Leaning on Jesus at the Center:
Reflections Shared at Ron Sider’s Memorial Service

Heidi Unruh

I’m fairly certain that Ron’s heavenly home has a study stuffed with books. 

In my mind’s eye, I see Ron as he was when I first met him when I started as his student, nearly thirty years ago: writing at his desk in his office at Eastern seminary, surrounded by stacks of papers and walls of books. His attention is focused, his writing paper recycled, his handwriting illegible.

This is the posture of a scholar, a thinker, a writer. One who used well the gifts of the mind that God entrusted to him. And one also gifted to take complex ideas and make them broadly accessible, prodding people to turn those ideas into mindful action, toward a world that reflects more faithfully the goodness of God.

As I’ve been processing the passing of my long-time mentor, colleague, co-author and friend, I’ve found myself thinking not just about the content of Ron’s work but the way he conducted himself. What has kept bubbling to the surface are snapshot images that to me represent his posture—how he engaged with me and others in the world.

It’s easy to summon a mental image of Ron standing at a podium or lectern, perhaps giving a lecture, preaching a sermon, or a addressing a conference. He presented a posture of confidence without conceit, boldness without bluster, that humble bravado that was uniquely Ron. He spoke with a compelling earnestness in pulling back the curtain on the injustices in the world and spotlighting what God expects Jesus-followers to do about it. I seldom heard Ron give a talk that didn’t include some daunting challenge and some daring hope.

Ron was comfortable on the center stage, certainly. But I can also picture him sitting to the side of the room, perhaps at a board meeting, or a dialogue or working group he had brought together. He is leaning back in his chair, attentive but relaxed, giving others space. In the posture of a convener, he brought people to the table to have their say and seek common ground. Ron put Jesus at the center, so he didn’t always have to be.

Ron was pleased to see others shine. He didn’t seem threatened by others’ giftings—he honored and made full use of them. This quality also made him an excellent mentor. Offering encouragement, opening doors, tendering advice with caring candor, intentionally sharing credit … I am ever grateful for these qualities in Ron, because they changed my life.

I’ll never forget the first time he invited me to coauthor a conference paper with him, when I was still a seminary student. He gave me back the first draft of my portion with affirming words—but when I looked at his edits, the paper was dripping with red ink. He patiently worked with me until the paper was completed to our mutual satisfaction. And then at the conference, he introduced me to people as his coauthor. He set a high bar for treating people with respect.

Here’s another image that comes to mind. Ron is intently focused on what someone else is saying, thoughtfully looking upward as he takes it in, pondering another’s perspective. Ron did a lot of speaking but he also did a lot of listening. Regardless of how influential he became, he maintained the posture of a listener. He worked to stay open and engaged, willing to entertain critiques and alternate viewpoints, questioning but not combative.

That’s not to say he backed down from conflict. He would straightforwardly ask the tough question, the one that others were thinking but didn’t want to say out loud—and then he would listen carefully to the answer. I do remember him saying more than once, after hearing someone spout something supposedly Christian but patently offensive: “That makes me so darn mad!”

Thinking of Ron’s righteousness anger calls to mind a photograph from an old newspaper article: Ron is kneeling along with Jim Wallis and other faith leaders at a demonstration on Capitol Hill, on a bitterly cold day in in December 1995 (and again in 2005), protesting budget cuts that would hurt struggling families while the rich got richer. And getting arrested for it.

This is the posture of an activist, insisting with your voice and your body and your bank account that change must come. The posture of one who agrees with the book of James that faith without works is dead. If you believe in Jesus, you show up on behalf of the most vulnerable in the world he came to redeem. And, as one redeemed by Jesus, you repent of whatever keeps you from this work. Both protest and penance bring you to your knees.

I think Christianity Today writer Tim Stafford captured well the way Ron integrated activism and discipleship. He described Ron as “someone who can never shrug and say, ‘That's just the way life is.’ Where he finds evil in his soul, he is going to struggle against it; where he sees evil in the world, he is going to call down heaven to fight it.”

But alongside all this seriousness, I have a picture in my mind of Ron laughing. He smiled often. As I discovered, sometimes when Ron chuckled slyly while he talked it meant he was about to ask you to do something! But I think his ready smiles also sprang from an underlying optimism.

Among Ron’s books, one of my favorites is a collection of short essays, titled somewhat ironically, I Am Not a Social Activist. Recently this passage especially spoke to me:

So much—in the world, the United States, our broken neighborhoods, our families—is misguided, wrong, painful, and vicious. There is enormous evil around. … [Is there] More evil than good? More love than hate? I am inclined to embrace the positive conclusion. (p. 52)

 This inclination to the positive, this posture of mindful hope, perhaps helped Ron sustain his energy through so many years of pushing boulders up hills—and sometimes catching a glimpse of the kingdom that lay on the other side, “on earth as it is in heaven.” Ron often riffed on what it means to live in the light of the Resurrection, to be perfected in this coming kingdom.

I started these reflections by recalling the first time I met Ron. I close with our last conversation this side of heaven. He called me on July 20, unexpectedly. We visited for a while, and then he asked, “When the time comes, would you speak at my memorial service?” I said it would be a wonderful honor.

And then he reminded me of this story, which he said he had been on his mind lately. Dr. Jan Pelikan was Ron’s mentor back when he was a graduate student at Yale. Ron recalled that when Dr. Pelikan was dying of cancer and reflecting back on his life, he came to this conclusion: “If Jesus is not risen, nothing else matters. If Jesus is risen, nothing else matters.”

Ron adopted the posture of one leaning into what matters, leaning on Jesus at the center. I learned this way of life from Ron. For me, for many, he modeled the charge in Philippians 1:27: “Whatever happens, conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ.”

And so, in the words of Philippians 1:7: Ron, I thank my God every time I remember you.

(August 28, 2022)