No Offense

“But observe what a poor service one renders Christianity by doing away with the possibility of offense and making it an amiable, sentimental paganism.”[1] —Soren Kierkegaard

More than any other relationship that asked of us honesty, endurance, and humility, our relationship with Christ turned us inside out, caused us to question our version of reality, brought us up short when we examined our motives.

And so it should, for there was no one to whom we, the original Twelve, could compare Christ. Having given himself into the hands of God, he remained solidly here among us, visible but not definable, offering words that slid past us like melting ice, vanishing even as we clutched at them. Yet somehow, they burned themselves into our memories, to be recalled and spent in the moment, with effects on others that we recognized, but only later understood.


Soren Kierkegaard, that contentious, brilliant, and caustic Romantic of 19th century Copenhagen, wrote his most accessible book, Training in Christianity, not long before he died in 1855 at the age of forty-two. In it, he contrasted Christianity with Christendom, with the latter receiving his everlasting scorn.

Christendom, said Kierkegaard, was the smoothly accommodating cultural partner of the world, consonant with citizenship, demanding nothing of its members, offering no critique against the shallow perversity of society. Christianity, on the other hand, as defined by Kierkegaard, was a narrow path for the one who was not afraid of martyrdom. The one who rose to the standard he called “the knight of faith.” Kierkegaard was alert — some might say, obsessively so — to those who misunderstood and mischaracterized him. He addressed himself to “my reader.” The singular noun was intentional.

In Training in Christianity, Kierkegaard insists that unless Christ gives offense, he is not really the God-Man. It’s the method and direction of his communication that makes the difference. Christ asks his disciples directly, “Do you believe?”, a question they cannot avoid to his face and will answer positively. But for today’s disciples, asserts Kierkegaard, Christ asks indirectly, putting them to the test. He hides himself, speaks through his absence, so the individual disciple really must choose, must make a decision to trust or not. This inward, indirect communication of Christ to the believer is the real test of faith. Kierkegaard’s attack on Christendom was over making Jesus, as the God-Man, too tame, a being without offense, for whom we do not have to sacrifice, over whom we are not tested, and therefore do not have to exercise authentic faith.

This astringent Christianity is, for Kierkegaard, the only true type because it requires a leap of faith that is not supported by any rationalization. That is the only kind of faith which is genuine, he says, because it is not reliant on the crowd nor on our preferences nor on a dilatory choice among a buffet of options nor on a syllogism of logic within a tidy system of thought. On the contrary, this faith requires everything of us: “Let us go and die with him.”


I have been scratching the itch that is Kierkegaard for many years, ever since I first read him in college. For a young person just beginning to own his Christianity, SK (as he is known in the philosophy trade) is thrilling. He doesn’t have the coruscating cynicism toward religion that Nietzsche has, but neither does he have the startling clarity and immediacy of Nietzsche’s aphorisms. What he does have in everything he writes, is a singular focus on faith as the passionate commitment to Christ above all else.

The tension is between the individual following Christ and the church that bows the knee to the ruling culture. The Danish Lutheran church in SK’s time was a branch of the state; it would not bite the hand that fed it. As he saw it, the official church was lost, irredeemable — and even worse — placid in the face of its idolatry.

For it was clear to SK that genuine faith in the God-Man was so contrary to our worldly desires that if we weren’t offended then it wasn’t real faith. “But whether one does away with faith or with the possibility of offense, one does away at the same time with something else — the God-Man. And if one does away with the God-Man, one does away with Christianity.”[2]

In SK’s time, to be Danish was to be a Christian — and that was deeply offensive to him. Christianity was not our birthright nor was it included as a signing bonus in our citizenship papers. It was always and ever to be a decision made regardless of the cost, in which one threw oneself across the void to be caught in trust by God’s grace in Christ. A stark and clear commitment.

For the Christian, this is a perennial question. How are we to relate to the world? We are in it; as humans we belong here, yet we are called to live on the border between the immanent and the transcendent. We are to love the world in all its broken, weary beauty — but to remind it that its ways are broken, that justice must lift up the powerless, and that its power plays are tragically and irreversibly flawed.

Christendom assumed Christ was in the past, safely subsumed under the weight of history, culture, military might, ritual, and shrewd thinking. We could look back on him, almost nostalgically, at Christmas and at Easter, and admire his stalwart dedication — without considering that his whole life, and especially his death, was an electrifying call to us to change our lives.

For Kierkegaard, we are to be “contemporaneous with Christ,” nothing less will do. Christ is the present tense of God and about him a decision must be made — today.

But in contrast to the mind-set of our time, Kierkegaard refuses to be seduced into the autonomy of the self-made person. He has seen his own weaknesses; he knows there can only be solace and strength in casting his lot with the Christ who, through love, bore everything the powers could throw at him. In his Works of Love, published in 1847, he brings us to the inmost heart of the Christian experience in a series of reflections or “Christian discourses” on God’s gift of love to us. As with all his other writings, these reflections are meant to provoke action and change in our lives.

“The most mediocre defense against hypocrisy,” he says, “is prudence… The best defense against hypocrisy is love… This also is a fruit whereby love is known — it secures the lover against falling into the snare of the hypocrite.”[3] But Kierkegaard knows that the fruit of love in a person develops slowly; there will be setbacks and discouragement. We will be tempted to give up and to turn bitter when loving our neighbor as ourselves does not come easily.

“But now we return again to the first point and say, repeating: believe in love! This is the first and last thing to be said about love if one is to know what love is.”[4] He continues: “If mistrust can see something as less than it actually is, love also can see something as greater than it is…”[5] If we are happy to see the fruits of love in ourselves or in another person, he says, it is still more blessed to “believe in love.” To go back to the beginning, to ground ourselves in the belief that God loves us, no matter how meager the fruits of our love, is to enjoy the upwelling of the Spirit in our lives.

“Therefore the last, the most blessed, the absolutely convincing evidence of love remains: love itself, which is known and recognized by the love in another. Like is known only by like. Only he who abides in love can recognize love, and in the same way his love is to be known.”[6]


Kierkegaard’s prophetic message against Christendom and for the rise of true Christianity is a message for our time. The Church should always, whether it acknowledges it or not, be in a prophetic tension with the world. At times, it may assure itself that it has power enough to contend in the arenas with the other players. But this is an illusion. On the other hand, it may attempt to keep its head down, to pride itself on a demeanor that allows it to move unscathed through the world. But this, too, is illusion, since it is more likely that the powers — political, military, technological, entertainment — regard it within a spectrum from condescension to indifference. The Church must steadfastly renounce the temptation to claim power that would coerce, for it has been called to announce the liberation of the captives — everyone of us — through God’s grace.

For individual Christians, this Christianity may be daunting. “Our uncertainty,” says Rowan Williams, “about the degree of our responsibility need not be cowardly or self-deceiving; it can be an honest acknowledgement of the way in which reality, even human and personal reality, resists the mind’s desperate attempt to organize it reasonably.”[7]

When we look at the world going up in flames, we may despair of ever seeing a day when new growth will spring up from the bomb craters. “All that can be done is, again and again, to refuse the temptation to rationalize, and turn to the compassionate Word of God,”[8] says Williams.

For our courage — as humans and as Christians — will rely upon the nobility of our humility in finally turning to God’s grace. It is abundant and all-encompassing, but it is not cheap.

Notes & References:

[1] Kierkegaard, Soren. Training in Christianity. Translated and with an introduction by Walter Lowrie. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University, 1972, p. 143.

[2] Kierkegaard. Training, p. 143.

[3] Kierkegaard, Soren. Works of Love. Translated by Howard and Edna Hong. New York: Harper and Row, 1962, p. 32.

[4] Kierkegaard, Works, p. 32.

[5] Kierkegaard, Works, p. 33.

[6] Kierkegaard, Works, p. 33.

[8] Williams, A Ray of Darkness, p. 79.

Barry Casey taught religion, philosophy, ethics, and communications for 37 years at universities in Maryland and Washington, DC. He is now retired and writing in Burtonsville, Maryland. More of the author’s writing can be found on his blog, Dante’s Woods. Email him at [email protected]. His first book, Wandering, Not Lost: Essays on Faith, Doubt, and Mystery, is now available.

Photo by Moe on Unsplash

We invite you to join our community through conversation by commenting below. We ask that you engage in courteous and respectful discourse. You can view our full commenting policy by clicking here.

This is a companion discussion topic for the original entry at

The Adventist church has a cultural tradition of equating social issues with politics and thus, for the sake of avoiding offense, be timid to speak out about those issues. Jesus and the prophets, on the other hand, spoke boldly and tirelessly about such issues, calling out injustice and inhospitable behavior, providing for the poor and defending the oppressed, etc… Such talk was always offensive to those in positions of power, so it was common for these persons to be classified as troublemakers, to be persecuted, and to end up dead. But, ironically, he who seeks to save his life shall lose it, and he who loses his life (for Jesus’ sake) shall find it.


This kind of “state church” is not the same as the Adventist “cultural tradition of equating social issues with politics” (@efcee ). I grew up within the culture of this kind of state church. Church affiliation (Lutheran) was pretty much automatic (in Sweden and Estonia). It was synonymous with being “civilized” rather than religiously spiritual. This state religion is punctuated with annual rituals - Christmas and Easter, along with all their attending biblical events (Three Kings Day…Ascension, etc). Church membership is/was validated by an annual payment, just like dues for membership in some club. The membership insured the church’s functions in christenings, weddings, and funerals, and finally, a cemetery.

My first initiation into Adventism (at fifteen) is when I first actually understood what was said from the pulpit. My sporadic visits to church had been reserved to specific holidays, a christening, and a confirmation - not mine. My only connection to God came from my mother, who had a vague Adventist experience in her past (in Estonia).

It’s not surprising that religion has been pushed even off the back burner in Europe. When church affiliation is part of the culture, it gets mixed up with state loyalties. Adventism, and every other religion, is in danger of producing similar problems when life-style gets mixed up with church membership.

The blunting of the spiritual happens early in Adventism. The education of Adventist kids in these little church schools is partly to blame. Parents send their kids there to insure they remain Adventist as they grow up. The opposite happens. That’s because the personal connection to God is substituted by a lifestyle. By the time kids are done with school, they have been bombarded with a lot of Bible facts; and have been tested on them, along with the “reading, writing, and arithmetic”. This has made God, simply part of the curriculum. There is no depth to their experience with God, despite the sporadic “weeks of spiritual emphasis” that only act as a delay to the beginning of the school day.

Clinging to EGW directives for an Adventist life insures this will not change. Instead of a “state religion”, Adventism, along with the evangelical churches, produce similar members mixing “God presence” with a lifestyle. Instead of making daily life spiritual; it secularizes church life.


Thanks for this… challenging and inspirational to me on a number of levels.


Once again, Sirje, your experience and eloquence shed considerable light on the situation. Your remarks on Adventist education hit the mark. Thank you.


This is a problem. iGrowing up in an Adventist school can be just following the crowd, a state church. Thank God that America has none, as that does stifle spirituality.

But the way to reach the students is to live it and all the issues that entails. The real issue is how does one teach about Jesus? The only real way is to confess your love for him, and the necessary relationship you have with him. That cannot be faked. And if you do not have it, the kids will know. Hard to fool them.

1 Like

One remedy might be to make Bible class ungraded, with no homework or exams - a daily SS class - where kids can discuss their issues and open up a little. The way you teach about Jesus is not about what you teach, but HOW you teach.

There are numerous causes, both community and global that kids could get involved with. Above all, kids like to have fun; and when they are involved in projects, filling community needs they tend to enjoy it.

If adults can’t come to terms with all the intricacies involved with the Bible, (ie: Spectrum) how can we expect the kids to make meaningful choices based on reading doctrines. We end up indoctrinating them instead of introducing them to Jesus.


Yes, but what you are suggesting implies in allowing the youth to think by themselves and to discuss their issues openly. This is not a traditional Adventist approach. Because it allows less than full control of their minds, and this is not how Adventism operates.


My prayer constantly is that “my church” no longer act as a gate keeper to God/Heaven/Salvation but show through top down administration/membership/church attendance that God LOVES all of us, no matter where we are on our journey in this life. Accepting God will show in how we live our life through acceptance of each individual as created in God’s image but is not an instant transformation but a lifetime transformation. (not by insisting on specific rules and regulations but showing God’s love to all and being involved wherever and however we can show that love to those around us, without quoting “this or that explanation for why we do what we do”). No labels needed.


“One remedy might be to make Bible class ungraded, with no homework or exams - a daily SS class - where kids can discuss their issues and open up a little. The way you teach about Jesus is not about what you teach, but HOW you teach.”

My grade school through graduate SDA education gave me some very unchristian supposed Bible lessons which have taken me years to unlearn. Having an open discussion, age appropriate, might have helped but I think my home example was the biggest lesson on how to treat and love all we came in contact with in our neighborhood.

Of course the home has the most influence but since they are attending a “church school”, the church certainly has the right and responsibility to give the kids a Christian education. The problem is that too often they don’t know how to reach the kids. Whoever sets the curriculum, is more concerned about making more Adventist than to meet the needs of the kids. My husband thought he couldn’t pass sixth grade without being baptized.

1 Like

What you are describing sounds like the Episcopalian church. Have you ever attended one? It’s refreshing if you are looking for what you’ve described.

Perhaps not so boldly or tirelessly.

The words against, for instance, slavery, misogyny, or sexual orientation were neither, or missing altogether. His words against economic inequality, likewise. His words against those who misused power, however, might register under your rubric. As such, Jesus might perhaps save his choicest words for our own church, an institutionalized denominational tribalism which implicitly holds ultimate power-the power to shut the door on whom it chooses, and thereby oppresses.

I suspect he might also have a few strident words for the liberal propensity, alarmingly common in our own pews, of coveting other peoples money.

The point of the article, to me, seems an indictment of a militant outward church (really, just a mob, calling for blood from the perceived enemy) versus an inner and personal compass always swinging inward to point out the painful realities of our malleable magnetic poles and their countervailed hypocrisies,
faithfully nudging us to stay inexorably true to true north, “love only”.

One way feels strong, useful, popular. The other way, weak, and ineffectual.

How do I use the personal power which merely possessing life promises me?
Easy to squander, herd like, bleating and milling about.

Difficult to choose the less trammeled path, but that is precisely where the footsteps lead. Thanks Barry for this piece, calling us not for partisan purity, but corporeal integrity. There is a way that seems right to a man, but…the end…

1 Like

This topic was automatically closed after 7 days. New replies are no longer allowed.