The Boxer And The Saint

There is a difference between religion and the life of faith. You could distinguish them by saying that religion is what men do for God while the life of faith is an acknowledgement of what God has done for mankind. The word religion was invented by the Roman orator and politician Cicero in the first century BC to describe people who are, ‘Tied or bound to a monastic code.’ Compare that to Jesus’ heart’s desire for his people; ‘You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free.’ That’s the difference; in one you’re bound, in the other you’re free.

Religion as a social institution can be a good and beneficial influence in society, but it misses the point when it seeks to impose an external morality; only true Christianity can change people from the inside out; it’s an internal principle. Allow me to illustrate

Billy and Peg are two elderly folk who live in North Belfast. One Saturday evening when the old fellow had gone to bed, Peg was pottering around, tidying and preparing for the next day. It was 10.30 and she was frightened when the doorbell rang, but she opened the door and was confronted by a man in his twenties who demanded money. She didn’t have much, ‘I’ve only a fiver,’ she said, and she gave it to him. But he grabbed her frail arm roughly and demanded more, ‘… or I have a friend outside who will shoot you.’

He followed as she went upstairs to waken her husband, an eighty-year-old ex-boxer, and in the struggle that followed the intruder found himself in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. In due time the thief was apprehended and jailed for a string of similar offences. He was a drugs user it seems and had found an easy way to fund his addiction.

Now the old couple are Christians, quiet respectable people. Billy is a preacher and Peg is one of those gentle angels who says nothing bad about anyone. Understandably they were relieved that their assailant was safely behind bars and the old boy felt proud that at his advanced age he could still defend his wife and his territory. We called him Barry McGuigan and he smiled and said, ‘That young upstart has got his just desserts. People like that shouldn’t be allowed on the streets.’ But one day I found Peg sobbing quietly for the young upstart, ‘…he’s somebody’s son.’

She said that even as he was crashing down the stairs she wanted to hug him, to hold him as she would her own. She wanted to show him the love of a mother that perhaps he had never known, to tell him that she forgave him, but she never got the chance. Billy’s form of Christianity is ‘Right, Just & Fair,’ and who can blame him, it was self-defence. But Peg’s glowing Christian love cannot be taught from book or pulpit, she can’t help it, for she’s filled with the love of Jesus and it pours out all over the place.

Granny Peg was my old Mum and Billy is my Dad. They’re good people and I love them both dearly, but which of them most accurately reflects what the New Testament calls the ‘Spirit of Jesus’? The ‘Right, Just & Fair’ approach is morally irreproachable, but it can be used as a ‘legal mask to cover moral failure.’ The way of love, mercy and forgiveness renders us vulnerable, but isn’t that the way of the cross? I frequently ask myself which of the two I want to model myself on, which attitude is most common in religious leaders, which of the two most resembles Jesus, our great example?

Granny Peg died on Mother’s Day in 2006. She was a saint, I hesitate to even mention her name and mine in the same sentence, but maybe someday, just maybe...

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