embrace one’s better theology. And yes, this is a true story.

At some point, I have to wonder about folks who do things like this. I wonder whether their goal is actually to win others over or simply to win the applause of those already standing nearby. In that sense, I suppose that brings me back to Matthew 5. Again, Jesus tells His believers, “Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16). For the record, notice the trajectories in this. The light shines horizontally. But where does the resulting glory go? Where does it lead? Its trajectory is vertical. A believer’s actions lead others toward the Father.

Conversely, plenty of Bible verses assure us that arrogant cruelty doesn’t exist in the light. Still, the assumption here is that even those darker things have a trajectory aimed heavenward. Except they don’t glorify the Father. Not at all. Instead, they project misconceptions concerning the Father. In other words, the light becomes obscured by the guy holding the lantern, and the person cannot see the real Father. He sees a false one. Or, leaning into my chapter concept, the person we’re trying to lead into truth never makes it from Matthew 5 to Matthew 28 because, in the end, he already has a really bad impression of the God who sent the Savior waiting there in Chapter 28.

I don’t need to keep with this. I think you get the idea. For me, there’s a tragedy looming in all this, especially when the perpetrator does actually possess better theology. It begs the rhetorical question, “Why on earth would anyone deliberately act in a way that makes it a thousand times more difficult for others to receive better truth?”

That said, let me reiterate once more that kindness doesn’t convert anyone. When it comes to faith, the Holy Spirit converts and convinces by way of the Gospel. None of our work to expand the Kingdom depends on clever human techniques. And thanks be to God for that, especially since even when we’re trying to shine our lights, we so often fail miserably.

Nevertheless, as a Christian labors in the Kingdom, he is called to a certain awareness, one that speaks the truth of the Gospel to his neighbor, and does so in love (Ephesians 4:15). I’m pretty sure that includes the neighbor with whom we might disagree. On my part, I’ve said on countless occasions that even those with whom I disagree will always be welcome in my home. Please, have dinner with me and my family. Let’s be humans. Let’s visit together about anything and everything. Eventually we’ll get to a place where our disagreements over temporal or eternal matters can be discussed. And when the conversation starts, the disagreements will already be resting in a place that’s been crafted by friendship. We’ll be ready to listen to each other.

I mean, how could it be any other way? It was Saint Peter who insisted that Christians should always be prepared to defend their hope. But he said to do so “with gentleness and respect” (1 Peter 3:15). I’m guessing that Peter, the one apostle who had a tendency to reach for swords and make promises he couldn’t keep and too often spouted off with unhelpful suggestions, eventually realized that faithful, theological conviction and Christian decency are, in fact, perfectly compatible.

Now, before I wrap this up, let me just say we have a growing problem in the Church, one that sees folks tooling around popping off at others with invectives—words deliberately designed to insult and nothing more. Also, I think the ones popping off—typically some pretty smart guys—have somehow confused preserving the faith with preserving something else. I’m not entirely sure what it is. Pride, maybe? Or, considering the story I shared, could it be related to their position of leadership or influence? Could it be they feel a false sense of security in their rank, one that justifies excuses, and mistakes viciousness for genuine conversation?

Either way, we have a problem. With that, I suggest such folks ask themselves whether they’re actually defending a better confession or merely congratulating themselves for possessing it. I think that would be a good question to ask, because I’m pretty sure one of Matthew 5’s inherent lessons is that a person can be right about what’s true while at the same time being terribly wrong about what he does with it.

In the meantime, regardless of men in synodical positions who operate this way, the rest of Christians in the trenches still have to work beneath the unchanging mandates. They continue flavoring the world as salt (Matthew 5:13) and seasoning their speech (Colossians 4:6). They let their lights shine (Matthew 5:14). And as they do, they make inroads into communities beyond their own borders with something better. They become tools in the Lord’s hands that, by His grace, get folks from point A to point B, from Matthew Chapter 5 to Matthew Chapter 28.