OVER THE YEARS, I’ve occasionally received messages from people who have taken sharp exception to something I said in a sermon or wrote in a blog post. Most of the time, the comments are polite, more like starting a conversation than picking a fight.

But once in a while…not so much. I’ve had people say things that I thought were aggressive, dismissive, or completely unfair. People have demanded things of me that they had no right to demand — as when in the middle of a review session for an upcoming examination, one of my students loudly declared that she needed to know exactly what was going to be on the test. And people have read things into my words that I never intended. I get it: sometimes what feels like a personal attack isn’t simply about me, but about how my words have inadvertently opened old wounds caused by others.

It’s not easy, though, to hold onto that more compassionate way of thinking. When I feel attacked, my hackles go up and I’m ready to defend myself. I want the other person to know they’re wrong. Actually, to be honest, I want them to feel they’re wrong, to admit their mistake and feel guilt and remorse for what they’ve said.

In short, I want to win.

But really, in the larger scheme of things, what kind of victory is that? And if I power up and retaliate in kind, it’s not likely to change the other person’s mind. It will only make them more defensive and cause them to dig in their heels. The end result will likely be two angry people, each thinking the other to be clueless.

That’s not, I think, what Jesus would consider to be peacemaking.

Nor is simply ignoring the message. So I sit down at the keyboard and think carefully about what I want to say and how. Sometimes, every sentence is scrupulously written, rewritten, then rewritten again. I let the response sit for a while, anywhere from a few minutes to a few days, then come back and read it over carefully, word for word. Am I being clear? Is the tone right? Am I trying to sound humble but then sneak in a jab somewhere? Am I giving the other person the benefit of the doubt and treating them as a rational human being? And most importantly overall: am I giving them the respect that is due to someone created in God’s image and of incredible worth in God’s eyes — even if I think they’re wrong?

If I’m not sure about any of what I’ve written, I’ll ask my wife to read it, and then listen to her feedback. I want to know, in all good conscience, that I’ve done my best to respond as humbly, compassionately, and lovingly as I can before I hit send.

I’ve never regretted taking that kind of time. Sometimes I’ll receive a reply a few days later, and it feels like a gift. The tone is softer, more conciliatory. We may still not completely agree. But we can part more like friends than enemies.

WE’VE PROBABLY ALL been attacked in ways we didn’t deserve. And again, we have the right to be treated fairly, justly, equitably. Indeed, Jesus promises that those who long for justice, who long to see God put the world to rights, will one day have that hunger satisfied.

But until that day comes, what? When Jesus tells his hearers that the righteousness of the kingdom means not resisting evil people, does it mean that Christians are supposed to be silent and passive in the face of injustice? That they’re to let people walk all over them and do whatever they please?

Absolutely not. But at the same time, they are called to be salt and light in a world that desperately needs it. As Jesus teaches in the Beatitudes, they are called to be peacemakers, agents of wholeness in a broken world. And they do this through being people of hope, and humility, and deep compassion. That’s the vision that sets the tone for how we’re to understand the righteousness that goes beyond the legalism of the Pharisees. It’s the context within which we must interpret these hard sayings of Jesus.

Jesus isn’t trying to out-Pharisee the Pharisees by making new and stricter behavioral rules. What he teaches about turning the other cheek and going the second mile is about how people who embody a particular kind of humble and merciful character might change the world for the better one interaction at a time.

What good would it do, for example, to obediently bear the insult of being backhanded on the right cheek and then turn the left — while muttering angrily about what a miserable sinner the other person is? What good would it do to grudgingly carry a Roman soldier’s gear for a second mile, scowling with every step, then throwing the whole load in the dirt the moment the obligation was finished? You could say that you did what Jesus told you to do, thinking you deserved some credit for being “righteous.”

But that would hardly be the kind of righteousness Jesus envisions. His concern is not just for you, but for the person who slapped you and for the soldier who takes his power over you for granted. How might they be affected — perhaps even changed for the better — by your response? With his examples of non-resistance, Jesus is not creating rules to be applied woodenly and without discernment. He is giving character sketches of people who embody the righteousness of the kingdom of heaven, people whose actions can be a force for peace.

It’s one thing to work tirelessly for justice in the world at large, but it’s another to retaliate personally against people we think have done us wrong. Thus, when we feel that we have been treated unfairly, the question we must ask ourselves as would-be citizens of God’s kingdom is this: What do I really want in this situation?

Perhaps we want and deserve justice. There’s nothing wrong with that, as far as it goes. Or we want to be vindicated, to be proven right. Or maybe we just need to have the last word.

But do we desire anything that goes beyond what we want for ourselves? Specifically, how much do we want shalom, not just for us, but for the other person and for this whole broken world we live in together?

Imagine seeing yourself and the other person from the outside, as if you were watching your avatar in a video game. There are a number of actions you could take. But above your head floats a gauge that measures how much shalom, how much God-honoring peace and wholeness is generated by each choice — a shalometer, if you like.

What can you do to move the needle toward greater shalom? What are you willing to sacrifice to make that happen?

We can be obedient to religious rules of behavior in ways that don’t budge the needle toward peace. That is not the kind of righteousness that goes beyond that of the scribes and Pharisees. And anyone in this broken world can insist on their right to retaliate. But for the kingdom of heaven to be visible, there need to be people who think differently and respond in surprising ways, people who embody the love and mercy of God.

And as we’ll see, this leads Jesus to say the most surprising thing of all: that we are to love our enemies.