Grinnin’ Down Bears - Christianity Today

According to legend, Davy Crockett, without a weapon, subdued a bear. Asked how he did it, he replied that he just “grinned the bear down.”

Ask ministers what their biggest dilemma is, and they’ll likely say it’s problem people in the church, our equivalent of hungry bears. I’ve made two big mistakes with the bears in my ministry.

My first inclination has been to fight it out with my critics. I’ve stood foursquare for truth, defended my ground, proved my case-and lost the fight. I won the war of words, but with things never again the same in the relationship, it wasn’t much of a victory.

I’ve also tried a second tactic: apologizing when I didn’t think I was wrong. That made for peace, but I felt ravaged inside afterward. I wanted to fight and felt like a wimp for giving in.

Fortunately, my years in the ministry have helped me discover a more satisfying third option. In this approach I neither fight aggressively nor passively submit to a clawing; instead, I grin the bear down.

A time for grinnin’

Here’s an example of how I stand my ground and disarm the grizzly. One such encounter started with that common preachers’ hazard-the after-worship attack in the hallway. One of my listeners stepped up (while I was shaking hands and extracting all the compliments possible) and said to me, “That’s the worst sermon you ever preached.”

Instead of attacking or retreating, I decided to grin him down. I used what’s been my most effective response: “You’re probably right.”

The word probably introduces the subtle possibility that the bear also could be wrong. We can rest assured, however, that the critic will hear “You’re right” and miss the word probably. But this sets the stage for a truth search, in which I may find he’s telling the truth-if I understand what he means, and if he understands what he means.

Then I used some diplomatic questions to get at the issues. “Would it be all right if I asked why you thought that was the worst sermon I ever preached?”

What could he say? He wasn’t about to admit, “No, I’m afraid to look deeply into anything I say.” Instead of attacking his case, I was asking him to explain it. I’ve been amazed at how much more agreeable bears are if I first accept their feelings rather than argue with their conclusions. There will be plenty of time later for arguing if I must, but in the beginning, I try to understand what is really being said. I’ve learned that once I understand my critic, I rarely disagree totally.

“Well, you never used to preach so hard,” my critic responded.

I listened carefully and replied, “That may be true, but I thought I had always preached that way. Perhaps I’ve not been aware of how I sound.” Note the tentative words may and perhaps. Trying to understand him promoted a sense of fair play, which compelled him to offer me the same courtesy.

I remembered that my critic had been away for some time, so I asked him, “Is it possible you might have changed some during the months you were away? For instance, what kind of preacher did you listen to while you were gone?” He admitted the preaching he had been hearing in another city had little bite to it.

“Do you suppose,” I probed, “that would make me sound harsher than normal?”

“It’s possible.”

We had a bit of privacy to talk further, so I continued: “Tell me, has anything else been different in your life over these past few months while you’ve been gone?”

After some thought, he admitted he’d been associating with different kinds of people than was his usual custom. “It’s possible my preaching has deteriorated,” I admitted, “but could it also be possible that the changes in your life might make my preaching seem harder than you remember it?”

My question was designed not so much to argue with him but to understand him, and I worked to communicate that feeling with my voice and posture. Eventually, he admitted his recent lifestyle was probably counter to what I’d always preached.

At that point I said, “Then I think you’re probably correct. From your standpoint, this was likely the worst sermon you ever heard me preach.” In saying that, I let him know I understood where he was coming from and was receiving his comment not from my background but from his.

I kidded him that from my standpoint, if we were going to have a “Robert’s Worst Sermon” contest, some of my other sermons ought to be given a fair chance in the competition. In twenty years of preaching at that church, surely some of my really bad sermons deserved honorable mention. Even the bear cracked a smile.

We worked through our encounter on a win-win basis. My bear got to growl, but I also clarified that on an objective basis this was likely not my worst sermon ever. My critic also recognized that perhaps he had changed at least as much as my preaching.

Disarming and fair

There are right ways and wrong ways to stand your ground. I try to be both disarming and fair.

For instance, I ask myself, Is this a form of manipulation? Obviously, it can be. If I’m clever enough, I can use it as a deceitful psychological club. Unless I am on a truth search, it can become nothing more than gamesmanship.

What do I mean by a truth search? Simply being willing to find the truth. For example, saying “You’re probably right” must not be a gimmick. I’m not deceitful when I say it, because I’ve found few of us (me included) say exactly what we mean the first time. I give people the credit for possibly being right.

Then, however, I need to ferret out what’s behind their perception of the situation. A truth seeker enters the encounter willing to accept whatever is real. After all, it’s entirely possible that it might have been my worst sermon ever! Manipulators, on the other hand, keep maneuvering until they get the answer they want. Manipulators eventually get caught, though. Insincerity riles bears, and things can get nasty when they smell a phony.

What are my motives? Many motives are possible, but these are my conscious ones:

First, I want to defuse an explosive situation. James says, “The anger of man does not achieve the righteousness of God” (1:20). Anything I can do to control anger (his and mine) will help the cause of truth.

Second, I need to understand my critic. I may not admire his attitude or his choice of words, but if I can hang in there for a while, I may receive a blessing. After all, something stirred him up. Even if he has no constructive suggestions, perhaps I can discover something helpful in his clarified criticism.

Third, I also need to make my point about what I believe to be truth. But I can say it best in a nondefensive posture. By the use of questions, Jesus corrected his opponents effectively when they strayed from the truth. I may need to do the same.

What if I can’t complete the process? The confrontation I mentioned took place in the hallway on Sunday morning. Fortunately, most of the congregation had already gone. Had the time not been available, I would have invited the bear to lunch. Time for leisurely discussion is always my preference. Since some problems cannot be delayed, however, I try to be prepared mentally to handle some confrontations immediately.

What if I successfully grin down the bear but the bear still wants my picnic basket? What if my critic and I manage to stay calm and objective but still disagree? Grinnin’ bears is designed to cool emotional heat, slow arguments, and dispel clouds of misunderstanding. If it does that, it has worked well. And if the issue remains, it will still have to be faced.

After all, right and wrong can never agree, and truth and error forever remain enemies. The big difference is that now the real issue can be handled instead of a bogus one. Likewise, truth will be better served if we both coolly continue on the truth search.

I hope I haven’t given the impression that this is an easy process. I’ve been working on this concept for twenty years. In the words of Scripture, I learned it “line upon line, precept upon precept; here a little, there a little.” Although the process is clear, it must be learned and practiced. Not many of us do this sort of thing naturally; it takes patience.

Just keep in mind the claw marks you won’t have to nurse-or the dead bears you won’t have to bury.

-Robert K. Oglesby

Waterview Church of Christ

Richardson, Texas