thoughts on conflict

 

Some PlayFull thoughts on conflict:

Perhaps there is nothing that deflates interpersonal conflict more quickly and effectively than when just one party has the courage to say, “I’m sorry. I was wrong. Will you forgive me?”

How hard it is for us to say such small words! It rails against every instinct we possess. Nobody wants to be wrong. Nobody wants to be thought less of because the other party sees you’re imperfect.

But, guess what? Nobody’s perfect. Rather than powering up to preserve the mere semblance of perfection, the truly playful person is able to laugh at themselves and admit their own imperfection…not only to themselves but to others, too.

What grace and freedom we experience when we swallow our pride and say, “I’m sorry. I was wrong. Will you forgive me?”

I wonder: do you need to receive forgiveness from someone? Ask God for the courage to go to them and make amends. Live in freedom.   

……………..

thoughts on conflict

by troy cady

.

.

.

 

sorry seems to be the hardest word

Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word:

reflections on the grace of confession

by Troy Cady

In my calling as a pastor, I think there is little that troubles me more than this: Christians suck at saying “I’m sorry” to others. After 35 years of trying to follow Jesus, I can honestly say I have witnessed very few times when I heard a Christian apologize to another person and ask their forgiveness. 

Typically, we do one of three things, instead:

1. We defend.

2. We avoid addressing our offenses with others at all.

3. We offer a pseudo-apology, with qualifications.

The last type sounds something like: “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings but I didn’t mean it.”

In other words: “You’re the one who should be sorry because your feelings wouldn’t have been hurt if you weren’t so sensitive or if you had just understood me better. For my part, I didn’t mean to hurt you, so I did nothing wrong.”

The problem with this type of apology is that there is no recognition that intent does not diminish impact—and it was the impact that hurt. When we make a qualified apology, there is no recognition of responsibility. It is a pseudo-apology, to be precise.

The irony of this is that a Christian is one who should be the first to acknowledge their own imperfections. After all: no one is perfect, but by grace we are set free through the wonder of forgiveness. That’s the Gospel. Receiving that forgiveness, however, is predicated on the knowledge that we need to receive it in the first place.

To be sure, every Christian will tell you they know this. In fact, they will tell you quite freely “I’m a sinner and God has forgiven me.” But this “forgiveness exchange” between God and an individual has taken on a rather Gnostic character in modern day Christianity; it is a disembodied exchange, involving no seeking of forgiveness from one’s fellow human. By contrast, when we live out a genuine forgiveness exchange—when we confess our wrongdoing from person to person—we can experience a deep, deep liberation through the gentle work of humility.

In light of that, I find it astounding that Christians today can find it so easy to say “I’m a sinner” to God but so difficult to say “I’m sorry” to others. And I wonder whether one can even call oneself a Christian without going to their brothers and sisters to seek their forgiveness. I wonder whether the phenomenon we are witnessing today in western Christendom isn’t rather a pseudo-Christianity because of this.

It seems to me that Christians today have forgotten they really are sinners in a concrete sense. We like to make an abstraction of sin but are loathe to admit that, when we sin, we sin against people whose names and faces we see an awful lot. Though it is possible to sin against people we don’t know, most of the time we sin against people we see day-by-day, week-by-week, quite regularly. And our refusal to seek forgiveness from them is a betrayal of the very Gospel we proclaim.

The situation should be reversed. Instead of hearing “I’m sorry; I was wrong” only once in a while, we should be saying it and hearing it quite regularly, if we want to claim we are Christian.

Church, it is time to wake up and learn to be quick to confess in precise detail how you have wronged or hurt others.  The healing words are easy to pronounce, but hard to admit. The healing words carry a powerful simplicity: “I’m sorry; I was wrong. Will you forgive me?”

No excuses. No qualifications. No defending. Just an acknowledgement of our need for grace.

How freeing! How difficult!

I invite you to consider whether there is someone whose forgiveness you need to seek. And I pray that God will grant us all such courageous humility to actually ask forgiveness, from one person to another.

Amen.

…………………….

Photo: untitled by Felix Koutchinski via Unsplash. Creative Commons.

Christ in you, the hope of glory

The Christian is one who is “in Christ.” She or he walks in the way of Jesus. The Christian is a person who dedicates their life, all of it, to becoming more like him.

Pentecost Sunday is the day we remember that we are not simply “in Christ.” It is a day to remember that the only way I can be in Christ is to have Christ in me. And the way to have Christ in me is by the Spirit of Christ.

But we like to keep Jesus at a distance. That is our problem. As long as he doesn’t come too close and start messing with areas that actually change our living, we feel fine. This is the rub.

This paradox sets me to wondering. When God gives someone his Spirit, they never get only part of the Spirit. They get all, everything. Yet, how is it that the God who graciously gives us everything only gets part of me because I cannot stop holding something back?

How do I know I’m holding something back?

I know because the Spirit whispers a call to more faith in my heart. The need for more faith is a sign that I have more room to grow in Christlikeness. I am that “you of little faith” Jesus bespoke. Jesus, on the other hand, had great faith.

The main expressions of his faith were not when he walked on water and calmed the sea. His greatest acts of faith were when he forgave sinners like me and believed they could change. He forgave murderers and believed they could become people of peace. He forgave our infidelities while at the same time believing we could live faithfully. What faith!

Do I do the same? No, I do not. I look at those who hurt me and condemn them to playing out a destructive role indeterminately. Far from believing in change, I scarcely believe in forgiveness!

So, how is it that I have the Spirit of Christ in me but continue to live this way, failing to forgive and persisting to condemn? It is because the Spirit does not have all of me. It is because I have yet to learn that the Spirit of Christ does not condemn.  It is because I need to exercise more faith that if I love my enemy (as Jesus taught me to do) God is big enough to be my defender, should my enemy abuse the grace I offer.

Spirit of Christ, help me trust you more; help me love as Jesus does—with no reserve.

the public defender

In Matthew 25 Jesus says, “I was in prison and you came to visit me.” His listeners respond: “But, Lord, when were you ever in prison and we visited you?” Jesus replied: “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”

If we view this portion of Scripture in light of its context, we are constrained to note that Jesus was not simply telling a nice story to awaken us to various social justice initiatives.  Though it is right and good for us to visit prisoners, feed the hungry, clothe the naked and care for the sick, Jesus’ teaching here serves to foreshadow what would soon transpire in his crucifixion.  The end of the age was at hand and Jesus as prophet foretold a backwards kind of redemption. Let us see how his prophecy is fulfilled.

First of all, his story came true: no one visited him when he was in prison. He was charged, tried, beaten and killed as a criminal. Who rose up for him? No one.

And with whom are we found in the story? The accusers. Yes, we either press charges or stand by speechless when some injustice is occurring.  In either case, we are guilty of condemning the innocent.

So, Jesus further prefigures the substitutionary nature of his atonement in two ways. He states that we will not demonstrate mercy towards him but if we learn to have mercy on others he will treat our acts as if we did have mercy on him. Just as Jesus represents us to the Father, so others represent him to us.

This means that we can find Jesus wherever we look: in the face of the homeless teen, in the bruises of the battered woman, and in the breath of the staggering drunk.

This is the most shocking development of all, especially when we consider that he was perfectly sinless and no one else is. Yes, it is true: in his life Jesus stood up for the innocent and oppressed—but in his death he stands up for the guilty and oppressive.

As far as I know this turn-around is unique to Christianity. Every religion, of course, teaches a righteousness that comes to the defense of the innocent but what other religion teaches us to defend the guilty—not merely the accused, mind you, but the truly guilty? Yet, this is precisely what Jesus did.

Let us be honest: we think this supremely unfair and unjust.

There are registered sex offenders that live in my neighborhood. There are gang members who hold women in slavery. There are drug lords who scheme to snare the young in addiction.

The scandal of Christianity is that Jesus came for murderers, thieves and perjurers as much as he came for their victims.

What’s more, his words in Matthew 25 prefigure not only his crucifixion but also his burial. Yes, Jesus suffered prison twice-over: in his burial he descended to the dead and visited those in their spiritual prison so he could liberate the captives. Observe the turn-around again: we neglect to visit him in his prison but he invades Hades to visit us in our prison. The one who suffered the deepest injustice turned the tables on The Accuser, Satan, to effect justice-by-mercy for the souls of people in every place and every time.

Again, he does not simply release the innocent. Today, because of his death and resurrection, he forgives the guilty and frees them from their prison. This hardly seems just to us!

I have a friend who became a Public Defender recently. Some Christians would scratch their heads at this, wondering how on earth she, as a Christian, could rise up in defense of those who are actually guilty. True, the innocent need a defender so they can avoid being victimized by unjust accusers, but what of the truly guilty?

In the book of I John, we catch a glimpse of Jesus as Public Defender. “My dear children, I write this to you so that you will not sin. But if anybody does sin, we have an advocate with the Father—Jesus Christ, the Righteous One.  He is the atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not only for ours but also for the sins of the whole world.”

Mark the last sentence for we are quick to accept his forgiveness when we are the offenders, but slow to extend it when we are the victims. So, while some would raise their eyebrows wondering how my friend could defend, in good conscience, those who are guilty, I would assert that in many ways she’s the more Christlike among us.

Thank you Father for your Son, our Public Defender. Help us follow his example.

a foreign brand of justice

The rub of forgiveness is that it always runs counter to instinct. But, remember: we are human so we either need forgiveness or we need to forgive.

In the former case, I am reluctant to admit I have done wrong. Confession shakes my confidence; it feels like losing face. If I can muster the courage to ask forgiveness, however, I will soon discover that the temporary humiliation I suffer gives way to the enduring beatitude of humility. The truth sets me free.

In the latter instance, extending forgiveness feels unfair. “They have clearly done wrong. They should get what they have coming to them, for goodness’ sake!” Forgiving feels like letting the offender off the hook. We do not come by such an act naturally. It can only be offered by choice. And it can only be chosen by grace.

We weigh the options in the balance. “If I forgive, then what’s to prevent them from doing the same thing all over again?” That is right. Nothing. Except the captivating power of grace. The soul gripped by forgiveness is, in fact, freed by such a bond.

But it will take trust to relinquish the power of rightness—trust that there is a God who is behind and before, to our left and right, shielding us in his foreign brand of justice we call mercy.

the surprise of pardon

I saw Jesus die from a distance.  

These were the festival days. Growing up, I recalled the release of one prisoner each year—Rome’s identification with our Passover.  You can call it a political game, if you want. In either case, there was a gesture of pardon, a chance to claim a second life.  It was a good time to be a criminal; how much less could one expect favor for the innocent?

Not Jesus.  Condemnation was pronounced. Death by crucifixion.

I was shocked. How could this be?

Jesus had done nothing wrong but he did make one mistake: he angered the powerful. He extolled the widow’s mite and disdained the rich man’s wealth.  Surely the afflicted were guilty of sin. Otherwise, why would they be blind, leprous, and lame? God’s judgment was plain for all to see.

But Jesus treated them as if they’d done nothing wrong. And when he knew they had done something wrong, he forgave them.  He had no right.  We don’t learn to follow God rightly if we are exempted from punishment when we sin.

That is what we thought. But Jesus said we can’t follow God if we’re not exempted from punishment. Of course we’re guilty. We’re all guilty. That’s why we all need forgiveness.

This upset our whole way of life. So, the powerful wanted him dead.

charles colson and second chances

Charles Colson (October 16, 1931 - April 21, 2012)

Second chances are undeserved. I have discovered this first-hand. I have transgressed more times than I care to admit, yet a new sun rises and I’m given another shot at life. There is nothing I have done or could do to earn such second chances. They are sheer grace.

The second chance is granted in spite of track records. Call it an act of faith—believing a person can produce a certain outcome when all they have demonstrated in the past is failure. Second chances are God’s way of hoping. Granting others a second chance can be our way of hoping, too.

Perhaps there was none more acquainted with the freedom that comes from second chances than Charles Colson. In Life Sentence Colson told of his role in the Nixon Watergate scandal so as to recount the extravagance of unreasonable grace as he’d received it personally.

He reached the end of himself, knew first-hand the dead-end of unchecked ambition. In prison he had no choice but to follow a new path. He was (in his words) born again. Think of it as a second chance of eternal duration.

“Yeah, right,” others scoffed. “That sure seems convenient. ‘Born again’, eh? Sounds more like an easy out. Why should a low-life like Colson be granted a second chance? Do you have any idea how many people he’s hurt? He should have to pay for what he’s done! There is no reason he should get off scott-free like that.”

That’s right. There is no reason. But there it is: forgiveness.

And, in receiving that forgiveness, Colson was free (yes, of guilt!). He was guilty but he was declared “not guilty” by the merciful King.

And in being set free, Colson’s relationships were put right. He obtained a right relationship with God—thanks to the forgiveness of Jesus—and he did what he could to set right the relationships he’d marred through his abuse of power.

There is a justice in mercy. Grace has a way of “putting things right again.” It is an Artist’s way of telling a story, turning left to take a person right.

So, Colson devoted his life to ministering this mercy to those who deserved it least: convicted prisoners. He founded Prison Fellowship, a ministry that specializes in second chances for the undeserving.

Many disagreed with Colson’s stance on capital punishment. Many adhered to the justice of “eye-for-eye” so they criticized Colson for his opposition to the death penalty. But Colson had a first-hand experience of the power of second chances. Who was he to deny another human the gift of hope? Yes, he believed everyone has incredible capacity to sin (he considered himself chief among them) but he believed the Spirit’s capacity to regenerate is greater.

In 1993, Colson was awarded the prestigious Templeton Prize for Progress in Religion. Over the course of his life, his radio program (BreakPoint) was heard on more than 1,400 outlets nationwide. He had been awarded some 15 honorary doctorates, was the author of more than 30 books and countless articles. Yet what made this man great was his understanding of his smallness.

His story of conversion impacted my life in tremendous ways. I read many of his writings that addressed all kinds of issues. I admired his intellect but what will stand out about this man is the transformative work of grace that spoke to me by his life story. Charles Colson’s life says, “Don’t ever doubt the power of forgiveness to change a person.” Let mercy be the subject of your life sentence and hope be the verb.

For this reason, I will not remember Charles Colson primarily as an academic nor a politician. I will remember him as a simple prisoner of Jesus. Something tells me this is how he would want to be remembered.

I am grateful to God for his life for I, too, am still in need of second chances.

the paradox of friendship

True friendship presents us with an interesting paradox: it cannot exist without the marriage of trust and forgiveness. I cite this as a paradox because forgiveness implies the betrayal of trust. If I would never violate another’s trust, I would have no need for forgiveness; yet I know I have never shared a real friendship with anyone in which I never sinned against them. I am not flawless. I say or do things from time to time that injure even close friends.

When we practice full trust, we let down our guard. But doing as such is risky, for no human is perfect. They will hurt you from time to time. Yes, when your guard is down--when you are trusting--they will harm you.

And they will need your forgiveness. To grant forgiveness is to begin to trust again. To trust is to remain in friendship. Friendship diminishes in direct proportion to the raising of defenses.

Hopefully you will have noticed that the capacity to forgive and trust must come from a power that is higher than human. Since none of us are perfect, we do not possess the perfect power to forgive and trust. Such power can only come from someone who has never sinned. Of course, there is only one who has this power. His name is Jesus.

Read his story in the Bible and you will see that he was not only trustworthy (he never sinned) but he also granted trust to his friends as he invited them into his kind of friendship. He himself could do this because he trusted first in his Father. Notice: the trust he granted his followers (which, in turn, gave rise to their friendship) was of a second order—it came after his trust in his Father whom he knew would never betray him.

This is how Jesus could forgive and let down his defenses as he gave up his life on the cross. With his Father as defender, Jesus had nothing to lose—including his life. The resurrection proclaims this.

Trust in God, therefore, bolsters human friendship--for in God we have both a friend that never fails and a friend that always forgives.

Let us learn to trust. Let us be ready to forgive. Let us be friends.

forgive without limit

“But why should I forgive them after what they did to me? Again.”

The Christian seeks to forgive without limit because that is what their master Jesus did. And does.

To withhold forgiveness is to judge—and to judge another is to judge oneself for all human judges have failed to follow God’s perfect way perfectly. And we continue to fail.

How can I judge another when I myself fail others through injury or indifference? If I would ask the Master to forgive me without limit, I should also practice forgiving others without limit.

This is the hardest thing to do.

Call to mind that person yesterday. They greeted you with a mere emotional yawn. You can hold a grudge and return their rejection, mark for mark. Or you can exchange rejection for unconditional acceptance. Suddenly, you are free. And so are they. The Good King reigns, truly. And the Fruitful Country becomes present here and now—there is no waiting for joy anymore.

When Jesus came announcing the immanence of the Kingdom of God he came announcing forgiveness at the same time. This is no coincidence. Where forgiveness is withheld the life of God is rejected. Where forgiveness is practiced the life of God pulsates, granting life to those whom such forgiveness flows from and to. Forgiveness is the heart of the Christian body.

What a radical departure from the world system of walls and retaliation! As soon as I read the words “forgive without limit” a flood of caveats invade my heart. “Yes, but…” I begin to think. “And we should keep in mind that if…”

“If…then” is a perfectly acceptable line of reasoning if the condition is no condition--for that is the kind of “if” God extends to us. “If you have rejected me, I have accepted you,” he says.

Let us do the same and we will see the end of this toxic strife.