The Same Gold: Reading Jesus Through Diversity

I. A Reading Club… What For?

Every human experience is mediated by culture. Who we are and who we are not, what we do and what we leave undone, what we consider polite and what we judge as rude, all of it is tied, in one way or another, to the interpretation of the world we have inherited. Culture constitutes the symbolic framework through which we interpret and make sense of the reality we inhabit. Living in a different culture therefore implies a challenge to our worldview.

When I moved to China, I experienced this reality firsthand. The nineteen thousand kilometers that separate Córdoba and Guangzhou are, in themselves, a tangible image of the cultural distance that sets us apart. Dwelling in what is not one’s own is uncomfortable because it ultimately questions our identity and forces us to rethink the world from other interpretive horizons.

Nothing, then, can be taken for granted anymore, because everything is virtually different. Politeness, interpersonal relationships, the trivial, the transcendent, all can become fertile ground for misunderstandings. Faced with this, we can react in different ways. There are those who condemn and demand that everyone should be like them. I, too, sometimes feel that way, because in a sense, it is the most natural reaction.

But on the other hand, we have the more difficult option: to stop, to listen, to make the almost impossible effort of putting on the cultural lenses of the other. And in that minimal gesture, even if only for an instant, we remember that we are not the center of all things.

From that effort was born the idea of organizing a reading club—an open space to contrast our points of view and enrich our vision of the world, of faith, and of ourselves.

II. The Same Gold

Choosing the first book for our reading club was not that difficult. The question of the “other” and of what is different had already been circling in my mind for some time.

Being a Christian in China also entails significant challenges. One of them is directly tied to the practice of our faith: communal worship and fellowship. I come from a country where there is a church or parish on every corner. Here, however, the options are much more limited. Precisely for this reason, dwelling in difference—and this applies not only to the ecclesial sphere—helps us to recognize the richness of diversity[1] and urges us to seek unity in a much more intentional way, even though we often fail in the attempt.

Saint Augustine, in his commentary on Psalm 45, says of the Church:

What is the garment of this queen? It is precious and varied: the mysteries of doctrine are expressed in many languages. Some in the African tongue, others in the Syrian, others in Greek, others in Hebrew, and so on: the various languages form the variety of the garment of this queen. And just as the variety in the garment is harmonized in unity, so also all these languages bear one and the same faith. In the garment there is variety, but no tear. See how we orient the diversity of languages and the variety in the garment toward unity. Where is the gold in this variety? It is wisdom itself. Whatever the variety of languages, the same gold is preached: not a different gold, but the variety of the one and only gold.[2]

Although diversity has often been a source of conflict, the African bishop reminds us that it should not be so. The Church is that garment of different languages, tribes, nations, and cultures that enrich the vision of the one and only gold, that is, Christ himself. In this sense, Cardinal Henri de Lubac comments, regarding Augustine, that “The risen Christ, when he manifests himself to his friends, takes on the face of every race, and each one understands him in his own language.”[3]

Living out my faith in a cultural setting so different from my own, while at the same time being surrounded by people from so many different backgrounds, has helped me to better appreciate that colorful richness of which Augustine speaks. We all share the gold, certainly, but its brilliance can be perceived from different angles and perspectives.

Thus, our understanding of the mystery of Christ can be enriched through the cultural exchange that takes place in the congregation of the saints. Likewise, shared reading becomes a space to confront and enrich our perspectives. It was precisely these same convictions that guided me in choosing the first book for our reading club.

Several years ago, I had read the now classic The Jesus I Never Knew by Philip Yancey. In this book, the author sets out to answer three fundamental questions: Who is Jesus? Why did he come? What did he leave behind?

III. The Jesus I Never Knew

The figure of Jesus, as we know, provokes diverse reactions. For some, he was a lunatic of the first century; for others, a revolutionary teacher and a moral example; and for many, the Savior of the world. The five friends who gathered to discuss the book fit more into this last group: an Argentine, an American, and three Chinese who recognized in Jesus someone more than a mere moral teacher. Even so, all of us, without exception, before embracing the Christian faith, had an initial impression of his figure. With that question our conversation began.

Brandon was the first to respond. For him, Jesus was just another god, understood in a typically Chinese sense: a divinity to whom one turns with prayers in search of benefits.

Wendy, for her part, had heard of Jesus as a famous historical figure, with long hair, whose name was even used as an insult. Later, in school, she studied his figure within the framework of comparative religion and came to think of him as simply one more among the world’s pantheon of gods.

Hannah’s case was different. Unlike her two Chinese compatriots, Brandon and Wendy, she came from a Christian family. Her mother had taught her that Jesus was her best friend, someone to whom she could tell everything and make requests. Hannah grew up with that idea, though she did not quite understand what it meant. She even came to think, as a child, that her mother was Jesus. It was only at university, she said, that she truly came to know Jesus and decided to follow him.

Then it was Alison’s turn. She was born and raised in a Christian environment, like me, though in the United States. Her impression of Jesus was that of a kind and good man, although, in a sense, there were aspects of his severity that caused her fear—especially the idea of the coming judgment.

Hearing all these impressions about the person of Jesus confirmed what we already intuited: that each of us, shaped by our culture, family, and history, had formed a particular image of Jesus. In my case, I partly agreed with what Alison had said, for I too had grown up in the church with a vision focused almost exclusively on the divinity of Jesus, and it took me time to grasp that he was also truly man.

As our discussion continued, Brandon brought up a key aspect of Jesus’ life. When we talked about his cultural background, we agreed that the fact that Jesus belonged to a specific people showed his most human side. God, in deciding to become incarnate, did not do so like an alien descending from another world—as Alison humorously illustrated—but chose instead to fully enter the common human experience, the very one I mentioned in the first section of this writing.

Jesus is God incarnate, but also truly man, because he lived within a particular culture and people. And precisely for that reason, he has the power not only to redeem individuals but also to redeem the culture of peoples. Jesus has redeeming power because, as Irenaeus of Lyons said, he assumed the whole of our experience [4].

Many of us agreed that chapter four of the book, which deals with the temptation of Jesus in the desert, was one of our favorites—mine included. In it, the author speaks of the “miracle of restraint” in Jesus. Many times, we would like God to solve everything immediately, to fix every situation and give us all the answers. Yet we concluded that God does not force us to love him, for love cannot be imposed. As Yancey notes, God does not compel us.

When we moved on to discuss the second part of the book, entitled Why He Came, we paused at several points. First, I noted that, from my perspective, the central question of that section was never answered directly. The author often speaks of sin and describes its consequences but never makes it clear that this was the main reason why Jesus came: to be, as we also discussed, the bridge between God and us. Jesus came to reconcile us to the Father; that, to my mind, is the answer I expected to find. Perhaps it is suggested in the text, but it is not stated explicitly.

For Alison, there was also a problematic point in the book: the author presents the idea that Plan A was the Old Testament, and since that did not work, Plan B would be the New Testament. From a theological perspective, however, this does not seem to be a sound assertion, as it oversimplifies the continuity between the two.

For Wendy, on the other hand, it was difficult to understand the author’s strong emphasis against wealth. We discussed how material abundance can lead to not recognizing our need for God, as it creates a sense of self-sufficiency. Yet we concluded that nothing is impossible for God: he loves both the poor and the rich, and all are called to receive his grace.

We then continued our conversation about Jesus’ message: the Beatitudes, the Sermon on the Mount, and his love for the oppressed. We also revisited the illustration the author makes through Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, with the contrasting ideas of law and grace.

It was hard to take notes on everything that was being said, and at some point, I stopped writing. Still, there is one thing from my notes I would like to highlight. Based on a passage from the book, we discussed that Jesus is the only one who is truly “normal”; everyone else is “abnormal.” That idea sums up well our condition: we are broken, and Jesus came to restore us.

Finally, Alison shared a very powerful testimony. In a moment of personal crisis, she read the passage of the book where the author recalls that Jesus died on a Friday and rose on a Sunday—but that Saturday was the darkest time for the disciples. The Master was dead, disappointment was total, and questions had no answers. That in-between day symbolized waiting in the dark. Alison said that, in a sense, we all live in that Saturday: we feel the weight of uncertainty and absence. But Sunday comes, because Jesus conquers death and darkness, and vindicates us with him forever.

IV. Epilogue

The Jesus I Never Knew was a beautiful invitation to delve more deeply into the person of Jesus, his message, and his mission. Once again, we discovered that his figure is inexhaustible, and he continues to invite us to ask questions about him and about ourselves. I would like to leave these two:

1. What do the people around me think about Jesus?

2. What idea of Jesus do I convey with my life?

Jesus—the gold of which Augustine spoke—still shines. And how much more will it shine when all cultures and peoples help us to understand him better?

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[1] Understood considering the famous Latin aphorism: In necessariis unitas, in dubiis libertas, in omnibus caritas [unity in what is necessary, freedom in what is doubtful, charity in all things].

[2] Augunstine, Enarrationes in Psalmos, 44, 24

[3] Henri de Lubac, Catholicism: Christ and the Common Destiny of Man

[4] Irenaeus of Lyons, Against Heresies, III, 18,7