Warrior Pose

in consideration of an alternative posture

About a year ago, I was with a group of college students at a Christian university here in the Midwest, talking about the complexities of belonging and what it might look like to be people of welcome. We spent time considering how our struggles to embrace difference have led not only to division, but also to increased isolation and loneliness. Together, we asked the question: What might it look like for us to move from a posture of “them” to “us”?

At the end of our time together, a young woman raised her hand, “But how can we be welcoming AND stand up for God’s truth?” I paused and looked at the earnestness on her face. Layer upon layer of story stood behind her question like a backdrop, personal details I would never know. But as I looked into her eyes full of intensity and wrestling, I saw glimpses of a narrative I too had known oh-so-well:

God is under attack. He is in need of warriors. We do not fraternize with enemies of the truth.

I have had a similar story threaded throughout my own church history. Growing up, I marched around the Sunday School room happily singing “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” never questioning the lyrics because (let’s face it) it was fun to stomp and clap and walk in circles around the room. At the Christian school I attended, I took classes on defending my faith, and while to this day, I appreciate how teachers encouraged my critical thinking and knowledge of Scripture, I also began to believe that life with God required a posture of protection. I needed to be ready to defend my ideas, my way of being. Ultimately, I needed to defend God.

But what I didn’t realize at the time was that God was not asking me to be his bodyguard. He was not asking me to come to his aid. As the Almighty, the Source of Justice itself, he did not need a personal army. He did not need me to cry “Onward, Christian Soldier” and come to his defense.

What I did not see for so long was that God is a God not of empire and dominion, but of a much different kingdom. It hovers beneath the surface of things, small but steady, woven into the fabric of creation and yet not confined by time, power, or place. The apostle Paul called it a “kingdom that cannot be shaken,”¹ and in the person of Jesus, this kingdom came to us more with proximity than power, more with healing than hate.

All these things were swirling around inside me as I searched for an honest but gentle response for the young woman. I tried to convey what welcome might look like in these moments when we rush to protection, but I sensed her uncertainty, maybe even her resistance. And I understood it. When your brain and your body have learned to be on the defense, embracing a posture of welcome can feel unsafe. We grow suspect of difference, and almost without realizing it we strike a warrior pose, shields up and ready for defense.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that young woman’s question lately, because I think it’s a question many of us continue to hold. And what keeps coming to the surface of my mind is the story of Jesus’ arrest.

Here’s how it went down: Judas (one of the original twelve disciples) had gave up Jesus’ location to the leaders who were trying to kill him. Late at night under the cloak of darkness, they converged upon Jesus and his remaining disciples. Peter, in his fervor and maybe even his fury, chopped off the ear of one of the men who was part of the arrest. He immediately responded with attack, but not Jesus. He didn’t cheer Peter on or grab the another guy by the arms and shout, “I got another one, Peter! Get him too!” He didn’t even try to escape amid the chaos. Instead, Jesus shouted to his disciples, “No more of this!” and stepped closer to the wounded. He bent down and healed his enemy’s ear.²

No matter how we come to this story, it’s kind of disorienting to think about Jesus’ response.

For we who were raised to be strong and quick to defend, we might feel uncomfortable with the way Jesus put a stop to the violence and asked “Do you think that I cannot call on my Father, and he will provide me here and now with more than twelve legions of angels?”³ Jesus seemed to be saying, “I do not need you to fight my battles. I do not need your defense.” He chose peace over power. And that idea is sobering, especially if we (like Peter) are quick to have a sword in our hands.

But Jesus didn’t stop there. He not only asked his people to stop waging war on his behalf, but also drew near his enemy. He didn’t retaliate. He didn’t let the man bleed out in the dirt. Instead, he chose the way of peace and healing, even when it was followed by his own arrest.

And I have to admit: That makes me uncomfortable.

And I have wonder: When, then, does Jesus’ response mean for us?

Because even while the Divine is not in need of defense (Jesus was pretty darn clear on that), we still live in a world where people lust for power, where empires thrive on dogma, diminishment, and consuming gain. People wound and are wounded, and facing injustice, Jesus showed us that love does not avert its eyes or run away. Like it or not, love moves closer, in radical mercy, compassion, and commitment to a different way.

So maybe what we need is an alternate kind of warrior, one who is found on her knees. One whose war is fought through presence and healing and a relentless compassion toward humanity—even enemies. One whose stance remains open and reaching and willing to be stretched, more like yoga than a sniper or a marine.

And yes, maybe such resistance is subtle. Some might even say it is small or weak. But the kingdom of God has always emerged out of the miniscule—out of little children, fishing nets, and yeast.⁴ And maybe by embracing a posture that moves closer, we too can scatter seeds. We can be part of small but substantive acts of welcome and healing. We can be warriors for our collective repair.

1. Hebrews 12:28 NIV

2. You can find this story in all four gospel accounts: Matthew 26:47-56; Mark 14:43-50; Luke 22:47-53; and John 18:1-11. But note that only the book of John names Peter as the one who used the sword.

3. Matthew 26:53 CSB

4. Throughout the gospels, Jesus used the phrase “the kingdom is like…” and so often he referred to small, ordinary objects or people who seemed inconsequential in their power structures.