Relocating To Elfland

“Gratitude is . . . vital to sustaining communities that are holy and good. Part of the recent emphasis on gratitude or giving thanks is surely a response to the epidemic of complaint, envy, presumption, and dissatisfaction that undermines human relationships and plagues many communities. These forms of ingratitude are deadly: they kill community by chipping away at it until participants long to be just about anywhere else. While gratitude gives life to communities, ingratitude that has become established sucks out everything good, until life itself shrivels and discouragement and discontent take over.” (Christine D. Pohl, Living into Community: Cultivating Practices That Sustain Us, p. 18)

Take any person at any point in his or her life, look closely, and you’ll find enough sin, stupidity, and general ugliness to bury (and probably damn) that person. But look again. And, if need be, again. You will see frailty, damage, deep need, and also potential. Sympathy will be called forth, perhaps even real hope. Perhaps even admiration. Who of us has not longed for this second look, when one’s shortcomings are exposed to the world? Who has not stood before a critic’s withering onslaught and thought, “Can’t you see I’m trying? Can’t you see I know I’m falling short? Can’t you see I don’t know what to do?” This is not, of course, how we generally respond on the exterior of things, but our hearts have felt it from early days when childish folly made a parent’s eyes blaze and we felt the lash of deserved rebuke. Many of us have learned to soldier on with little hope of a second look (whence come many veneers in the world). Hardest of all, I think, is to believe that God can look at us this way, not with rigor but mildness, not with righteous scorn but with tender compassion. Yet this is surely the message of the cross: God has stooped to touch the lepers, the eye of infinite grace has fallen on the hateful things of earth, the worthless are strangely treasured, and broken things will forever adorn His house.

“The degree of damage or good that a person can do, just by how he speaks to others, is astounding and should never be underestimated. We must avoid all manner of evil speaking, that is, any destructive use of the tongue. . . . God will judge every idle word that comes out of our mouths; therefore be careful. . . . Weigh your words carefully, and say what ought to be said and no more. Loose, undisciplined tongues destroy friendships.” (Steve Wilkins, Face to Face: Meditations on Friendship and Hospitality)

“The way to love anything is to realize how very much otherwise it might have been.” (G. K. Chesterton, “The Advantage of Having One Leg”)

Re-posting this from last April; it fits perfectly with the current thread of thoughts on conversation:

“As man is given by the Spirit to share in Christ’s authority, he cannot do so without love, both for the created order in general and for the particular beings, human and other, which stand within it in various problematic relationships. Love does not bear the dominating and manipulative traits that have been given to it in some attempts to characterize the Christian ethic. It achieves its creativity by being perceptive. It attempts to act for any being only on the basis of an appreciation of that being. Thus classical Christian descriptions of love are often found invoking two other terms which expound its sense: the first is ‘wisdom’, which is the intellectual apprehension of the order of things which discloses how each being stands in relation to each other; the second is ‘delight’, which is affective attention to something simply for what it is and for the fact that it is. Such love is the fruit of God’s presence within us, uniting us to the humanity of God in Christ, who cherishes and defends all that God the Father has made and thought.” (Oliver O’Donovan, Resurrection and Moral Order, p. 26)

Here’s a very helpful piece that probes some of the same issues I’ve been thinking about recently in the context of human conversation.

I happen to believe we’re losing the art of conversation in the 21st century. I won’t try to defend that sweeping generalization; it’s only an opinion, though I think there’s observable data to lend it credibility. I think a lot about conversation as a pastor, because I witness and/or participate in many exchanges that pass for conversation in today’s world. It’s especially disheartening to see the state of conversation among those who profess to follow Jesus. Our “conversations” as God’s people tell a lot about our view of Him, our understanding of relationship, and the state of our hearts. The evidence, sad to say, is not always encouraging.

What I have in mind here isn’t primarily our mechanisms of conversing (it’s commonly agreed, for example, that digital technology has fundamentally changed the way we talk with/to/at each other, and not always for the better). What I have in mind is the attitude of our conversations, the basic relational posture we display toward each other, or what our parents called “manners.” It seems to me our society is losing its manners, and judgment must begin at the house of God.

One would expect serious adherence to Christianity to invest a believer with qualities that make for excellent conversation. To the contrary, it often seems that the more rigorous one’s Christian commitments (especially in youth), the more curmudgeonly one becomes. I meet and interact with sincere Christians who, for whatever reason, seem to need a fight, some mighty cause that involves bashing in helmets. They’re ready to fight with live opponents; they’re equally ready to fight with caricatures of their own inventing. If you’ve ever “conversed” with someone like this, you know it’s basically impossible, because s/he doesn’t listen long or well enough to understand you (understanding isn’t the point of the “conversation”). Eventually you realize s/he’s fighting someone who isn’t actually you. It’s best then simply to bow out politely and go find something fruitful to do. Dealing with the sort who badly needs an argument isn’t fun, but at least you can see the silliness for what it is.

There’s another way serious-minded Christians kill conversation, however, and it’s harder to see because it wears more grownup clothes. If the attitude just described is fire, this one is ice. What strikes you when you start to converse isn’t necessarily external bluster, but an iron fist under the glove. The tone of “conversation” is quickly set by the posture: “I’m the resident expert on . . .” (expressed in ways ranging from obnoxious to impressive). There’s none of the comfortable, inviting, “I’m a fellow learner with you” sense that you get with a real friend. You can’t tell this person what you really think, especially if you’re still working it through; it would only invite a lecture, derision, blacklisting, or some other unpleasantness. You may be listened to with varying degrees of patience; you may be patronized, even pitied; but at the end of the day, really, you just need to listen. That’s the only tranquil way forward. The expert’s conclusions are settled; if you are wise, you’ll join him. The idea that truth might lie other than where he is, or be broad enough to encompass at least part of where you both stand, isn’t one that gets any primetime in his head.

Should you meet this sort of “expert,” I suggest you excuse yourself as soon as possible. The alternative is to sit at his feet and believe whatsoever he sayeth. Be his views never so orthodox, you’re wasting your time if it’s conversation you seek; conversation is possible only between fellow learners. You can go a long way with someone whose posture is that of a fellow learner; even if you disagree vigorously and in principle, you will still learn a lot from each other. What will make it work is not agreement, but humility. Respect. Love.

For all the talk of tolerance in the 21st century, we’re not a society characterized by humility, respect, love, courtesy, or any of the other virtues once described as “manners.” And little wonder, considering the contents of so many saltshakers.

Two ways in which idolatry manifests itself in human relationships:

1. Demanding of other people what God does not require of them (“I will carve you into this or that form of what I want”).

2. Expecting of other people what God does require of them, but without joyfully bearing, believing, hoping, and enduring all things in the meantime (“you will become this or that right now, or you will know my displeasure”).

The goal of human conversation is not to win. It is not to expose, belittle, rebut, or refute. It is, rather, to discover, learn, contribute, and enjoy in the presence of an acknowledged equal. The goal is mutual profit, not private victory; this is felt as much in the tone as in the substance of what is said. There are human interactions in which other, more warlike objectives have a place; but one never seriously calls cross-examination a “conversation.”

“Ye have heard, my brethren, . . . how that the publicans and sinners drew near unto our Redeemer, and how that He received them, not only to converse, but also to eat with Him. And when the Pharisees and Scribes saw it, they murmured. From this learn ye, that true righteousness is merciful, and false righteousness is contemptuous, albeit that the righteous also oft-times feel moved with just indignation at sinners. But it is one thing to feel thus indignant through pride, and another to feel so through love of law. The righteous [in] their hearts . . . prefer before themselves them whom they are correcting; they hold as better than themselves them whom they judge. And thus doing, they watch by carefulness over them, which are committed unto their charge, and, by lowly-mindedness, over themselves. On the other hand, they whose exaltation cometh of a false righteousness, look down upon their neighbour, but are softened by no mercy toward his misery, and are all the more sinful, because they perceive not that they themselves are sinners. Of such were those Pharisees who judged the Lord because He received sinners, and, in the dryness of their own heart, rebuked the very Fountain of mercy.” (Gregory the Great, 34th Homily on the Gospels)