Transforming Church Conflict (Part 3)

Nearly ten years ago I discovered a resource—a set of practices actually—that has contributed again and again to my capacity to stay connected to God, others, and myself in the midst of difference, disagreement, outright conflict, and institutional chaos. Unlike many models of conflict resolution, this one, Compassionate (Nonviolent) Communication, schools us in transforming conflict from the inside out. As such, it flies in the face of many of our assumptions: that conflict is primarily an external reality; that experts are needed in order to manage conflict; that compromise resolves conflict. Compassionate communication teaches us to focus on our internal experience of conflict and then to practice the simple (but far from simplistic or easy) skills of honesty, empathy, and self-empathy. These skills become concrete ways of loving God and neighbor as oneself when interpreted in light of the Gospel.

In my previous post, I discussed honesty as a way to “speak the truth in love.” Today, I take up empathy and self-empathy. In empathy, we set aside our own feelings and needs and life experiences in order to hear another person in all of their uniqueness. Fully attentive and receptive listening, which God first gives to us in Jesus Christ, is the paradigm for empathy. Yet such listening, if we are honest, is not easy. It does not come naturally. In fact, we are socialized to respond to others with all sorts of non-empathetic responses: giving advice, educating, minimizing their experience, trying to reassure them, persuade them, or control them.

As a finely honed skill, empathy involves hearing and acknowledging the spoken or unspoken needs within another person’s speech and action. In empathy, we listen for life-serving needs (understood as qualities that contribute to the flourishing of life, on one level, and analogies for life in God’s kingdom, on another level). Sometimes we make empathetic guesses to discern other’s needs. It doesn’t matter so much if our guesses are “right” or not.  What matters is the quality of the attention and presence that we bring to the other person. 

Transforming conflict involves not only honesty and empathy but also self-empathy.  In fact, self-empathy is indispensable to leading in the midst of conflict. In conflicted situations and relationships, criticism or angry words are often spoken with ease. In response to such messages, most of us resort to one of two reactions: we lash out or we lash in.

          1.  We lash out when we attack back. We hear the other as attacking or blaming us.  We might think we are justified in attacking them back. We might become intent upon proving ourselves right and the other wrong. Or we might see the other as deserving punishment for whatever we judge as wrong with their behavior or attitude. This lashing out leads to intensified anger and it promotes self-righteousness.

          2.  We lash in when we agree with and internalize the other’s harsh words. Now we criticize, blame or shame ourselves for whatever it is that we have done.  “I should have known better.”  “What an idiot I am; I can’t believe that I said that.”  “I’ll never learn.”  Lashing in leads to isolation, exhaustion, inability to make decisions, and even depression.

          3. Lashing in and lashing out aren’t our only options. We could empathize with the other person, translating their criticism or ad hominem attack into needs. We might wonder what would lead them to speak this way. In other words, we focus not on ourselves, our actions, but rather we focus on what matters most to them in this situation.

          4. The other option is self-empathy.  In self-empathy, we identify and value our own needs with the same kind of care that we offer to others in listening to them empathetically. In self-empathy, we place attention on our own thought processes, our judgments about ourselves and others, so that we can move out of self-blame into centeredness in our identity as children of God.

When undertaken as a Christian spiritual practice, self-empathy can lead to prayer. For God alone is ultimately the source of our needs. When our best efforts to transform conflict fall short, we find peace in God through Jesus Christ. When we fail to listen with empathy or speak with honesty, we find forgiveness and acceptance in Christ. When we lament our desperate unfulfilled desires, the Spirit of God sustains us by reminding us of God’s promises.

Take together, empathy and self-empathy may help us pray more like the psalmists. Too often in the church, our prayers are superficial. We often do not experience authentic fellowship because we do not break through to authentic confession, intercession, lament, or exuberant thanksgiving in the presence of one another. Not only conflict but also our very neediness before God and one another remains hidden. However, when we dare to pray to God and with one another with honesty and vulnerability, when we dare to name the the pain of ongoing conflict, we fellowship with each other. We break through to communion. This kind of honesty in prayer that flows from empathy and self-empathy transforms conflict because through it we actually love God and our neighbor as ourselves.

Searching for a faithful response to disaster

Recently I was introduced to the Institute for Congregational Trauma and Growth, an organization that provides resources, networking, and education for communities of faith that are seeking to respond to large-scale tragedy, disaster, and trauma. Founded by one of my colleagues from seminary, ICTG is beyond busy these days with this week’s tornado and devastation in Oklahoma as the latest in a string of national disasters. As I’ve perused and contributed to ICTG’s growing body of church resources and as I’ve simply watched the news over the past six months, I’ve been struck by this simple fact: large-scale disaster thrusts congregations into action, whether they are ready or not.

For this reason (and many others), the ongoing pastoral theological formation of Christians matters a great deal. A significant part of this formation entails the capacity to respond to some of the most primal existential and theological questions: “Where is God? How could God have allowed this to happen? Does God care about me, about my children, about my loved ones? Is there any safety in the world?” Perhaps paradoxically, the best response, as Jennifer Holberg alluded to yesterday, is silence—not the kind of silence synonymous with avoidance but the kind that respects the profundity of the questions themselves. 

Put another way, I think it’s critical for us to tolerate these questions without rushing to answer them—for, at one level, they are not answerable. The best work we can do, at least to begin, is to accept the ambiguity and uncertainty inherent in life by inviting tough questions out into the open, by fostering curiosity and inquiry, and by challenging those who attempt to apply cookie-cut answers to pain. This posture is grounded in trust—trust in God’s Spirit to breathe life into those in despair. A poem by Anne Hillman points us in this direction:

We look with uncertainty

beyond the old choices for

clear-cut answers

to a softer, more permeable aliveness

which is at every moment

at the brink of death;

for something new is being born within us

if we but let it.

We stand at a new doorway,

awaiting that which comes ...

daring to be human creatures,

vulnerable to the beauty of existence.

Of course, we will go beyond that eventually, grappling with more (rather than less) theologically adequate responses to the perennial questions about God’s role in human suffering. 

Where is God when tragedy strikes? There God is, on the cross, suffering injustice, betrayal, and ignorance. Which means that God knows our suffering from the inside out, that God has been marked by suffering, and that God is still present with us in our suffering today. After losing his son to a tragic mountain climbing accident, theologian Nicholas Wolterstorff wrote this: “The wounds of Christ are his identity. They tell us who he is. He did not lose them. They went down into the grave with him and they came up with him—visible, tangible, palpable. Rising did not remove them. He who broke the bonds of death kept his wounds.”

Where is God when tragedy strikes? Here God is, in the midst of us. Jesus promised, “Wherever two or three gather in my name, I am there in the midst of them” (Matt. 18:20). God is present as we are present to each other in the midst of tragedy, trauma, and disaster. Here is the real presence of Christ, mediated to us certainly through Word and Sacrament but also through our union and communion with each other.

As ones who are united to Christ, we mirror the love of God to one another. Knowing Jesus Christ does not occur in isolation. It occurs in the context of Christ’s body. Jesus does not exist as a disembodied or abstract spirit but rather as a diverse community of love. Seeing kindness, care, and sorrow in one another’s faces points us to the Face of God in Jesus Christ. The Apostle Paul wrote that we all with unveiled faces reflect the glory of God to one another (2 Cor. 3:18)—a glory often hidden and revealed in the context of suffering. When we see and hear and assist one another in the midst of the impossibility of large-scale loss, we experience grace; and in the presence of grace, guilt and despair fade away. And over time, joy punctures (if only for moments) our sorrow.

Transforming Church Conflict (Part 2)

The key to transforming conflict in the church today is developing skilled leaders who are not afraid to engage conflict. As mentioned two weeks ago, we need a new framework for understanding and approaching conflict: conflict contains gifts and possibilities; conflict resides within us (it is an internal reality); and (3) compromise is often a superficial and short-term remedy for conflict. Grounded in this understanding and trusting the Spirit of God, leaders and members alike can learn how to speak (and listen to) the truth in love.

Three skill sets (or, practices) in compassionate communication contribute to transforming conflict: honesty, empathy, and self-empathy. When we lean into conflict with these three practices, we create the conditions whereby the Spirit may unite us in peace. In this blog, I’ll unpack the skill set of honesty—which though simple is far from simplistic.

To begin, we have to admit the obvious: not all honesty is helpful, caring, or compassionate. Some forms of honesty trigger defensiveness or escalation of conflict. The honesty that I’m talking about is founded upon the knowledge and acceptance of our fellowship with one another. Christians belong to one another. Our lives are woven together in Christ. To speak harsh judgments against each other is an attack on Christ’s body.

In contrast, “speaking truth in love” contributes to mutual understanding, support, interdependence, peace, and trust. It is grounded in an intention to live out our reconciliation in Christ. This kind of honesty is refreshingly assertive; it is not nice; and, it is not passive. It is authentic; it flows from our most cherished values and needs. It is empowering. Simple expressions of honesty have a way of inspiring, even freeing, others to risk opening their hearts (and mouths) so that they can be seen and known more fully. 

The kind of honesty that helps transform conflict begins with observations rather than evaluations. An observation is a concrete statement or thought that reflects what we are hearing, seeing, or remembering in reference to a specific context, event, or interaction.  By very definition, then, observations are distinct from our interpretations, evaluations and judgments about what we are hearing, seeing, or remembering. Evaluations can take many forms: interpretations of one’s actions; labels denoting one’s character; diagnoses of one’s personhood. In all instances, evaluations are “stories” that we tell ourselves about ourselves or others. These stories may be circumscribed, focusing on particular actions or events, or they may be all-encompassing. Overall evaluations evoke defensiveness and lead to disconnection in relationships. When we make observations about what is upsetting us, we establish common understanding and we encourage open conversation.

Honesty involves more than simply making observations, of course. It involves speaking about what matters most to us in a given situation. It’s about identifying our most deeply cherished values and pressing needs. Here I am actually using the language of needs and values interchangeably.  Needs are universal qualities that contribute to the flourishing of human life—for example, purpose, meaning, community, integrity, peace, autonomy, choice, freedom, love, physical well-being, etc. Defined in this way, needs sustain us in living a physically, emotionally, and spiritually fulfilled life. Because of this, needs are the points of connection—the place of human encounter—in the midst of difference, disagreement, or dissension. Why? Because we all hold them in common. 

At the heart of many interpersonal impasses and power struggles lies a failure to identify all the needs at play.  Typically we argue about the effectiveness and validity of competing strategies without ever identifying the needs that such strategies seek to meet.  In other words, we bypass that which has the potential to connect us at the level of our common humanity, i.e., our needs and values.

The kind of honesty that unites rather than divides also is void of demands. We set aside our demands of one another and instead learn to make requests of each other, to make and respond to request requests that meet our common needs and thereby enriching our life in encounter. Unlike demands, requests respect the other’s choice and autonomy (as well as our own). We trust that if someone says “no” to our request, it is likely because they are saying “yes” to some (perhaps unstated) need of theirs at that time own. We hear the “yes” within their “no.” It’s important here to recognize that if we do something out of guilt, fear or coercion, we build up resentment. There is little chance for sustainable, caring community when resentment lurks below the surface. 

When we speak the truth in love, we participate in the Spirit’s work of reminding us that we are children of God, loved by God and created in God’s image. Speaking the truth in love contributes to the mutual integration and adaptation of the members of the church toward one another. Truthful and loving honesty helps the church to become more interdependent, that is, to become who it is—an integrated organism comprised of the most diverse parts. By speaking the truth in love, we encourage and even empower each other to live out both our common and our unique callings in life. Each of us has a common calling to serve others, to live in solidarity with those who are suffering, and to witness to God’s grace in word and deed. And each of us has been given gifts of the Spirit—mercy, service, administration, teaching, etc.—in order to carry out this calling in our congregations, neighborhoods, families, and workplaces. Thus such honesty is not merely about transforming conflict but rather about the church’s fulfillment of its mission in the world.

Transforming Church Conflict (Part 1)

Over the past fifteen years, I have served as a spiritual care coordinator (i.e., chaplain), an associate pastor, a seminary professor at two different institutions, and a parish associate. In all of these settings, I have discovered again and again that the most challenging moments in ministry are not tasks like sermon writing, visitation, funerals, creating new courses or developing curricula. Rather what creates anxiety, frustration, disappointment, and downright perplexity in ministry are the entrenched interpersonal impasses and conflicts among church members, (and church members who are also family members!), staff, committees, and denominational factions.

Consequently, I have spent the past seven years intensively learning a practice called “nonviolent” or “compassionate” communication. Developed by clinical psychologist Marshall Rosenberg, Nonviolent Communication has grown an international peacemaking organization, with people on nearly all continents practicing conflict transformation in their homes and workplaces and even now a small handful of seminaries.

My colleague, Deborah van Deusen Hunsinger (Princeton Theological Seminary) and I have written a book, Transforming Church Conflict: Compassionate Leadership in Action, in which we interpret the practice of compassionate communication in light of Christian theology and apply it to a wide variety of intrapersonal and interpersonal challenges in ministry today. (The book has just been released—so this is a bit of self-promotion, too!)

Broadly speaking, congregations face a myriad of challenges.  Some flounder in intractable conflict. Some struggle to recover from clergy misconduct. Mainline denominations are rent apart by polarizing discourse and some congregations are so disheartened that they are tempted to withdraw altogether. Individuals choose to believe without belonging to the church at all. Or they belong marginally--taking what they can get from worship but avoiding any authentic communal relationships of service and support. Pastors are burning out at an alarming rate, and other leaders grow weary of keeping all the church’s programs afloat.  Both pastors and other leaders falter under the weight of their own and others’ expectations to do it all.

Add to this the fact that in our world today we encounter “otherness” on a daily basis. We are inundated with diverse ways of being Christian, of being religious, of being a person. We have to choose from among these, discerning to the best of our ability what it means to live a good, faithful, true life in relationship to those both near and far from us. And then we have to learn how to live in community with people who choose differently than us.

Actually this is not all bad news. For challenges like these provide opportunities for spiritual growth, for seeing and understanding and following God in new ways.  In short, these challenges can remind us of who we are as the church.

On the eve of his arrest, Jesus prayed to God for his disciples, “that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may be completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me” (John 17:23). In so doing, he acknowledged the koinonia that constitutes the being of God, the church, and the world.

Often translated “fellowship” in English, the Greek word koinonia means “mutual indwelling,” “participation,” and “coexistence.” To say that we have fellowship with God and each other means, therefore, that we exist in the greatest possible intimacy and integrity with God and each other. Put simply, we belong to God and we belong to each other in the most profound sense.

This koinonia among the members of Christ’s body takes when we gather to worship. As a lived reality, koinonia is a theological and confessional fellowship, a fellowship of conversion, thankfulness, prayer and service. In the church, our lives are knit together in a series of I-Thou encounters of love. By the power of the Spirit in our midst, we live in peace with each other, support one another, confess our sin to one another, practice hospitality toward one another, and bear each other’s burdens.

Woven together as one Body, members of the church are called to witness in word and deed to Jesus Christ, in whom our koinonia with God and each other is perfectly complete and through whom it will be fully manifest. But disunity in the Church contradicts our very identity and scandalizes our witness. For how can the Church be an ambassador of reconciliation when communities of faith are torn asunder by mutual recrimination, judgment, and cut-offs? How can we worship in spirit and truth and vilify those made in God’s image, those in whom God dwells?

Moreover, how we deal with conflict in the church usually is a contradiction of our koinonia with God and each other. But it doesn’t have to be. For conflict can provide an opportunity for practicing our koinonia with greater faithfulness and integrity. But in order to do that, we need to have a new understanding of conflict and a new posture toward conflict itself.

First, conflict is both a gift and a possibility, because conflict is itself a central component in transformation. Whether conflict resides in a single person, between persons, or within groups, conflict provides a possibility for new vision and new practices. For this newness to emerge, though, we often need to patiently endure the discomfort of conflict; we need to prayerfully wait for the Spirit of God to move in our midst, so that we ourselves are transformed.

Put more simply, honestly facing and working through conflict (not around it) leads to more authentic community and therefore to greater creativity in participating in the mission of the church in the world.

Secondly, conflict isn’t just something external to us. It is an internal reality. When a church is in conflict, most pastors and leaders (if not members) are in conflict as well.  The conflict does not reside outside the pastor or only among the church’s most vocal members.  It resides within every person in the church.  We internalize our context and are an integral part of the emotional system in which we reside. So the transformation of conflict has to begin within our own personhood. How church leaders, in particular, position themselves vis-à-vis the conflict is a key to transformation. 

Third, conflict is rarely transformed by seeking compromise. The problem with compromise is that it frequently leads to resentment and fragile community connections. Compromise also tends to bypass humanizing encounter and goes straight to seeking strategies to relieve our pain and discomfort. It can be superficial, therefore. Transforming conflict begins when we relate to one another at the level of our common humanity, a kind of koinonia encounter that is supported by three practices or skill sets, which I’ll be exploring in upcoming posts.

The Insidiousness of Uniformity

Jessicah Bratt’s recent blog post engendered a fair amount of gratitude and conversation from our regular readers. She graciously raised pointed questions about the RCA’s current voting on whether or not to remove conscience clauses from the Book of Common Order. Among other things, these clauses allow men who object to women’s ordination to recuse themselves from participating in those ordinations. Jessicah noted a common refrain in discussions about removing these clauses: “Will there be a place for me in the RCA if we remove the conscience clauses?” Asked in many variations by those who disagree with women’s ordination, this question reveals a much deeper cluster of problems—the insidiousness of uniformity, the categorical confusion of uniformity and unity, the danger that accrues from failure to acknowledge and understand power dynamics, and the overreliance on polity to create just, caring communities of faith. These are the same problems that underlie other denominations’ debates about whether or not to permit the ordination and marriage of persons in same-sex relationships. (So, if you’re tempted to judge the RCA for being so behind the times with this vote, be careful, because most of our denominations demonstrate some version of these dynamics.)

1. Uniformity is comfortable. Sociologists describe at length the power of affinity groups—groups of likeminded people—in creating and sustaining a sense of belonging among people. There’s an ease to sameness. They also describe the deleterious effects on society when this “bonding social capital” becomes so prevalent that there is minimal “bridging social capital”—belonging to and with those who are different from us. In brief, bonding social capital without bridging social capitals lead to the creation of “in groups” and “out groups,” insular thinking, and impeded learning and growth. Furthermore, it can contribute to violence.  

2. Uniformity is not unity. Christian unity comes from our communal participation in Christ. United to Christ, we are united to one another. We exist in one body (though we more often contradict that reality than live into it). As a body, we exist in differentiated unity. This is the basic pattern of our union and communion with one another. Members of Christ’s body are inseparable yet distinguishable intellectually, emotionally, ethnically, etc. The church fulfills its common mission in the world, in part, because of the Spirit’s work in and through this differentiation. True collaboration requires differentiation, and transformation often emerges in the context of significant disagreement.

3. Anytime a family, group, congregation, or other system adopts policies about its overall character and functioning, there is the risk that those who differ or disagree may be excluded, marginalized, or even banned from the communion. Human history (and certainly Christian history) is replete with examples of this. When we acknowledge this reality, however, we also need to recognize the complexity of power dynamics involved in the debates and voting about ordination in denominations. Power is related to the amount of resources one person or group has in relation to another person or group in a given context. We have power or are vulnerable in relationship to one another in light of our resources in a given situation. Sources of power include gender, sexual orientation, racial-ethnic background, age, religion, life experience, role, and a variety of economic, physical, and intellectual resources. Clearly those who have been denied ordination or whose ordination has been opposed on the basis of their gender or sexual orientation are those who likely have less power in church and society overall.

4. The conscience clauses that were intended to protect women seeking ordination as well as those opposing women’s ordination didn’t stop people from spurning the spirit of the law, so to speak. Those with less power have suffered the greatest. The same is true for those who have been kept from ordination in other denominations. Changes in polity do not ensure just, caring, communities of faith marked by integrity. Polity may set certain boundaries, but true change takes years of self-differentiated, cooperative leadership from those with the most power alongside those who have been marginalized. It takes intentionality over the long haul—rather than an assumption that the past presence of or future removal of conscience clauses will “solve the problem.” While such transformation ultimately depends upon the work of God’s Spirit, we have a role to play and work to do in response to God’s ministry among us.