Turning towards one another inevitably leads to conflict, and that means work. (Listen.)
When I was in my mid-twenties, I returned to the church. It wasn’t exactly a return to paradise. Instead, I found myself in conflict after conflict after conflict. I’d use the wrong word and someone would give me the silent treatment. I’d be unable to stand up to someone else, and feel trampled and angry. I’d bear the brunt of a third person’s rage, or be enraged myself at their all-too-obvious hypocrisy or rejection of gospel living. Quite frankly, there were times when I hated them all. And I hated them because I had absolutely no tools to deal with minor hurts or aggressions or conflicts.
Like many of us here, and like many others in the Australian church, I was raised to be white middle class. What this means is that I was expected to ignore hurt. Never make waves. Never say, “That’s not okay.” Never acknowledge my pain or sense of injury, never recognise the part I might play in conflict, and never, ever find ways to resolve it.
Oh, I was great at complaining about people behind their backs, and making passive aggressive comments in front of them. I was great at trying to co-opt more powerful people into taking my side, while explaining why I was such an injured party. I could get the silent treatment and dish it right back; I could spend hours trying to analyse someone else’s behaviour; I could speak with the pastor at great and forceful length about how this was supposed to be a community of love and what the hell were all these jerks doing here? Of course, sometimes the jerk turned out to be the pastor. And sometimes, the jerk was me.
Maybe that church was particularly dysfunctional, or maybe I was, or maybe it’s our entire culture (and in truth I think it’s the latter). But maybe, too, elements of my experience were all fairly normal. Because in a way that I find both challenging and refreshing, Jesus assumes there will be conflict among disciples. He takes it for granted that, if we’re turning towards one another in love, then the very fact of engagement means that injuries, hurts, misunderstandings, rivalries and disagreements are inevitable.
What’s more, Jesus assumes that this matters, because our relationships have consequences beyond ourselves. “Whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven,” he says, “and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” (Mt 18:18). Our relationships, and the ways we bind ourselves together or tear ourselves apart, shape the kingdom of heaven itself.
But he doesn’t leave us on our own to navigate the mess. In a way which I find incredibly reassuring, Jesus offers some practical guidelines. Apparently it’s not just middle class white ladies who are rubbish at conflict: his first century Mediterranean male disciples needed help, too.
So according to Jesus, conflict is inevitable; and when it happens, we’re not to ignore it. Nor are we to run away and find some new community that is perfectly nice and perfectly kind and doesn’t exist this side of heaven. Instead, when conflict arises we are to deal with it. And I suspect that this is because working through conflict is how we move beyond vague feelings of benevolence into powerful, self-giving love.
How, then, do we do the work? Obviously, our processes will be shaped by culture, context, and personality, but they should follow Jesus’ instructions for situations of fairly equal power.
First, says Jesus, “When someone in the faith community sins against you, go and point out of the fault when the two of you are alone.” To be clear, this is not for an abuse situation; I’ve spoken here about what to do then. But for situations where there is reasonably equal power, the first step is simply to name injury directly to the person who caused it.
What this means is, Don’t triangulate. Don’t gossip, don’t talk behind somebody’s back, don’t get all passive aggressive, and absolutely never go on a rant on social media. Instead, if there’s an issue, speak with the other person privately and directly. They may not even realise they have thrown out a stumbling block for us. They may not know that we are hurting until we tell them. Or we may have misinterpreted them because of our own unresolved issues. Whatever, a quiet word may be enough to restore the relationship before it reaches a crisis.
It sounds easy enough, but it’s a hard one for middle class white ladies: to admit that there is conflict or hurt and that everything is NOT okay: and then be brave enough to do something about it. Speaking for myself, the very idea of naming something directly makes my heart pound and my head spin. And that’s why I can come across as so blunt sometimes. Because I’m speaking through fear and anxiety, I lurch in order to get through it.
On the flip side, women are supposed to please people. So I’m also terrified of being told there’s an issue, because it means I’ve already failed; my usual response is to be defensive. And yet … because I’m trying to follow Jesus, I’m learning to set aside those feelings. Instead, I try to notice that the person values the relationship enough to work on it, and that they are speaking with me in private without shaming or humiliation; I try to listen. So that’s me, and that’s step one: Take a deep breath, pray, then talk and listen.
But sometimes, as hard as this all is, it isn’t enough. In this case, says Jesus, “Take one or two others so that every word may be confirmed.” These witnesses are not there to browbeat the person. They are not on anyone’s side. Instead, they are there to ensure integrity and help resolve the issue. And they are there to hold up a mirror to us, too. Perhaps they will notice our own unrecognised motives or unresolved issues. Perhaps they will show us how we have contributed to the problem, and encourage us to do some work. Or perhaps they will simply recall all parties to their common commitments, and help everyone find a way forward. Whatever, take one or two others and try to work it out.
But if even that isn’t effective, says Jesus, then bring it to the church. A private injury between members of the congregation is a church matter. Our faith insists that we are members of the body. When parts of the body are no longer in good working relationship, the health of the whole is compromised. So bring it to the church, which in a Baptist context usually means the diaconate or a BUV facilitator.
Ideally, of course, the offender will be reconciled to the church. But sometimes, they’re not. If this is the case, we must decentre them. That is, we must accept that they do not want to live in right relationship with the body. Their desire to be right, or to win, or to hold onto hostility or bitterness or offense, is greater than their desire for community: and so we remove them from any position or office, and place safeguards around their participation if, indeed, they continue to participate at all.
In all of this, the focus is not on winning, nor is it on penalties or punishment or shaming. Jesus never mentions these. Instead, his goal and therefore ours is always one of restoration and forgiveness. So we are to treat them “as a Gentile or a tax collector,” says Jesus. This curious phrase suggests both humility and caution. On the one hand, they may be someone who does not yet know the grace and love of God; on the other, in the gospel according to Matthew, the only people Jesus commends for their faith are Gentiles: so perhaps the love and light of Christ are alive in them and the community is at fault. Perhaps there is a truth the community is yet to grapple with and integrate.
Either way, for the time being the person becomes someone who is not now part of the body, yet someone to whom we offer dignity, hospitality, compassion and kindness; because we hope that, one day, they will want to return to right relationship with the body and we with them. Of course, this has been the invitation all along.
***
When I think back on my return to church those long years ago, and all its conflict and challenge, I am so incredibly grateful.
I am grateful for my frustration and rage, even hate, because they were powerful enough to make me sit up and take notice. They told me I was engaged with the church, which was great; but also that I had a whole lot of work to do. The connection between these people and me clearly mattered. But if I wanted to follow Jesus, I had to learn different when the going got tough; I had to learn to love.
So I am also grateful for the minister who taught me that church is a training ground. I had expected the church to be loving and kind, without any effort on my part at all. But he told me that, as members of the body of Christ, we are given to one another precisely in order to learn to love, and most of us suck at it. So, he said, we all need to skill up and practice. I’ve been learning and practicing ever since, and will be until the day I die.
I’m grateful, too, for the people who were willing to muddle along with a jerk like me, who endured both my strong emotions and my stumbling attempts at naming and working through conflict. Fumbling through those difficult conversations led to some of the most tender moments, the most powerful experiences of forgiveness, and the most enduring relationships of my life: and we never would have got there if we’d lived entirely private lives and avoided the relational work.
Because it is work, and it runs against everything that says we should live in splendid isolation, free from the mess and inconvenience of other people. Yet the self-sufficient path leads directly to misery and loneliness and a life of great gnawing hunger. As followers of Jesus and members of his body, we are called to something more, something entirely offensive to white middle class culture. That is, we are called to go beyond polite conversation and vague feelings of benevolence towards other people. Instead, we are called to engagement. We are called to interdependence. We are called to the rigours and joys of love: and this invariably means conflict.
And so the final thing I’m grateful for is the promise of Jesus, which is this: When we are doing the relational work which enables two or more of us to gather in his name, then he promises to be in our midst, healing, guiding, reconciling, and making us and our relationships whole. Thanks be to God. Ω
Reflect: What are some good experiences you have had of conflict? What tools have helped you navigate it well? What would be helpful? What do you still need to learn?
A reflection by Alison Sampson on Matthew 18:15-20 given to Sanctuary on 10 September 2023 © Alison Sampson 2023 (Year A Proper 18). Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash (edited).
Alison and the whale 