Living one’s life in offense means never quite growing up.

No, it doesn’t mean one is more sensitive to the plight of others; it means one’s skin is so thin that others must always blunt the truth. They must be less honest or less than complete in their speech lest one take umbrage and skew the conversation by one’s own assumptions, judgments, or screeds.

Maturity—and true tolerance—listens to the opinions or arguments of others, and is not threatened by them. It does not need to shout down or shut down those with whom it disagrees. It does not need to be malicious toward them, nor does it need to smear them with altered facts, half-truths, or nasty names.

Maturity speaks and acts from a place of strength. It is confident. Its sense of right and wrong does not depend on the opinions of others, nor on their good will or ill will, nor on any narrative written out in the media, in popular culture, in activist groups, in church dogma, or in group-think, but assesses matters for itself and comes to its own conclusions.

It recognizes truth, even if that truth alters one’s previously-held beliefs.

Offense pushes onward against the tide of truth, and demands conformity with itself. It is akin to a child throwing a temper tantrum, refusing to acknowledge the truth it knows but is too proud and willful to admit, especially if that truth contradicts the narrative.

In this case, narrative is the accepted story—it is not necessarily reality. It is not concerned with facts or actual events, with provable data or the weight of evidence. It is the story in one’s own head, the story one wishes, expects, or assumes.

If maturity’s narrative is confronted with dissonant facts, with an alternate narrative, or with a conflicting truth, maturity weighs those differences, examines them, and then accepts or rejects them.

However, offense filters everything through emotion, and reacts with anger and arrogance, which can often disguise themselves as something noble. Yet continued anger, scolding, snubs, smears, demands, dishonesty, and haughtiness push for conformity—from others, not from oneself.

They also reveal the stunted growth, the blindness, the egocentricity, the blunted thinking of the one choosing to live in offense.

There are also groups which stir up and depend on the feelings of offense carried by their adherents. These groups are varied in nature—political, religious, cultural, sexual—and they operate much the same way as offended individuals do, but often with greater consequences. Anyone who dissents or offers an alternative is in danger of a damaged reputation, of difficulties at work or in the marketplace. That’s the least threat. The greatest threat is to self or loved ones because one does not conform.

Offense, therefore, encourages dishonesty. It thrives on anger, foments strife, and places itself as supreme judge. It brooks no argument—no matter how reasoned, truthful, or sound it may be—and is shrill in its agenda.

Maturity, however, will present its case but not push it. It will set boundaries and honor them. It will not be ashamed of its heritage, its faith, its culture, it political views, but will respect the differences of others, even if it cannot agree with them.

Maturity does what is right even if those actions are misunderstood, misrepresented, or misjudged. Even if people are offended. Because maturity is not ruled by immaturity.

It takes the long view, and considers the future consequences of its current actions. It knows it will be validated in the long run, perhaps after the current kerfuffle is long forgotten. And yet it does what it believes is right, even if it will not be the recipient of any good that might come of its actions.

Maturity is not so short-sighted that it lives only in the untempered, ill-informed emotions of the moment.

Maturity is not controlled by the fomented emotions of those who exalt the activist but denigrate the statesman. Due to speeches, marches, and “awareness” campaigns, the former is often credited with creating change, while the latter actually creates change by leadership despite opposition, threat, or lack of fanfare. One drums up support; the other earns respect. One is strident; the other may not even need to raise his voice.

There are advocates who are sometimes labeled activists, but they are most often for something rather than against something else: for aiding battered women, for increasing literacy, for feeding the homeless. The terms they use tend toward the positive, and they are less likely to be militant in their approach, although the lack of militance does not mean any lack of strength in their belief or actions. The difference lies in their lack of reliance on offense in order to garner support for or awareness of their cause.

Borrowing from one of my eldest niece’s favorite shows, “Green Lantern“, episode 2: “We know what you’re fighting against, kid, but what are you fighting for?”

Maturity is a process. It begins with recognizing not only one’s goals but also one’s limits, one’s need to learn and grow. Maturity exhibits as much frailty as any other human state, but it also extends patience to itself and to others. It may experience frustration, anger, even offense, but none of those are its constant state or its usual response. It is not ruled by negative emotions, nor by naïve, la-la-la optimism, even if it experiences them from time to time. In general, maturity is measured, pragmatic, and wise.

In the end, offense, being self-centered, cannot truly love. It cannot see beyond itself, its own cause, its own emotions, its own narrative. It loves only those with whom it agrees.

However, maturity realizes love—that thing so touted by a certain generation several decades past—is more action than emotion. It is a messy reality, not a hazy ideal, and true love reaches out even to its enemies.

If I speak in the tongues[a] of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,[b] but do not have love, I gain nothing.

4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. 9 For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10 but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. 11 When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. 12 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

I Corinthians 13 (NIV)