The price for authentic community, as I wrote about in my last blog post, is being willing to shed our precious reputations. In this post I want to focus on another barrier to genuine community: a fear of conflict. When we wade into the deeper waters of opinions, feelings and needs, we will more likely to bump into to someone who doesn’t see things our way. They may even get angry and reject us. We definitely don’t want that so we continue to just tip toe through the shallow tulips.
In his insightful book, The Five Dysfunctions of a Team[i], Patrick Lencioniso outlines what causes teams to breakdown and finally either implode or explode. The first time I read this book I was in a team leader role and was discouraged to discover that we had all five dysfunctions down pretty well!
Lencioniso’s thesis is the foundation for dysfunctional teams is a lack of trust which leads to a fear of conflict. If you are tiptoeing around someone on your team, holding your breath every time that sensitive issue comes up, then congratulations, you got yourself a dysfunctional team.
As believers, we are especially dysfunctional at this because we are taught to be nice little girls and boys. We are good at avoiding tough conversations under the guise of “giving grace.” After all, aren’t we exhorted to “live in harmony with one another?”[ii]
Gary Smalley writes about what happens between the shallow levels of communication (clichés and facts) and the three deeper levels (opinions, feelings, needs). It’s a barrier he calls the “wall of conflict.” It’s scary to go through that wall because there is the possibility of rejection and a potential loss of relationship if we don’t make I through.
But if you do make it to the other side, if you can find the doorknob through the scary wall of conflict, there is intimacy on the other side. I think about the closest friends I have in my life and at some point we made it to the other side of that wall.
What needs to change is our view of conflict, and the Bible gives us some extremely helpful guidelines. First let’s look at when not to have conflict, and then next week we’ll dive in to how to do it in a healthy way.
When not to have conflict?
•When it involves “disputable” matters.
Paul advised the Roman believers, “Accept him whose faith is weak, without passing judgment on disputable matters. One man's faith allows him to eat everything, but another man, whose faith is weak, eats only vegetables. The man who eats everything must not look down on him who does not, and the man who does not eat everything must not condemn the man who does, for God has accepted him. Who are you to judge someone else's servant? To his own master he stands or falls. And he will stand, for the Lord is able to make him stand.”[iii]
It’s probably been a long time since you argued with someone on whether or not you should buy that discount ground beef that was sacrificed to a Roman idol. But modern day disputable matters can pit Christian versus Christian on a variety of strongly held beliefs.
I know a missions agency whose teams were being torn apart because team members would get into debates on their personal held convictions over issues that really shouldn’t have affected their working relationships.
This small agency finally came up with a policy that teams could no longer debate, discuss in a team meeting or make a team policy on the three issues that were causing great strain in team life. The issues were: birth control, how to educate your children (homeschooling versus public or private school) and how to discipline your children (spanking versus other forms).
Imagine that! These are some tough folks, people who moved their families to some difficult spots of the world, mastered complex languages, prayed their hearts out, learned how to engage people of different faiths, overcame culture shock and endured third world hassles. They could put up with a lot basically. Yet these debatable issues on how to have and raise children were causing them to want to go back home.
You may feel like you have got God’s opinion on the matter, but keep it to yourself.
• When it involves a third person
Jesus gave it plain and straight, “If your brother sins against you, go and show him his fault, just between the two of you. If he listens to you, you have won your brother over.”[iv]
It’s very easy to take up an offense for someone else, because usually we have more grace to swallow an offense ourselves than to see someone else we love offended. I can be okay when I feel slightly slighted, but after I share it with a friend and they get a rise out of it, I become outraged!
The definition of gossip, according to John Dawson, is talking about a negative issue in another person when you are not part of the problem or solution. Many of Solomon’s proverbs warn us about the “choice morsels” of gossip that are so delicious to take in but end up ruining relationships.[v]
Without wood a fire goes out;
Without gossip a quarrel dies down.[vi]
•When you just can let it slide
You don’t need to deal with every little offense. Sometimes you can keep in mind context (they’re sleep-deprived, they just got a speeding ticket, their kids are running around screaming) and cut them some slack. Our communities would be miserable places to be if we constantly pointed out every small infraction. Paul exhorts us to “bear with each other”[vii] and Peter lifts us to the highest value: “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.”[viii] This is great advice from two men of strong personalities who had some theologically important conflict with each other but I’m sure put up with a lot of little things along the way.
Now that we’ve covered the out of bounds areas, in my next post we’ll let’s look at the rules of the playing field.
What keeps our communities as deep as a casual chat in the church foyer? The problem, as my friend Mark Buckner explains, is that we have competing needs: the need to be loved and the need to be respected. It feels like I have to choose one or the other. If people really know me, I won’t be respected anymore. But if I opt for respect and don’t vulnerably share my true self, I won’t really feel loved. In fact I will keep feeling unknown and lonely. I compromise at showing my cards a little to feel loved, but not too much for fear of losing respect. We’re paralyzed in the pincer grip between these two warring needs, and most of us opt to keep it safe and shallow in our relationships.
Gary Smalley writes about five levels of communication, ranging from the shallowest to the most meaningful. The first level is the arena of clichés, which he defines as “typical, routine, oft repeated comments, questions and answers given out of habit and with no real forethought or genuine intent.”[i] Those are the how-are-you’s in the church foyer and the what-a-cute-outfit’s at the woman’s Bible study.
The second level is the arena of facts, which is sharing of information that also requires no in-depth of thinking or feeling.
Conversation with other believers can easily stay mired in these first two basic levels. It feels safe and friendly, but it doesn’t meet the deep needs of our hearts. Venturing into the deeper levels requires risk taking. The third level is sharing opinions (in which people may oppose yours), the fourth is sharing feelings (which hits closer to home and heart) and finally the most vulnerable level is sharing needs (which requires a lot of trust in a relationship).
What percent of your own conversations stays in the shallow water of reciting clichés or disseminating facts? What would it look life for you to venture into these deeper levels of communication? We typically don’t “open up” because we haven’t taken the time to build trust with other believers and transparency costs us something, a little piece of our reputations.
I was eating breakfast at a busy café in Austin, Texas, with five men in a deep-hearted discussion group and we were all taking turns answering the day’s question, “In what area of your life are you being the most passive?”
Even with the loud chatter and clanking dishes around us, it wasn’t hard to think of so many areas in my life where I was being passive. But if I were really honest, what would these guys think of me?
Everyone else was opening up and it made it easier for me to lay down my cards when it came my turn. “I would have to say spiritually. I rarely initiate times of prayer with my wife and almost never lead family devotions. On that front I am just missing in action.”
Everyone around the table listened attentively as I continue, “I mean in public, behind a pulpit I can wax eloquent and appear very passionate spiritually, but at home I’m just as passive as could be.”
“Wow, Mike,” said one friend. “That surprises me. I would have thought that that you were leading you family spiritually.”
One of the other members tried to comfort me. “Well, Mike, you’ve been very busy and I think we can all relate.”
“Hey don’t go easy on him, here,” the first friend cut in. “We’ve got him squirming on the altar here and we need to thrust the sword through.”
I’m so grateful for the tip of that sword in my life. For the last few years, whether I have lived in the U.S. or in Southeast Asia, I’ve walked closely with a group of allies that I can be completely real with. Usually we have a long breakfast once a week like with these friends in Austin. We celebrate victories together, share failures and get gut honest about the real issues of our life. Sometimes that’s painful but it has been a place of tremendous life to me.
More than just pulling me out of ditches, these men inspire me to leap on mountains. We do need safe places to come clean with weaknesses, but the end goal is holiness and advancing in the calling of our lives, not just avoiding sin. “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.”[ii] The sharpening may be painful, but the end result is a sharp sword useful and deadly in the battle.
Are you walking alone in the battle, far from any true heart comrades? Who would you call right now if you were alone and tempted by a besting sin? When is the last time you came clean with a trusted ally? I remember when a new guy came to this group, we would always ask as an initiation question, “Do you go deep in your friendships with other men?”
The answer was always the same. No.
I used to think just crowded the shallow end of the pool when it comes to relationships, but I’ve heard that our more relational, feminine counterparts aren’t swimming in the deep end either. I once put this question to Janine Parrish, a pastor who has a few decades of experience with women and community. She said in her experience women typically don’t go that deep. It’s hard to get them together, for one thing. There are so many reasons to keep them apart— the kids and their homework and the driving complications and all the errands. Who has time for a heart-to-heart chat?
Whether male or female, whether this comes naturally to you or not, it’s time for you to open up a little more. This requires the humility to realize that you can parachute into Normandy all by yourself and win this battle. You’ve got to search through the darkness to find your company first. Your enemy “prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.”[iii] That’s some one. Don’t walk alone anymore! Make this a priority! Seek out a group of trusted allies. It will require some aforethought and proactivity but the comradeship of authentic community is richly worth it.
[i] Gary Smalley, Secrets of Lasting Love
[ii] Proverbs 27:17
I was a bored and fidgeting six-year-old, attending a special program at our local Baptist church. My older sister sat on my left and our neighborhood friend Russell Brooks sat on my right. We stared ahead at the churchy proceedings and I asked Russell what the tank of water was in back of the stage.
Russell was wiser and older (nine) and I often looked to him for advice. He explained that the tank of water was where people got baptized. I wasn’t a regular church goer yet but I had heard that word before.
“How do people get baptized?” I asked him.
Russell pointed at the ornate red chairs that were placed beside the pulpit on the stage, facing toward the congregation. “You see those chairs?” he asked.
“Yep.” They looked like little thrones to me.
“When someone feels like they are old enough to get baptized, they run really fast from the back of the church down the aisle, jump up on one of those chairs and try to fly all the way over the choir loft and into the water tank. If they make it, they are baptized.”
Wow! Suddenly I wasn’t feeling bored in church anymore. “What happens if they don’t make it?” I asked in fascination.
“Then they aren’t old enough to be baptized and they have to try again later.”
Okay then. I looked around at the congregation, mostly older folks, and figured they had already made their run long ago. I scanned the crowd for the younger people and wondered who would try out their wings tonight. It would take a lot of guts to try to clear that choir loft but I couldn’t wait to see someone try.
As the church service wore on, most people just sat there and listened passively to the pastor drone on and on. I kept glancing back at the back of the church, but no one was even warming up for their take-off, not even during the altar call. I started wondering if Russell was telling the truth, especially after I noticed my sister once shooting him a mean look. Maybe he was just pulling my leg, but what if wasn’t? That would be so cool to see. I kept an eye out just in case.
The disappointment didn’t lift sad to say because no one lifted off that night. I quickly learned that churches are predictable places. Although I am very grateful that I met Jesus at that church, I never did get a chance to clear the choir loft. I got baptized the old fashioned way.
Most people’s experience with church is boring and predictable. The world is longing for authentic community, a place where they can be real and known and loved unconditionally. A place where there is the give and take of real relationship. These seekers walk into our churches, feel a sense of shallowness and walk right out.
Stay tuned….
When I served as a youth worker back in California, we asked the kids at our church to give a Saturday a month to serve at a convalescent home. We’d scatter through the hallways, going into the rooms of the elderly, sitting down next to their beds and listening to their stories. We’d often strum our guitars and sing for them.
Out of all the men and women we met on those Saturdays, one person in particular etched a permanent groove in my memory. I never knew the man’s name, but I can still hear his voice sounding like tires crunching gravel. His faded, grey eyes still contained enough hope to reveal a few ounces of determination. He said, “Push me over there.” I happily wheeled him down the white tiled corridor. We came to the end of another hallway. Again, he said, “Turn here.” After a minute, I realized that for him, this wasn’t just a joy ride. He had a destination in mind. “Now, left here.” Soon we found ourselves at the back of the Convalescent Home. We approached the end of a narrow hallway. A sign revealed that this was an emergency exit. Before us were the words, “ALARM WILL SOUND.”
“Okay. Now please just push that door open for me.”
“What?”
“I’m not strong enough to get the door open! Please, help me. Quickly!” Speaking with determination, he twisted around in his wheelchair and forcefully gripped my hand, “Please! I can’t stand it in here! I don’t want to die in here. They won’t let me out. I want to see the sky. Please let me see the grass and smell the flowers again.”
His eyes bored into mine and he gripped my hand even harder.
“But I can’t just open the emergency exit door!”
When I got home that afternoon, I couldn’t get the man’s voice out of my ears. This week I remembered again the feeling I had that day as I apologized to that man for not being willing to help him escape his dungeon of despair. Having just “celebrated” my 43rd birthday, I am aware that birthdays don’t hold the same excitement as they used to. They are now reminders of the brevity and fragility of my existence. Ah, forty-three. It feels like I’m on top of the mountain. I can see for miles from up here. But there’s only one direction, and that’s down. My life is now on a clear trajectory of demise. No matter how fast I peddle my bicycle, I will never be able to silence the drum beat of time. The stuff I value the most will be torn out of my grasp. My ability to see the faces of the people I love will dim. My ability to listen to birds chirping in the branches of trees will fade. Walking will become more painful with age. There is no escaping it. This dreadful feeling of being chained to time is the reason why society is so obsessed with youth. Look all around. Face lifts. Hair coloring. Anti wrinkle creams. We can’t stand the thought of growing old. Youth is a religion.
Living in Asia for the last eleven years has taught me many, many lessons. Paramount among these lessons is the Asian way of celebrating the aging process. Here, people more naturally embrace all stages of life. With age, most people are not clamoring to reverse the effects of time. The older a person becomes, the more respect is afforded by society. The elderly are honored and celebrated rather than stuffed away into convalescent homes. Their voices matter. They are cherished as vessels of wisdom, vital to the health of the community.
This, to me, feels right.
Kierkegaard writes about living with courage to embrace the fragility and brevity of this life. He sees this courage as the evidence of faith. “The lily’s coming into being becomes its destruction, indeed it seems as if it came into existence and became beautiful only to be destroyed—yet the obedient lily obediently submits to this, it knows that such is God's will, and it shoots up…. A man, or we men, in the situation of the lily would be in despair at the thought that coming into existence and destruction was one thing, and therefore would prevent ourselves by despair from becoming what we might become, though it were but for an instant. With the lily it is otherwise. It was absolutely obedient, hence it became itself in its beauty, it became actually its whole possibility, undisturbed, absolutely undisturbed by the thought that the same instant was its death."
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