Shielding your Heart from Strife

As I hung up the telephone, I realized Jerry had done it to me again. This round lasted no more than five, maybe ten minutes, but my doubts lingered for days.

Jerry and his family were on-again-off-again worshipers. Of late, they were off again. I had called to express concern, to say they were missed. Jerry informed me that if I really cared, “You would have called a long time ago. And you wouldn’t pay so much attention to the rich folks in the church. And you would care more about us in the church than the unchurched.”

What conflict can do

Such conflict can negatively affect me:

It pushes me away from sound judgment. I tend to want to please people and avoid conflict. Conflict pushes me, like an opposing magnetic force, away from sound, godly judgment. Instead, I am magnetized toward self-doubt, stubbornness, self-pity, self-indulgence, or solemn resignation. I think, How could he say I didn’t care? Maybe I am a poor pastor. I probably should have called sooner. Maybe I’m not cut out to be a pastor.
It affects my preaching. In my first year of pastoral ministry, James was waiting for me after the worship service. He had white, swept-back hair; he was a senior member of the congregation. He spoke with a gravelly voice: “Pastor, you better not say that word around here anymore or there won’t be anyone left in the pews. They will all leave.” “What word?””Money,” he said.I had mentioned it twice in the sermon. Giving was weak in the church—and that was a generous appraisal. James’s comment taught me, wrongly, that preaching about money creates conflict. I thought, If two words could anger one guy and threaten to send everyone else running for the doors—imagine what a whole sermon on the topic might do! Seven years passed until I preached again on money. Not until someone told me, “It’s natural for people who are not generous givers to react with guilt or fear,” did I return to the subject.
It makes me reluctant to lead. Early in my ministry, conflict caused me to question my ability to lead. In recent years, it has caused me to question why I should lead. While at times I am blind-sided by conflict, other times I know the right leadership decision will create conflict with some members. Then I feel reluctant to make that decision. Last year we restructured our worship schedule. For the first time in my fifteen years at the church, everyone—both the 8:00 and the 9:30 crowd—would feel the impact of this change. Hindsight suggested we should have made the change a year earlier. My reluctance to deal with the conflict slowed our decision. (And the conflict did come.)
It affects my family. Rarely do I come home after a confrontation and kick the cat (we don’t have one) or yell at Gail or our three sons. I am more inclined to internalize the conflict. I replay the dialogue in my mind, argue with myself, and wish I had said more at the moment. Consequently, I can sit with my family at dinner or drive the car or help with household chores but be mentally absent. As a result of conflict, often my family gets little of my emotional energy.
It isolates me. Matthew was a committed Christian, who also was committed to question most of what I did and much of what I said. As a result, we frequently clashed. Matthew would begin, “Now Pastor … ” The last few years of his life, he added, “Now Pastor, you know that I love you but … ” I could always count on Matthew confronting me directly, and over the eight years our lives intersected, he and I actually built a sound relationship. But the repeated conflicts kept me cautious. I chose my words carefully. Conflict leaves me less open. I distance myself from people. I think about how to protect myself. Transparency goes down as conflict goes up.

Limiting conflict’s impact

Fortunately, for the well-being of my family, my congregation, and myself, I have found five disciplines that limit conflict’s impact on me:

1. Write my prayers to God

I find journaling to be useful in dealing with conflict. I often begin by writing: “Dear God, I feel … ” or “Yesterday I felt … ” and then follow the familiar prescription of Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, and Supplication.

Writing my prayers brings the components of the conflict before God. This action slows me down. It brings clarity to my tangle of thoughts and emotions.

Even as I write, I feel caught in a painful conflict that has churned for several weeks. Several days ago, I began by writing: “Dear God, I hurt so very badly this morning. I don’t fully know why. It just seems to consume me. Who can I trust? I feel like there has been an assassination attempt on my character. God, you are faithful. You, O Lord, will protect me.”

2. Go to the circle of friends

I draw on a circle of relationships—other local pastors, staff, my wife—to help put the pieces of conflict in proper order.

Recently I told our staff the experience I had with James and his problem with my preaching about money. Wisely, our youth minister asked, “Would things have happened differently if you would have reflected on that experience with another pastor?”

The answer was obvious.

3. Sweat it out

I like to run, though not fast, on quiet trails near our house. The air is fresh. The birds sing. An occasional rabbit or squirrel darts from side to side. (The Chicago area cries for a warmer winter alternative, I admit.) Running releases the stress that builds within me. It provides solitude to replay events. I sometimes get so lost in my thoughts I forget I’m breathing hard!

4. Dig for the nugget of truth

Conflict needs to be mined for its nugget of truth. My ministry has been positively shaped much more by the hundreds of criticisms I’ve received than it has by a thousand compliments.

For example, I confronted a successful businessman in our congregation because he was neglecting his wife and family. He and I are a lot alike—hard-charging, aggressive. I confronted him in the same aggressive manner: “Keith, you’re failing as a father and as a husband. You’re where I was. You’re wrapped up in your work. Your wife is abandoned. Your children will be grown, gone, and still be wondering where you are. It’s not right. You need to change!”

Keith objected, “You don’t understand … “

I countered each of his objections bluntly and labeled them as excuses. I further seasoned the lunch meeting with biblical references. Keith sat quietly; he stopped objecting. And he has never allowed me close to him since.

From that silent criticism, I’ve learned to be more gentle. Since then I’ve confronted other hard-charging husbands with a softer touch.

5. Keep outside interests

For the first eight years of ministry, I rode a roller coaster of emotion. I was a workaholic, and my perception of myself rose and fell with my perception of my ministry. When conflict occurred, I usually felt low.

I now complement—not escape—my work with outside interests. I keep contact with other churches. I participate in the community. I engage in my family’s interests. I’ve pursued educational opportunities. As a result, my perception of myself doesn’t hinge as much on my work.

Sweet consequences

My conflict with Harry had simmered for a while. Our church was in the early stages of asking the difficult questions about our future in a changing neighborhood. In my absence, Harry accused me of lying to the congregation and planning a separate strategy.

I experienced many of the emotions I noted earlier but also regularly practiced several of the disciplines. I’d like to say the sting of being wrongly accused didn’t hurt, but I can’t. I distanced myself from Harry for a while. Several months passed, and Harry ended up in the hospital. When I visited him, Harry initiated our honest exchange: “Pastor, have you been angry with me?”

Harry caught me off guard.

“No Harry,” I said. “I’m not angry with you.”

As fast as the words escaped from my mouth, I knew they had betrayed my heart. I don’t remember the conversation between us the next several minutes so much as the argument within myself. Finally, this time with honesty, I responded to his earlier question: “Harry, I have been upset for a while.”

Once I started I wasn’t going to pause until I said it all: “I heard you accused me of lying to the congregation and planning to … Harry, you know that’s not true. You know I don’t do things in that manner.”

Harry looked me in the eye. Didn’t blink. Didn’t justify. He simply confessed, “Pastor, I remember saying something to that effect. I was wrong. Please forgive me.”

Grace flowed! So did a couple of tears.

Several years later our church was poised to pledge major dollars to a capital campaign to implement some of what Harry had feared most. As I addressed the leaders gathered to make their financial commitments, I saw Harry and his wife sitting at the front table. When the time came to complete the commitment card, Harry reached for his pen.

Rare have the results of conflict been sweeter.

Jock E. Ficken is pastor of St. Paul’s Lutheran Church in Aurora, Illinois. Conflict can cause me to question my ability to lead.