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Unoffendable: How Just One Change Can Make All of Life Better

Unoffendable: How Just One Change Can Make All of Life Better

by Brant Hansen
Unoffendable: How Just One Change Can Make All of Life Better

Unoffendable: How Just One Change Can Make All of Life Better

by Brant Hansen


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It turns out giving up your “right” to be offended can be one of the most freeing, healthy, simplifying, relaxing, refreshing, stress-relieving, encouraging things you can do.

It’s a radical, provocative idea: We’re not entitled to get offended or stay angry. The idea of our own “righteous anger” is a myth. It is the number one problem in our societies today and, as Dallas Willard says, Christians have not been taught out of it. But what if Christians were the most unoffendable people on the planet?

In Unoffendable you will find concrete, practical ways to live life with less stress, including:

  • Adjusting your expectations to fit human nature
  • Replacing perpetual anger with refreshing humility and gratitude
  • Embracing forgiveness and beginning to love others in unexpected ways

In a humorous and conversational style, Unoffendable seeks to lift religious burdens from our backs and allow us to experience the joy of gratitude, perhaps for the first time, every single day of our lives—flourishing the way God intended.

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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780529123855
Publisher: Nelson, Thomas, Inc.
Publication date: 04/14/2015
Pages: 214
Sales rank: 78,949
Product dimensions: 5.40(w) x 8.10(h) x 0.80(d)

About the Author

Brant Hansen is a radio host who has won multiple National Personality of the Year awards. He also works with CURE International, a worldwide network of hospitals that brings life-changing medical care and the good news of God’s love to children with treatable conditions. Brant currently lives in Northern California with his wife, Carolyn; his son, Justice; and his daughter, Julia. He can be found at and @branthansen on Twitter.

Read an Excerpt


How Just One Change Can Make All Of Life Better

By Brant Hansen

Thomas Nelson

Copyright © 2015 Brant Hansen
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-529-12386-2



Okay. So this may sound like the dumbest thing you've ever read, but here goes:

You can choose to be "unoffendable."

I actually heard a guy say this at a business meeting. That is striking to me for a few reasons: (1) I'd never, ever thought about that before; (2) I remember something from a business meeting; and (3) I was actually invited to a business meeting.

I remember the guy saying it's a choice we can make, to just choose not to be offended.

Sure. Right, man. Choose to be unoffendable. Just—you know—choose, as if it's really just up to us.

I found this offensive.

* * *

By the way, I just looked up the definition of offended, and all the dictionaries say something about anger and resentment. When I'm writing about the word here, then, that's what I mean.

There's another definition, about having your senses affronted, or offended, but that's not the definition we're dealing with here. We just made some homemade barbecue sauce the other day, and we unanimously and immediately agreed, right then and there, that it was highly offensive. That happens.

It's the taking of offense, and the very presumption that I'm somehow entitled to be angry with someone, that I'm talking about. Surely there's got to be a place for "righteous anger" against someone, right? Surely there are times we are justified in our anger ...

But what that guy said at the business meeting did get me thinking, because he was so obviously wrong. And besides, since I call myself a Christian person, wasn't I supposed to be angry at people for certain things? Isn't being offended part of being a Christian?

So I did what any rational, fair-minded, spiritually mature person would do: I scoured the Bible for verses I could pull out to destroy his argument, logically pummel him into submission, and—you know—win.

Problem: I now think he's right. Not only can we choose to be unoffendable; we should choose that.

We should forfeit our right to be offended. That means forfeiting our right to hold on to anger. When we do this, we'll be making a sacrifice that's very pleasing to God. It strikes at our very pride. It forces us not only to think about humility, but to actually be humble.

I used to think it was incumbent upon a Christian to take offense. I now think we should be the most refreshingly unoffendable people on a planet that seems to spin on an axis of offense.

Forfeiting our right to anger makes us deny ourselves, and makes us others-centered. When we start living this way, it changes everything.

Actually, it's not even "forfeiting" a right, because the right doesn't exist. We're told to forgive, and that means anger has to go, whether we've decided our own anger is "righteous" or not.

* * *

I sense a lot of people think this idea is stupid, and they don't agree with me on this. And I sense this because lots of people say, "That idea is stupid, and I don't agree with you on this."

I've got antennae for subtlety like that. I pick up on things.

Plus, lots of the Christian literature out there says I'm wrong.

Typical: This entry from an online devotional, dealing with anger. The writer gives what I think is the reigning understanding: anger's often just what we need!

There is also a positive, even essential, side to anger. I doubt that we ever accomplish anything fruitful when anger isn't part of our motivation, on a certain level at least.

We don't ever accomplish anything fruitful without anger? Including, say, writing devotionals?

Here's another example of how we retrofit actual scripture with our current embrace of anger-culture:

Ephesians 4:26 NCV

When you are angry, do not sin, and be sure to stop being angry before the end of the day.

Ephesians 4:26 MSG

Go ahead and be angry. You do well to be angry—but don't use your anger as fuel for revenge ...

Did you catch that? I love Eugene Peterson—the guy who wrote The Message—but sheesh! "You do well to be angry"? That's not in the original, folks. That's an updated version. Hope you like it better.

It's remarkable that Peterson does this, considering that just a couple of sentences later, Paul wrote, "Do not be bitter or angry or mad" (v. 31 NCV). And somehow, from this, we get "You do well to be angry"?

Honest question: Why do we decide to read the Bible that way when it comes to this issue?

And another question: Why, when I talk about anger on my radio show, do so many believers instantly go to the scripture about "In your anger, do not sin," and then skip the rest of the paragraph? Why ignore the context? Do not be bitter or angry.

Paul was saying, clearly, that, yes, we will get angry; that happens; we're human. But then we have to get rid of it. So deal with it. Now. We have no right to it.

Another fair question, and one you're likely asking: But isn't God allowed to hold on to His anger? Doesn't Jesus get angry?

My well-read, thoughtful, theologically nuanced response to this is, "Well, yeah, of course."

God is "allowed" anger, yes. And other things, too, that we're not, like, say—for starters—vengeance. That's His, and it makes sense, too, that we're not allowed vengeance. Here's one reason why: We stand as guilty as whoever is the target of our anger. But God? He doesn't.

For that matter, God is allowed to judge too. You're not. We can trust Him with judgment, because He is very different from us. He is perfect. We can trust Him with anger. His character allows this. Ours doesn't.

God loves you and thinks you're special, but no ... you're not God.

* * *

We won't often admit this, but we like being angry. We don't like what caused the anger, to be sure; we just like thinking we've "got" something on someone. So-and-so did something wrong, sometimes horribly wrong, and anger offers us a sense of moral superiority.

That's why we call it "righteous anger," after all. It's moral and good, we want to think.

Problem is, "righteous anger" directed at someone is pretty tricky. It turns out that I tend to find Brant Hansen's anger more righteous than others' anger. This is because I'm so darn right. I'm me. I tend to side with me. My arguments are amazingly convincing to me.

But inconveniently, there's this proverb that says, "You may believe you are doing right, but the Lord will judge your reasons" (Prov. 16:2 NCV).

So it's not just me. We all, apparently, find ourselves pretty darn convincing. Of course my anger is righteous. It's righteous because, clearly, I'm right, and they're wrong. My ways seem pure to me. Always.

In the moment, everyone's anger always seems righteous. Anger is a feeling, after all, and it sweeps over us and tells us we're being denied something we should have. It provides its own justification. But an emotion is just an emotion. It's not critical thinking. Anger doesn't pause. We have to stop, and we have to question it.

We humans are experts at casting ourselves as victims and rewriting narratives that put us in the center of injustices. (More on this in a bit.) And we can repaint our anger or hatred of someone—say, anyone who threatens us—into a righteous-looking work of art. And yet, remarkably, in Jesus' teaching, there is no allowance for "Okay, well, if someone really is a jerk, then yeah—you need to be offended." We're flat-out told to forgive, even—especially!—the very stuff that's understandably maddening and legitimately offensive.

That's the whole point: The thing that you think makes your anger "righteous" is the very thing you are called to forgive. Grace isn't for the deserving. Forgiving means surrendering your claim to resentment and letting go of anger.

Anger is extraordinarily easy. It's our default setting.

Love is very difficult. Love is a miracle.

Today I read an article in Inc. magazine about anger and Martin Luther King Jr. The author quoted King's autobiography, where he wrote, "You must not harbor anger." But that's not all. Even when attacked, wrote King, we should love our enemies.

The author did the usual thing, and spun King's statement into something of an endorsement of anger, saying we should just make sure we use anger constructively. Fair enough, but I disagree with the author. A couple of things are remarkable about this article, one being that the author purports to agree with Martin Luther King Jr., while saying something nearly the opposite! At a minimum, it's much less radical, and far less poetic.

King says, "I must not harbor anger," and the author says, "I agree; let's use our anger constructively!"

I think we do this with Jesus all the time. We take something like "Love your enemies," and "Pray for those who persecute you," and tack on, "But, really, holding on to anger is justified."

We do it with the apostle James, who, in the Bible, said point-blank that anger does not produce the kind of righteousness God wants in us: "The anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God" (James 1:20 ESV).

We do it with Paul, when we read one of his many lists of sins, like Colossians 3:8: "But now also put these things out of your life: anger, bad temper, doing or saying things to hurt others, and using evil words when you talk" (NCV).

We don't like the "anger" part. We think that when he said to put anger "out of your life," he really meant "except when it's constructive." I've yet to hear us apply that logic to the rest of his teaching in that verse: "Get rid of your evil words—except when it makes sense," or "Rid yourself of evil words—except when they really had it coming."

Let's admit it: we like anger—our own anger, that is—at some level. We're just so ... justified.

* * *

Upon hearing my ideas on anger, a radio listener told me, "I don't get it. Shouldn't we be angry at those guys in the news who beat up homeless people?"

Here's what I think, given that we're to "get rid of all anger": Anger will happen; we're human. But we can't keep it. Like the Reverend King, we can recognize injustice, grieve it, and act against it—but without rage, without malice, and without anger. We have enough motivation, I hope, to defend the defenseless and protect the vulnerable, without needing anger.

Seek justice; love mercy. You don't have to be angry to do that. People say we have to get angry to fight injustice, but I've noticed that the best police officers don't do their jobs in anger. The best soldiers don't function out of anger.

Anger does not enhance judgment.

Yes, God is quite capable of being both just and angry, but if I'm on trial in front of a human judge, I'm sure hoping his reasoning is anger-free.

Some people think I'm nuts when I talk about this, when I say we're not entitled to our anger. And maybe I am. At first, I hated this idea too. The thing is, now I'm hoping I'm right, because life has become so much better this way, and I think I can understand Jesus more.



This book isn't an autobiography, but it's worth telling you where I'm coming from. By my very nature, I'm a Pharisee. I'm a rules guy. I'm also naturally very resentful.

What's more, I was raised in conservative churches, the son of a preacher man. I am very practiced at seeming righteous and impressing people with my outward piety. I know how to play the religion game. You should also know, given the nature of this book, that I'm not a pacifist, and neither my conservative nor my liberal friends would say I'm particularly liberal, theologically or politically. Further, I'm not advocating that there is no wrong or right, or that sin doesn't exist.

Choosing not to take offense is not about simply ignoring wrongs. If someone, say, cuts in front of you in line, you can address the situation. You don't have to simply accept it. But you can act without contempt, anger, and bitterness.

Yes, there is right and wrong, and what Jesus has done for us is the antidote to both fuzzy-minded relativism and self-righteous religiosity. According to the radical teaching of Jesus, I stand as guilty, morally, as any other sinner, period.

Whatever anyone's done to me, or to anyone else, I stand just as guilty. People have lied to me, but I've lied too. People have been unfaithful to me, but I've been unfaithful too. People have hurt me, and I've hurt them. I get angry toward murderers, and then here comes Jesus, telling me if I've ever hated someone—and I have—I am the murderer's moral equal.

No one likes to hear this. We want to think people are worse than us. It's one of our favorite pastimes.

Don't believe me? An experiment: Go to a mall food court, grab a chicken kabob or something, sit down, and listen to the conversations around you. Compare how often people are telling stories about hurtful, wrong things other people did, versus confessing hurtful, wrong things they, themselves, have done.

We're brilliant at this. Geniuses, really. Would that the Nobel Committee had a prize for this.

Happens in traffic all the time. The other day, I was leaving our gym's parking lot, waiting in my car to turn left, sitting toward the middle of the exit, and some guy pulled in quickly and almost hit me. My mental response: Geez, that guy's an idiot.

And then, this very morning, I was the one entering the lot, and some guy was sitting there waiting, in the exact same place I'd been, and I thought, Geez, that guy's an idiot.

Geez. That guy's an idiot. I've done the exact same thing he was doing ... but that guy's an idiot. And the other guy who did exactly what I was now doing? Yeah, that guy's an idiot too. "That" guy is always wrong, because he's always that guy. I'm always this guy.

In other words: Everybody's an idiot but me. I'm awesome.

Go me.

(Inspiring quote for you to highlight and tweet, immediately: "Everybody's an idiot but me. I'm awesome."—@branthansen)

Moral of the story: The other guy is always the jerk. Many times in my life, I've vocalized, in traffic, something like, "Man, what a jerk." I can't remember ever, not once, saying, "Man, I'm a jerk." Why? Because I'm a victim. My intentions are pure. Other people are the perps. I'm never a perp.

It's as natural as breathing, but that doesn't make it right. It's as universal as eating, but that doesn't make it right either. Because whatever they did? We're just as guilty.

I'm not entitled to my anger against them, and I'm not entitled to think I'm entitled to my anger. And yet, many tell me that we can, even should, keep our anger for a time. I ask, "How long are you allowed?" and I've heard the same answer, many times: "You can keep it for a little while."

Sounds reasonable. Sure. Absolutely. But merely "reasonable" isn't what we're going for here. We want to follow the gospel, wherever it takes us. God has a way for us to live—a humility that He has called us to—and it's the way we humans happen to really flourish.

It's how you will flourish.

* * *

I hear this objection too: "What about being angry at sin, Brant? Of course, we're supposed to be angry at sin."

It's probably worth noting that, usually, when this question is asked of me, it's about something more specific. By "sin," we mean, other people's sin.

Are we to cling to anger at their sin? God took out His wrath on Jesus for other people's sin. And I believe Jesus suffered enough to pay for it, and my sin too. I'm so thankful for that. He will deal with others' sin; it's not my deal.

That's a huge relief. Again, life is better this way.

As for my own sin, well, He says He's taken that sin away from me as far as the east is from the west (Ps. 103:12). I suppose I could whip up some anger, but I'm honestly just stuck feeling grateful right now.

What's more, for those who still want to make anger a nutritious part of their spiritual breakfasts: in the Bible's "wisdom literature," anger is always—not sometimes, always—associated with foolishness, not wisdom. The writer recognized that, yes, anger may visit us, but when it finds a residence, it's "in the lap of fools" (Eccl. 7:9).

Let that sink in. When anger lives, that's where it lives: in the lap of a fool.

Thinking we're entitled to keep anger in our laps—whether toward the sin of a political figure, a news network, your dumb neighbor, your lying spouse, your deceased father, whomever—is perfectly natural, and perfectly foolish.

Make no mistake. Foolishness destroys.

Being offended is a tiring business. Letting things go gives you energy.

And while I thought the idea of choosing to be "unoffendable" was ludicrous, I've tried it. And I'm not perfect at it, but I'm much, much better than I used to be. I just let stuff go. I go into situations thinking, I'm not going to be offended. No matter what.


Excerpted from Unoffendable by Brant Hansen. Copyright © 2015 Brant Hansen. Excerpted by permission of Thomas Nelson.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

1 Being Unoffendable: The Ridiculous Idea 1

2 Everyone's an Idiot but Me 9

3 Six Billion Rings 17

4 Artists See Things 23

5 Bert and Ernie and Satan 31

6 Beautiful Exceptions 39

7 The World's Worst Bedtime Story 45

8 Ain't You Tired? 53

9 Reverend of the Dumpster 63

10 Idea: Let's Punch Brant in the Face 71

11 Atheists, Socialists, and Toast 79

12 Anger's Fun-Except for the Boiling, Blazing, and Burning Part 85

13 The Big Question: What About Injustice? 93

14 This Is the Chapter About How We're Just Barely Smart Enough to Be Stupid 105

15 Nothing Left to Lose 117

16 And Here's the Chapter I Kept Putting Off… 123

17 We're All Waiting for Something… That Already Happened 131

18 On Winning-and by "Winning," I Mean, of Course, losing 137

19 The World's Worst Neighbor 145

20 Imbalanced? You Better Hope So 151

21 I Can Worship a God Like That 163

22 Here's the Part Where I Talk About Some Danish People 175

23 Forget Danish People-Let's Talk About Your Elbow 183

24 And Lo, the Kingdom of God Is Like a Terrible Football Team 195

Acknowledgments 203

Notes 205

About the Author 211

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