Toward Taking “Roast Pastor” off of the Sunday Lunch Menu – or at least shutting down the poisonous fountain of anonymous criticisms

This is a roast "al pastor." No actual pastors 
were harmed in the making of this blog post.

What’s on the menu? Well, if it’s a Sabbath afternoon (I was going to say “Sunday,” but I’m assuming that my Seventh-Day Adventist friends engage in the same behaviors.), you can safely bet that at least a handful or two in any given community (if not every congregation every Sabbath) are having “roast pastor” for lunch. Rarely, though, does this occur if the pastor is actually at the table, of course. And some don’t choose to air their concerns, questions, or comments so publicly. Not that they always bring their criticisms directly to the pastor’s office. No, as Thom Rainer has discussed (You can find his post here: http://thomrainer.com/2014/12/17/one-sentence-pastors-church-staff-hate-hear/.), most will hide behind the seven deadliest words you can fire at a pastor, “I thought you should know, someone said….” The sentence has other forms. But whatever words are used, they can sentence the pastor to agonizing over every detail of every sermon, each encounter, all the missed connections, and an unlimited imagination of unmet expectations, any one of which can lead a pastor to distraction, discouragement, and despair. Or they can lead to a pastor reacting bitterly, withdrawing emotionally, and/or writing yet another “Monday-morning resignation letter.”

This office says "Yes, I've spent tens of thousands on my education, 
but please, do share your thoughts about my eschatological errors."

(Note to pastors: if you get in the regular habit of writing and deleting “Monday-morning resignation letters,” you’re probably moving past any therapeutic value to be found in the exercise. In fact, you’re probably starting to more fully contemplate sending out your resume. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t. But when you reach the point where it’s a frequent practice, don’t pretend that “come Tuesday, it’ll be alright.”)

Again, though, as Rainer points out, it doesn’t have to be this way. He explores the reasons and suggests a way to shut down such behavior. In my experience, though, his approach may simply bottle up the criticism by refusing to hear it. As with other home-made fermentation projects, sometimes that results in a more mature vintage, and sometimes it results in an explosion. I would advocate a slightly different approach that I believe more fully addresses the pastoral responsibility to those who feel compelled to share “someone’s” critique of the pastor, or of any other victim.

This one? "The pastor will be right back, just as soon as 
he's done meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Ministry Staff."

(“Victim? Really, Pastor? Isn’t that overstating it?” Please understand. I see this behavior, however well-intentioned, and however accurate the criticisms may be, as gossip. And I see gossip as sin. It is sin against God, but also against whomever you make the target of your gossip. If you read on, I think my reasons will be clear for holding this rare and extreme position—that sin is a bad thing. So don’t stop when you get to the part where you get offended and want to come tell me, “Pastor, some people read your blog, and they’re saying….”)

From my first year in my first pastorate, I have taken a wise mentor’s advice and “gone straight at the problem.” After a couple of months there, serving a congregation consisting of (in the words of the denomination’s district staff) the dozen or so who’d “spent the past twenty years running the other two hundred off,” I proposed to the board that we purchase a church van. “It has to have eleven seats, though,” I told them. “Because the next time one of you comes to me and says, ‘Well, I heard that…’ or ‘Someone was saying…’ that person gets to ride shotgun, and we’re going to drive to whomever it was that shared the gossip with them. Assuming that person was passing along something they’d heard from someone else, we’ll load them up and keep heading upstream against the flow of poison. There’s only twelve of us in this church, so when the eleven of us arrive at the last doorstep, I’ll know that someone knows who said what.”

"Welcome. Come on in...but first, you might want to 
tie some pomegranates to your pants cuffs."

In a pastor’s busy schedule, it can be hard to imagine that there’s time for this much attention to the negativity. But the damage can be immense. Rainer explains its effects so well that I won’t repeat it all here. You’ve got the link to his blog above. But the result, for him, was that “I got to the point where I did not entertain such veiled criticisms. I tried to be polite and say, ‘I am sorry, but I cannot listen to you further because you will not give me the specific sources of the concerns.’” Rainer’s approach is sound advice from a psychological pain-management perspective. It also fits the practice of efficient “pastoral administration.” But that last phrase is in quotes because I don’t believe it’s a real thing. The term is an oxymoron—a statement that contradicts itself (like “hot water heater,” or being “clearly misunderstood,” which occurs between my wife and me sometimes when we are “alone together”). There are administrative duties to be fulfilled in the function of any congregation of believers. But it is “prayer and the ministry of the word” (Acts 6:4 – and the functions of Ephesians 4:11ff and elsewhere) that should be the substance of anything we call pastoral ministry.

I'd love this furniture in my office, but I can't afford 
the brandy and cigars to go with it.

So how do I prayerfully apply the Word to those claiming to represent an anonymous coalition of critics?

Several scriptures explain our mutual responsibility for one another in the body of Christ. As I see it, if you don’t choose to address what you see as my errors, then you can’t legitimately claim to love me. Sending someone else (or pretending that you represent someone else) doesn’t make your actions any more loving, or any less sinful.

Here’s two passages in particular that come to mind, about your responsibility to me as a fellow-Christian.

If anyone sees his brother committing a sin not leading to death, he shall ask and God will for him give life to those who commit sin not leading to death. There is a sin leading to death; I do not say that he should make request for this. (I John 5:16, NASB)

My brethren, if any among you strays from the truth and one turns him back, let him know that he who turns a sinner from the error of his way will save his soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins. (James 5:19-20, NASB)

The most detailed approach, though, come directly from the lips of Jesus. I refer to it as “The Matthew 18 Protocol” as a shorthand for “Don’t be coming in here with that ‘somebody said’ nonsense.”

“If your brother sins, go and show him his fault in private; if he listens to you, you have won your brother. But if he does not listen to you….” (Matthew 18:15-18, NASB)

"Why, yes, our pastor DID talk about Matthew 18...
right before he left."

There are further instructions there, of course. But it all starts with obedience to the command of Christ. We are called to pursue that first step toward being clear on what the criticism is, while honoring the relationship Jesus assumes will be not only maintained, but deepened. At some point in the first three stages, Jesus offer hope of reconciling the parties. The fourth only applies when the object of the criticism is entirely recalcitrant. (Assuming, of course that the criticism is found to be valid. Be sure to look at the passage Jesus is quoting. Deuteronomy 19:15-21 addresses the possibility of inaccurate criticisms and false accusations as well.)

What does this look like in the actual practice of pastoral ministry? If someone cares enough to bring their concerns (whoever’s concerns they may claim them to be) to the pastor, then I assume they care enough to want to handle matters in a Biblical manner. So, when they’ve explained what others have passed along to them, I ask some form of this question:  

“So, before we go to meet with them, how did it go when you confronted them about their gossiping? How far into the Matthew 18 Protocol are we?”

///

So, now you have read my blog. And you may want to tell me what “someone” thinks about it. I’d appreciate it, though, if you’d be kind and loving enough to identify yourself in your comments, so that we can work together on resolving any conflicts and maintaining, even deepening, our relationship. Thanks in advance for your example of obedience to Christ.

Diplomacy Made Easy – But, “You’re Gonna Need a Bigger Boat”

It's never too soon to get that bigger boat.

I am a bully. It has been almost half a century since I was beating up fellow-first-graders at the bus stop each morning. But I am still a bully.

Of course, like all bullies, I don’t bully everyone all the time. There’s plenty of room for bystanders. I don’t mind a few sycophantic followers who smile and nod in agreement, even if they have no idea what the fight is about. And you’re unlikely to get into my crosshairs, unless you disagree. Even then, you may not identify what was done to you as bullying. Even if you have the slightest hint, you wouldn’t dare say so. Not because I would bully you even more (though that’s a possibility). You wouldn’t speak up because most of the bystanders, and certainly the sycophants, would tell you “That’s not bullying.”

You see, my skills fall into categories which most don’t readily recognize as bullying behaviors. I usually don’t have to apply more than a small portion of my excessive education, esoteric vocabulary, and/or labyrinthine logic in order to overwhelm you. The result, though, is rarely agreement, and almost never any kind of collaboration that would deepen our relationship. You don’t have to admit I’m right for me to win. As with many competitive enterprises, I don’t have to convince you. There’s no need to force a concession of my argument’s superiority. Most of the time, I just have to keep talking until those who disagree decide “enough is enough,” and quit the argument.

This Historical Policy

I’m unlikely to stop being a bully. Even among those whose neurons store far less information, or whose synapses fire less quickly, there is ample evidence in favor of successfully bullying others. And I can hardly be expected to withstand the peer pressure. Most of those in my faith tradition can’t bring bigger brains to the table. But we do have the greater numbers and social influence that comes with being the dominant majority. And even where we have atrophied any thought processes we may once have had, there are still a handful of leaders who are more than willing to do our thinking for us. In fact, I aspire to be one of them. I think I’ll probably succeed at it. Do you dare disagree?

The Contemporary Practice

It’s not just the ballot box where my tribe’s greater resources are brought to bear. Public demonstrations, fundraising, broadcast and publishing media outlets, and some of the more vehement social media positions all rely on nothing more than the sheer numbers who are willing to agree…rather than find themselves bullied by the majority.

In world politics, those with greater economies, larger populations, and/or more advanced technologies get to enforce their will over others, even while pretending to invite collaboration, to offer an opportunity for agreement, or simply to demand acquiescence—or else. The practice used to involve literally parking a fleet of the dominant nation’s warships off the coast of those to be bullied into submission. Air superiority was the preference for awhile, and now we can cripple most others through economic sanctions and/or selective assassination. But it’s still rightly called “Gunboat Diplomacy.”

"I'm sorry, you'd prefer I do what?"

I like it. And I like it, not just because my brain works well enough that my bullying doesn’t involve actual threats of violence. I like the idea of Gunboat Diplomacy because I know some bullies who seem unlikely to stop their bullying unless another bully brings their bigger boat between them and the targets of their bullying behaviors. Three in particular come to mind.

One of them is the wife-beating rapist who wants the courts to amend his child custody arrangements. That’s unlikely to happen. His work schedule would frequently put the children under the care of the matriarch whose incestuous household has bred narcissistic entitlement into each of the males I’ve met. My wife and I have met two of the females, too—both victimized by their own brothers. Still, my friend’s ex-husband has the means to pursue his day in court, to prolong the process indefinitely, and to hope that in the absence of alimony and other support payments he’s forestalling, she will run out of money, lose her lawyer, and simply have to give up. It might work. Unless someone has a better idea.

Sometimes you're not so worried about the "concealed" part.

Another I’d like to bully is the drug-dealer who was recently released. One of his convictions was for having beaten his domestic partner…again. The last straw was when he finally beat her in front of her offspring. He’s out, but she has a restraining order. There are also protective orders as a result of the criminal case. Yet somehow probation approved his new place of residence. It’s true that among the consequences of battering your domestic partner is the need to change your place of residence. But he could not have gone back to “her place,” because it wasn’t her place any more. Because she had allowed him to beat her, she was evicted by her landlord. She couch-surfed until a few weeks ago when she finally got into an apartment again. Why is all this important? Because the address her abuser gave his probation officer as his new residence—yes, he gave them her new address. How he got it? Why no one checked it? What she’s supposed to do to protect herself? No one seems to know. But I have an idea.

It’s the same idea that comes to mind whenever I face the reality of the next few months of negotiations and interviews with probation officers and therapists over the release of a convicted child-pornography trafficker. If the most recent two prior releases are any indicator, he will request permission to attend services, and there will be hours of paperwork and phone calls back and forth on the conditions, stipulations, restrictions, and supervision necessary to accommodate his rights in this area. I believe in hope. But I also believe in recidivism. I believe in redemptive purposes. And I believe that a little bullying might be just what’s necessary to prevent a sixth conviction. I do justify my frustrations, however, along with the difficulty of summoning any willingness to help facilitate his return to fellowship. How do I justify anything less than providing the greatest possible assistance to him? By remembering that preparations and follow-up on the previous two releases that were on my watch (of the four, total, so far) took more days to complete than the number of days he was actually free…before reoffending and returning to yet another imprisonment. Is there any reason to go through all that again? Well, not if someone has  a better idea.

Here’s the better idea I allow myself to imagine: I want to use my bigger boat to enforce my will on the perpetrators in each of these situations. I can think of several effective ways I could persuade then to make some accommodation of my position. Those victimized by these predators would greatly appreciate it, I know. In a community known for outrageously long response-times and malignant inattention to any needs so far from the county seat…well, if no one will dissuade them who’s to dissuade me?

...at your own risk.

So, why don’t I simply bully these bullies into finding someone else to bully?

Here’s why: for Gunboat Diplomacy to work, you have to be sure you have the biggest boat. And I never will. Neither will you. There’s only One who guarantees that His boat is biggest and best, and it utterly blows out of the water all the rest of my petty fantasies about threats, intervention, retribution, vengeance or other more violent means of correction. (I admit, though, the phrase from my training many years ago keeps echoing: “Continue firing until the threat is eliminated.” My gunsmith tells me that the law in California, even if I were still serving with law enforcement, requires something a little different. But I’ll bet it’s still true that “personal safety trumps department policy.”)

So, am I saying that we should allow matters to take their course in hopes that God will protect the victims and smite the miscreants? No. I’m saying that I’m a miscreant. So are you. And before we start loading up, cocked and locked, looking for the justification to end any one of these conflicts, we might want to look to the true nature of the conflict. It’s sin. And sin has never overcome sin. I can’t stop their sin by committing my own. Even if my aim were as true as it used to be, their sin would survive them, having been adopted and furthered by me—the one who claims to hate the damage they’re doing by their sin, so much so that I might sin in order to stop it?.

The real solution is not so satisfying a fantasy. It is not so gratifying a pursuit. It is not as directly effective as a magazine or two of .45 ACP would be. But the real solution happens to be the biggest boat we’ve got. There’s probably a children’s church song to be written about this…except for the handgun part, of course. “Jesus has a big, big boat, and He’s loaded it with love.”

And so I will seek an answer to the question “What would Jesus have me do?” I will continue to love, provide for, and—only when absolutely necessary—protect those victimized by others like me. And I will admit that the same traits I see in these criminals make it easier for me to love them, whenever I admit that they are very much “neighbors” to be loved because they are so very much “like myself.”

The Dangers of Doing It All: The Collateral Damage of Pastoral Perfectionism

“Some aspire to indispensability;

others have indispensability thrust upon them.”

Let me start by clarifying. I do not do it all. But it would serve me right if I had to.

Dozens to keep track of - not a big deal.

I have only recently become successful at delegation. (Okay, that’s an overstatement. I delegate, sort of. Then I intrude, kibitz, look over shoulders, send email reminders, etc. But I am trying.) Delegation is still causing me great stress, but only because I still want to micromanage every detail so that I have every answer for every question that every parishioner might ever ask.

I am under no illusions about my way being the best way, or being the only one skilled and caring enough for certain responsibilities. My problem with delegation in the past was simply a matter of my schedule regularly overwhelming any potential for advance planning. Delegation does free some of the schedule…eventually. Initially, though, it adds to the workload as those offering to take on a task need to be clear on what the task entails.

This is not a symptom of the “If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself” syndrome. Really. Not. At all. It’s just a matter of not having enough time to not do any of the tasks myself, because it’s faster that way.

But that has changed now. I have ministry coordinators in charge of the three major areas of our congregation’s ministries. This has freed a portion of my schedule to focus more directly on other essential responsibilities.

Yes, the counseling load is at a peak, but that’s not as essential to the operation of the congregational infrastructure as other jobs are. Yes, I’ve been glad for the opportunities to intervene more directly in a number of serious crises, and make the trips to Redding for court dates and hospital visitation without leaving other tasks undone (even though I missed one!). Yes, there are enhancements to the sound system on which my attention can now be focused, but there is little hope of actually increasing the volume sufficiently when shouting from three feet away doesn’t get the job done. And yes, the additional time has benefitted the congregation with sermons that are (marginally) more concise and, more importantly, shorter. But it’s hard to measure improvements when the evaluation scale usually ranges only from “That was interesting” to “Nice sermon.”

No, there is one most important task to which my additional attention has been drawn, with expressions of both relief and gratitude from those most concerned. As with many rural, solo-staff pastors, even with ministry coordinators on hand for significant responsibilities, the greatest consternation I face, and conquer, centers on inventory.

Thousands...and I manage just fine with these.

Specifically, there are particular stockpiles that are especially concerning, and for which I alone wield the power. Literally—power. The 9-volts go in the cordless microphone and each of the smoke detectors. AA’s for the PowerPoint remotes and all clocks in each of the buildings on campus. AAA’s are for the digital recorder on the pulpit. The need for these powerful supplies, of course, pales in comparison to the frantic search for communion cups every four or five months.

But the greatest collateral damage in my inventory-control failures came from none of these. The pain was not caused by a lack of copier paper and toner, extra-long staples for bylaws and church directories, nor custom thank-you cards for memorial gifts following funerals and memorial services.

I hurt a child.

How? I failed to appropriately monitor the length of the wicks in the candlelighters we use each Sunday morning. One had been drawn back into the lighter’s ferule, and left there. This allows the wax to bond to the interior of the tube, binding the wick so that when it is next to be extended…the slide crushes the paraffin within, rather than extending the wick outward. So, I repaired it, and replaced the old, bent, frayed, and utterly unusable wick with a brand new one.

Unfortunately, I failed to replace the other wick at the same time. They were no longer synchronized in their usable life and replacement schedule. Some weeks later, the neglected candlelighter ran out of wick, leaving only one to be used that Sunday morning.

I don’t believe in coincidences. I believe in cause-and-effect. You do, too. And so, you’ll understand why I take full responsibility for having hurt a child. In fact, I hurt a nine year-old whose friendship I value, but who I have also, sadly, given reason to wonder about my value as her friend. There are lots of complicating factors, but suffice to say, she is not my favorite child in the blended, extended, fractured, and mended family that currently spans three different households. In my defense, my favorite is the one I’ve known longest, having become acquainted years ago through my wife’s teaching career and my own counseling and kibitzing among the families she helps. I try not to insincerely fawn over any or all of the other five children. But this one…well, I do like her. And she got hurt. And it was my fault.

Literally tens of thousands...and we don't run out.

On “The Sunday of Just One Candlelighter” (as historical infamy will ever name it), my favorite was asked by our ushers (“foyer assistants,” actually, but in most other churches they’d be called greeters or ushers) to use the one working lighter to ignite the candles at the altar. She did so, gladly. If anyone noticed that her sister had been left out, they didn’t mention it to me at the time. Perhaps we could have had her snuff the candles at the end of the service. Perhaps we could have ensured that she got a turn, solo, the next time, even if I were maintaining better control over the wick situation. But we didn’t.

Thankfully, she is a very forgiving child. She accepted my apology with maturity and graciousness. I think she might even attend church with that portion of her family again someday. But I still worry.

I worry, primarily, that I have not so fully learned my lesson as I ought to have. You see, my failure at properly maintaining the wicks in the candlelighters, just like my occasional failures at inventory control for several other items (though we have never run out of communion cups!), is just the tip of the iceberg. My primary failure is two-fold. First, my personality, my attitude, my over-scheduling, and several other factors limit my attention to being where I am. My body was in the sanctuary that morning. My mind was there, too, but also in at least a half-dozen other places, thinking about any number of other factors. (Who’s scheduled for what responsibilities this morning? Have I seen all of them yet? Am I prepared to step in to each of those areas should they fail to appear? Can I afford the time to do the two hour lunch following services? What will people think if I don’t, again, ever?) If I had been fully there, would I have seen the disappointment on my friend’s face? Maybe not. But if I were to set a better example of being where I am, might that have increased the odds that someone would have noticed? That someone would have looked open enough to the possibility of her father mentioning her disappointment? Maybe not.

Maybe the only reason this happened has nothing to do with turning back the clock to fix what happened on “The Sunday of Just One Candlelighter.” Maybe there’s no way to overcome our tendency to overlook willing servants who are excited about the possibility of contributing to the worship service, even if they are “only” nine years-old. Maybe one of the things I’m supposed to learn is how dependent I am on grace and mercy, and the forgiveness of a friend who was hurt because of my inattention to details. Maybe.

But I have to admit that one of the distracting factors behind my anxieties and overwrought concerns for every element of every ministry in every life of my entire congregation (and community, truth be told), is my bitterness and resentment. I don’t like being in charge of the batteries, or the communion cups, or the cassette tapes, or the copier paper, etc. I distinctly dislike the frantic requests for any item in the inventory that cannot be immediately found. (My mother used to scold, “Look with your eyes, not with your mouth.”) I really get bent when those frantic requests come after the two-minute warning, just before the start of a worship service. And it compounds my frustrations at my incessant self-scolding for constantly preparing to fill-in for other servants who, most of the time, actually do show up for their responsibilities. (A couple of them even notify me most of the time when they cannot be there to fulfill their scheduled role!)

Two. Just TWO to keep track of - and I messed up.

As you can imagine, my bitterness and resentment has little or nothing to do with the expectations others have for my perfection at inventory control, etc. My breathless anxieties are not caused by the inconsistencies of others on the wonderful crew with which I am blessed and, frankly, proud to serve. So, then, what’s my problem?

It is this: despite sound theology to the contrary, my behavior is governed less by faith than by fear. I can’t imagine being fired for failing to maintain a sufficient supply of copier toner. It’s a pricey item to stockpile, and when the digital printer needs replaced, there you are with extra toner you can’t use in the replacement, wasting the Lord’s precious and scarce financial…and there I am, doing it again.

I really do think that if I could focus, as I admonish others to do, on being who I am called to be, and doing whatever that prompts me to do…in the moment…at the place…as the person God created, then I might notice what I missed that morning: that the opportunity to serve Christ, to participate in blessing a congregation, to simply light candles, or to smile forgivingly at a pastor…these are special moments to be cherished, and I have wasted too many of them worrying about what comes next, or what didn’t get done, or what I’m supposed to do at any given moment when I’m focused on pleasing just about anyone else but God.

I’ve already apologized. But if you’re reading this, my only-slightly-less-than-favorite-friend-in-your-family, I also want to say, “Thank you.” You came to church and let God use you to help me learn some things, and when you got hurt in the process, you were gracious and forgiving.

Pray for me that I can keep learning to be the same way.

Mutually Beneficial Interrogators: An Approach to Interfaith Friendships

My favorite radio format: What's In It For Me?

(Trigger Warning: Elements of this blog post make me want to take distinctly undiplomatic actions toward those perpetrating particularly egregious offenses against the human personhood of certain friends of mine. You may have a similar reaction toward those individuals—which I would recommend against acting upon—or a more serious reaction to the mere mention of their particular offenses. Please consider carefully whether you should read this post at this particular time.)

My friend, colleague, professor, mentor, and idol (depending as much upon my mood as the particular context), Paul Louis Metzger is associated with the Foundation for Religious Diplomacy. The foundation recommends “approaching adherents of the respective faith traditions as ‘trustworthy rivals’ rather than as perfect, homogenous matches made in heaven.” (Dr. Metzger’s post on the topic is found here: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/uncommongodcommongood/2013/11/trustworthy-rivals-on-an-alternative-path-to-multi-faith-discourse/#ixzz3QQGk0I8b.)

Pick one you don't recognize. Discover something about yourself.

At the end of his post, he asks, “Which would you rather be toward those of other faiths? A trustworthy rival, a mean-spirited and scheming enemy (like a former spouse), or a platonic and possibly even unscrupulous bedfellow? Can you think of other options?” My problem is that I cannot stop thinking about the options he presents. The imagery that comes to mind of “platonic bedfellows” is of those unscrupulous young men who complain about being relegated to “The Friend Zone,” as though their expectation of being kind, gentle men who treat women with egalitarian respect should be repaid for their friendship with some sort of benefits. The more recent encounters I have had with mean-spirited and scheming former spouses are seeking to resume abusive relationships, and violating restraining orders in hopes of whining, wheedling, cajoling, demanding, and threatening their way “back to normal.”

But of all the options Metzger suggests, the one that elicits the most repugnant memories is that of “a trustworthy rival.” I know that this is supposed to be “the right answer,” of course. But I don’t know why, any more than the intimidated Sunday Schooler who responded to her teacher’s badgering questions. “Come on, class, it’s not that hard a question. I live in a tree; I eat acorns; I have a bushy gray tail.” Her answer, “I know the answer’s supposed to be ‘Jesus,’ but it sure sounds like a squirrel to me!”

Unless, of course, you find someone to show you yours.

“A trustworthy rival?” Perhaps it’s my continued struggle with abandonment issues and the difficulty imagining that I should trust anyone with the authenticity, transparency, and vulnerability I try to live out in Christian integrity. But “trustworthy” doesn’t work for me. I don’t trust my fellow Christians. I make do with trusting Christ enough to compensate for putting myself at risk from what other Christians say and do. As for any rivals? In the context of poverty and scarcity, I want to know what it is we’re rivalling one another to obtain.

Rather than belabor my reactions further, I will say that there is great value in building friendships among those of differing religious and spiritual traditions. The advantage over Christian friendships is that followers of Jesus tend to believe that we all believe quite similarly, if not identically. In counseling, this is called “projection,” the assumption that others, especially where others fit our stereotypes and prejudices about ourselves, will believe and behave as we do.

Know friends, know yourself.

I would call the relationship between me and non-Christians friends one of “mutually-beneficial interrogators.” In the chart I remember from Psych 101 texts, what I know about myself extends beyond what others would know of me by observation. Likewise, though, what others know about me extends beyond what I would know of myself as well. Perfect strangers may ask of each other, “Why do you believe or behave as you do?” But where we develop friendships with those who refuse to assume that whatever they believe must also be our belief, the cumulative effects of such conversations reveal to them the answers to their questions, but may also reveal observations (and questions about them) of our beliefs and behaviors that would otherwise remain hidden from us.

So, when you see something about me that raises a question, please feel free to ask. Not only might your curiosity be gratified by my response, I may actually get to see something about myself that I would not have otherwise noticed! (For instance…my seething bitterness toward wife-beating rapists whose incestuous family members continue to fund their child-custody lawsuits…my overreaction to “mean-spirited and scheming ex-spouses” helped me realize where that comes from! Thanks, Paul.)