Turning the Cheek with a Wink

More than once, I’ve been told that now is the time to “turn the other cheek.” That advice usually comes my way after some ruckus–whether a family squabble, a political shouting match, or someone honking at me because I took a half-second too long when the light turned green. But the most recent reminder came after the assassination of Charlie Kirk.

And no, I’m not here to debate politics, conspiracy theories, or who was right and wrong. My take is much simpler–I’ve already turned my cheek, and it’s been that way for so long that if I swivel any further, I’ll look like an owl trying to reverse into traffic.

But before we get too tangled, let me explain where this whole “turning the other cheek” thing comes from. Back in the days when Jesus walked the dusty roads of Galilee, Rome had the power and Rome made the rules.

Romans were legally allowed to slap Jews in the face, usually with the back of the hand. The point wasn’t to hurt so much as to humiliate, to remind the Jews of their “place.”

Now, here’s the clever bit–if a Jew turned his head after the first slap, he forced the Roman into a choice. A second strike would have to come with the open palm.

And that was a problem, because in Roman culture, an open-handed slap wasn’t for subordinates. It was the kind of blow you gave to an equal in a heated argument.

In other words, the Jew, without lifting a fist or raising a weapon, had quietly forced the Roman to admit equality. That’s not just passive resistance–it’s passive rebellion.

A way of saying, “You can strike me, but you will not diminish me.”

And let me tell you, there’s a certain beauty in that kind of defiance. So yes, I’ve turned my cheek, not because I’m too weak to fight back, but because turning it is its own kind of fight.

Now, I’m no saint. I’ve raised my voice, muttered a few sharp words under my breath, and even once slammed the door so hard Buddy hid under the dinner table.

I’ve got a temper that pops up like toast if you leave me too long with people who chew ice or insist on explaining “how things really are.” But when it comes to the deeper stuff–when it comes to keeping my dignity intact in the face of insult or injury–I’ve learned that turning the other cheek is sometimes the only move left on the board.

It’s also, oddly enough, the move that leaves me smiling.

Let me give you a small example. The other day, I was in the hardware store trying to navigate the aisle without running over anyone with my cart, which wobbled like a baby giraffe on roller skates.

I was hunting for a box of screws when a fellow customer shoved past me, gave me a look like I’d stolen the last crust of bread in wartime, and muttered something about “people these days.”

Now, old me might have muttered right back. Maybe even followed a few steps so they knew I wasn’t going to take it lying down.

But instead, I thought of “turn the other cheek.” So I smiled, tipped my head, and said, “Have a good morning.”

The poor guy nearly tripped over his own shoelaces trying to figure out what to do with that. And I walked away with my screws and my peace intact.

That’s the thing about cheek-turning–it unsettles the other person far more than lobbing an insult ever would. Because when you don’t respond the way they expect, you’ve already won.

Now, don’t mistake turning the cheek for rolling over. I’m not suggesting you let yourself get treated like a doormat.

You can turn your cheek with steel in your spine and a glint in your eye. It’s rebellion wrapped in kindness, defiance packaged as dignity, and sometimes it’s just common sense.

After all, if I got into a fistfight every time someone insulted me, I’d never have time for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

And half the things that get us riled up aren’t worth the blood pressure anyway. The neighbor who lets his dog bark at 2 a.m., a coworker who steals your stapler and pretends it’s his, or the person online who insists on typing in ALL CAPS LIKE THEY RE YELLING AT THE ENTIRE WORLD.

Are these worth throwing punches over? No.

But turning the cheek doesn’t mean you stay silent forever. Words are powerful–sometimes more so than fists–and used well, they’re sharper than any slap. A calm, pointed remark, spoken with humor, can make the other person realize they’ve lost without you ever breaking a sweat.

That’s what I mean when I say I’ve already turned. When the world strikes me with its backhanded slaps—through loss, through insult, through tragedy–I turn.

I don’t turn because I’m afraid, but because I know that I’m standing taller. Some people call that weakness. I call it strategy.

Have you turned your cheek yet? Maybe you’ve been holding back, thinking that to do so would be to let “them” win.

But the truth is, when you turn your cheek, you’ve already shifted the game. You’ve refused to let someone else dictate your response, and in that small, stubborn act, you’ve claimed your dignity back.

Sure, it feels strange at first. You’ll feel the sting of the first slap, literal or figurative, and your gut reaction will be to lash out. But when you resist that urge and instead turn, calmly, deliberately–you’ll be amazed at the power that wells up inside you.

Turning the other cheek is like saying, “I see your contempt, and I raise you my dignity.”

And there’s humor in it, too, if you let yourself see it. Watch the expression on someone’s face who’s expecting fireworks but gets a smile instead.

It’s priceless. It’s like giving someone a wrapped gift box. The person feels confused, agitated, and suddenly angry without an outlet.

So I keep my cheeks ready, not because I enjoy getting slapped around by life, but because each turn is a reminder–I am not less, and will not be diminished. And if you want to try again, well–good luck with my other side.

Because at the end of the day, I’d rather walk away smiling with my box of wood screws than storm off angry and empty-handed. So yes, I’ve turned the other cheek, and more than once.

Sometimes clumsily, sometimes with style, but always with the knowledge that the act itself is its own quiet rebellion.

How about you? Have you turned yours yet–or are you still standing there, red-faced and ready to swing?