If you’ve spent much time online, you know the territory: an acquaintance throws out the theological equivalent of a hand grenade—a cartoon, maybe, or a zinger that claims to end the debate. Recently, a friend tagged me in a meme straight out of Internet Central Casting: God, in all His cosmic glory, intones from a cartoon bubble, “You shall treat the foreigner the same as the citizen.” Enter, from stage right, a woman in a MAGA hat: “But what if…” God interrupts, stone-faced: “Did I stutter?” End of story. Case closed. No room for nuance, no oxygen for actual conversation, and—just maybe—no curiosity left anywhere in the exchange.
It’s meant to be funny, and if we’re honest, it is. But the underlying message—that the “right side” doesn’t need to listen, doesn’t need to explain, doesn’t even need to tolerate a question—lands with more gravity than a punchline. It’s a posture, not just of confidence, but of foreclosed curiosity. Did I stutter? Don’t even think about a clarifying question.
The Age of Easy Outrage (and the Poverty of Curiosity)
In our era, shaming and labeling have become a primary currency for public argument: disagree, and you’re branded; ask for evidence, and you’re suspect; linger in uncertainty, and you’re pressured—hurry up and pick a side. Both left and right have their purity codes and their “unforgivable” words or thoughts. What’s lost—and what’s so desperately needed—is the space to ask, to probe, to hold two thoughts in tension long enough for understanding to emerge.
In the Bible, debate was as sacred as doctrine; in both synagogue and early church, truth required two or more witnesses, not just a single decree. Yet, the temptation to render the “other” permanently unclean—“racist,” “heretic,” “lib”—remains. Click-driven media, political echo chambers, and our own tribal longing for moral security all feed this impulse. And it’s killing the best impulses of journalism, faith, and democratic community alike.
But what if labeling isn’t strength at all? What if true wisdom waits—patiently, sometimes painfully—for the spark that only emerges when conviction and humility meet?
“A Spark Is Kindled Through the Clash”—The Sacred Art of Consultation
There is, believe it or not, a better way. My guest, Isaac Saul, founder of Tangle, has built a new kind of newsroom—not perfect, but fiercely committed to a process of ongoing public consultation: reader criticism is regularly welcomed and published; red, blue, and purple perspectives are placed plainly side by side; and the format itself forces a confrontation not just with what we like, but with what we find difficult or distasteful. The result? Not a utopia, and certainly not kumbaya, but a community that stays in the room long enough for real discernment.
Kudos to Isaac and the whole Tangle team. They embody what most newsrooms (and, frankly, most communities of faith and policy) merely pay lip service to: honest disagreement and transparency as virtues, not liabilities. Tangle doesn’t just say they welcome “the other”—they build it into the DNA of the operation, often at the expense of their own comfort or easy popularity.
If you’re hungry for the kind of journalism that actually puts its money where its mouth is, I strongly encourage you to check them out—and subscribe, for free or as a paid supporter: readtangle.com →.
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This is no accident. The spiritual tradition that grounds my own faith puts it this way—in the words of ‘Abdu’l‑Bahá, whose wisdom on dialogue is cited in circles far beyond the Baha’i community:
“The shining spark of truth cometh forth only after the clash of differing opinions.”
(Selections from the Writings of ‘Abdu’l‑Bahá, p. 87)
Notice the language here: only after the clash. Not after shy agreement, not after we stifle the “wrong” questions, but only when we let opinions truly meet, scrap, and interrogate one another. No, God didn’t stutter—but He may have sighed at our refusal to sit together as peers, to consult in humility, and to believe we might—all of us—be missing something still.
Baha’i consultation is not a synonym for polite agreement. It is a guided process that expects strong views, sharp differences, and, yes, some creative discomfort. The participants are urged to detach from ego and outcome, to share their honest convictions, and then—this is crucial—to listen with open hearts, trusting that truth will emerge, not from solo brilliance, but from the group’s messy, mingled engagement.
Journalism, Church, and Civic Tables: Listening as Service
It would be easy for Tangle to retreat to the “neutral” center—to soft-pedal difficult debates or chase subscribers with lowest-common-denominator content. Instead, their model leans hard into the idea that disagreement is necessary, not tragic; that surfacing criticism is an act of integrity, not PR; and that inviting readers into the process elevates the whole community.
In faith settings, we call this “confession” or “mutual forbearance.” In journalism, it’s called “running corrections at the top,” giving equal space to the views we most resist, and refusing to hide our learning in the footnotes. It is a challenge for all our institutions: to make visibility, criticism, and difference not causes for panic, but practices of trust.
Living It Out: Steps Toward a Listening Culture
- Invite the Critic: Make it a regular habit—at home, in your congregation, at work—to seek out those who see differently, and listen for the piece of truth that only their perspective brings.
- Publish Corrections First: Whether it’s in a family argument or a public newsletter, own and broadcast your mistakes. Transparency begets credibility.
- Clash with Care: Don’t shrink from honest debate. But do consult with the humility that your own view may be, at best, a single spark.
- Hold the Table Open: There is a midpoint between endless argument and ritual shaming—a table where the “wrong” question is never punished, and where we trust—just enough—that the “shining spark of truth” might yet be kindled.
“Did I Stutter?”—And Why We Still Need the Conversation
So what do we say, finally, to the cartoon version of divine derision: “Did I stutter?”
As it happens, the story is not so simple—not according to the very scripture the meme intends to wield. What God ACTUALLY commanded: “One law shall be for the native-born and for the stranger who dwells among you” (Exodus 12:49). But the passage continues:
“And when a stranger dwells with you and wants to keep the Passover to the Lord, let all his males be circumcised, and then let him come near and keep it; and he shall be as a native of the land. For no uncircumcised person shall eat it. One law shall be for the native-born and for the stranger who dwells among you.” (Exodus 12:48–49, NKJV)
In other words, the divine invitation was open, but it wasn’t without boundaries or conditions. Belonging came with both welcome and profound personal sacrifice—submission to the law, ritual, and yes, even circumcision, a demand for deep commitment, not superficial acceptance. Both the labeler’s point and punchline evaporate under careful reading. God, it turns out, doesn’t stutter—but He also doesn’t endorse lawlessness, or indulge our shortcuts. Nor our habit of deploying scripture as a rhetorical grenade.
If there’s a lesson here, it’s not that one side “wins.” It’s that the spark of truth—personal, social, or scriptural—emerges only when we dare to stay in dialogue, to test the slogans, to probe beneath the easy outrage, and to consult together with both rigor and love.
Let your conversations run a little longer. Let the opinions “ventilate.” God may not stutter, but real community doesn’t just tolerate the muddle—it steps into the tension, trusting that from it something more beautiful than certainty may emerge.
You are created in the image of God. And God loves His creation.
With gratitude,
Wade Fransson
Next on Created in the Image of God
Next week, I’ll welcome Mark Oppenheimer—journalist, scholar, and passionate advocate for the kind of religious, civic, and journalistic argument that doesn’t end in labeling or exile. We’ll ask whether the anti-literalist, argumentative tradition of Judaism has something essential to teach our divided age. As always, bring your sharpest question—and let’s listen for the spark.
If this reflection pushes you, puzzles you, or kindles your own spark of curiosity, please subscribe, share, or weigh in below. The conversation—and the truth—can only move forward when all are heard.
Again, if you care about moving past outrage and want to support and experience true multi-perspective journalism, subscribe to Tangle today. It’s the gold standard in transparent, community-driven, nonpartisan news.
