CenterDigit

I spoke with a man this past weekend who talked of his troubles reconciling with those whose positions are radically opposed to his own. Like most of us, he has a sort of instinctive need to resolve the differences into mutual agreement, and this causes all sorts of internal strife. He told of one man in his church who wanted him to publicly condemn and cast out of fellowship a couple of homosexuals who had begun attending. But he believes that God loves everyone, no matter their sin, and could not bring himself to do such a thing. At the same time, he recognized that the other person wasn't likely to change his position either.

My friend then spoke of his own internal struggle to resist the temptation to browbeat, scold, or antagonize this man for desiring such a hateful thing. And he spoke a phrase in reference to these moments of irreconcilable difference... he said that he struggled to approach the situation and his adversary "in sorrow, not in anger", and that has been ringing in my brain ever since. What if we approached all such disagreements that way? What if we were to humbly approach the other person and simply say, "I'm sorry, but I cannot do what you ask", or "I'm sorry, but I cannot accept what you propose". Then we have stated what is on our heart, avoided pouring gasoline on the fire, and remained clear in our conscience. And if we were to maintain that level of humility no matter the fiery barbs hurled at us by the other, would we not be "turning the other cheek" as we've been instructed?

I have long had a problem with my short temper, and a seething cauldron of rage that lurks beneath my surface. In the past few years, it has been subsiding, and I've begun to experience this other idea in small doses. I know that anger for the most part poisons my soul, even though I indulge in it somewhat regularly here. But I have seen the other side of this equation. I've felt and expressed sorrow that there could be no reconciliation between myself and another, and at the times I've managed to do so, I have felt so much better about letting the matter drop than I ever have in the heat of battle, even when winning the argument. Anger says "I am right, and all must agree with me that I am!" Sorrow says "the dictates of my conscience do not allow me to capitulate, but I will allow others to follow the dictates of their own consciences." More to the point, sorrow doesn't seem to leave the poisonous lump in the pit of my stomach that anger does. Perhaps this alone is reason enough to pursue that approach.