David French (The Dispatch), How Fundamentalism Fails: Ultimately, The Closed Fist Can’t Overcome the Open Hand:

Fundamentalism begins with a righteous idea. The righteous idea provides a person with a powerful sense of virtuous purpose, and history shows that the nature of the righteous idea is limited only by the imagination of man. The righteous idea can be very good indeed. Indeed, there are times when the better the idea, the worse the fundamentalism. …

In the early stages, fundamentalism can be invigorating. It’s an antidote to a life devoid of purpose and dedicated to selfish pursuits. In free and prosperous nations, it doesn’t take long to understand that consumer goods provide merely momentary pleasure. In libertine cultures, millions soon learn that sex divorced from love and commitment is ultimately a source of profound loneliness and deep pain. 

And then there’s the presence of persistence in injustice. The word “woke” has meaningful roots. What happens when you suddenly become aware of atrocities past and present? If you’ve never heard of, say, the Tulsa Race Massacre, doesn’t something stir inside of decent people when they read that story? Could that be called an awakening?

But there’s always a time when the awakened man or woman—no matter the righteous idea they’re awake to—faces a defining choice. We’ll call it the choice between the open hand or the closed fist. Do you verbally, emotionally, and sometimes even physically punch your way into the public square, or do you approach with compassion, grace, and humility—often knowing that you are speaking to people who were just like you days, weeks, or years ago?

And if you changed once, how do you know that you’re finally righteous now? Shouldn’t you be open to changing again?

When fundamentalism arises in your own community, it can be profoundly painful and disorienting. People who were friends will call you enemies. They’ll warn others not to associate with you. …

But if this is the reality, how does fundamentalism fail? Because the bruised reeds and the wounded souls find each other. The community of the closed fist ultimately creates a community of the open hand. We were not created to be despised, to be hounded, and to be hectored into righteousness. Instead, our souls long for actual love and true fellowship. …

I can’t tell you how many Christian skeptics I’ve known who connected with Jesus the moment they read John 8. It’s one of the most famous stories in the world. A woman is caught in adultery, and the law is crystal clear. She’s to be stoned to death. The teachers of the law ask Jesus what should be done.

You know the rest. “He that is without sin among you,” Jesus said, “let him first cast a stone at her.” It is fascinating that scripture says all her accusers left, starting with the older men. They’d lived long enough to know who they really were. And in a moment condemnation became forgiveness and death became life.

Moments don’t have to be that dramatic for a person to feel an almost sacred moment of relief when they encounter actual humility and grace. Humility is the basis for dialogue. It tells two imperfect people that there is space for disagreement. Our knowledge, after all, is finite. Can we not learn from each other?

Grace is also indispensable. Since our failure is inevitable, grace is what keeps us in relationships. And grace is not license. It acknowledges wrong. I can’t remember who said these words (Google has failed me), but the forgiveness of sins is not the same thing as permission for sins. 

But that makes grace all the more potent. There’s no comparison between being told you’ve done nothing wrong versus the overpowering relief and joy of encountering love in spite of your sin. Ultimately, fundamentalism—for all of its punitive power—simply cannot compete with grace in the contest for the human heart. 

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