The e-mail seemed a simple request. In a sermon I'd mentioned seeing Matrix: Reloaded. That had piqued the curiosity of this member, who'd read a review of the movie on a Christian family-values website and now wanted to know if I thought it was appropriate for Christians to see R-rated movies.
I shot off a quick reply—something about there being nothing wrong with seeing R-rated movies if you can handle it, and many mature Christians find such "real-life" exposure helps rather than harms their spiritual walk by getting them out of the Christian "bubble." I hit the send button without another thought.
By the end of the day, however, things had flared into a B-grade horror flick.
Her reply charged me with condoning pornography, violence, and perversity. I was the one "in the bubble," she said, and I needed to consider what the Holy Spirit inside me was thinking while I watched such filth. She ended: "Obviously I'm at the wrong church. You cannot be my pastor. I have no respect for you. You'll never see me at church again."
Ouch. Did I mention she was 13 years old (double ouch) and often babysat my daughter (triple ouch)? Then her mother and brothers dove in. The whole family e-agreed: I was an arrogant jerk with questionable commitment to Christ who needed to repent of viewing such seedy segments of the culture.
What I'd thought to be solid relationships deteriorated instantly. The whole thing left me stunned. I came to some tough conclusions.
Re-examine. I sought sympathy from some trusted friends until my courageous wife slid in the whoopee-cushion comment, "Maybe you were wrong." I started to refute her obviously malicious foray. But she understood e-mail better than I.
She suggested I re-read my initial answer through the eyes of someone sincerely in love with Jesus and whose commitment to holiness led her to question our R-rated culture. When I followed her advice, I couldn't believe what I had written. Of course it had offended. It would have been a miracle had it not offended.
For one thing, I'm too old to use emoticons, so there was nothing to distinguish my tongue-in-cheek humor from pure sarcasm. Second, I'd bigheadedly assumed the teen believed I was right. But she hadn't sought confirmation—she wanted me to explain myself. I'd failed to read the seriousness in her question. My flippant reply assumed what was a small matter for me would be a small matter for anyone else.
The smartest thing I did, it turns out, was to copy the teen's mother to my reply. I'd initially not planned to pull the mother into the conversation—after all, it was just a simple question. I cringe to think what it would have looked like had I not cc'd the mother and suggested the teen discuss such matters with her mom, "the person most responsible for your Christian upbringing."
Humble yourself. Once I fully appreciated my level of stupidity, how was I to deal with the mess I'd created? My ego told me to save face and let the family slide on out the door. Or return to the keyboard and say, "You misunderstood me; I'm really a good guy."
But I wrote back: "I came across as a jerk because I can be one, and because I wasn't careful with my attitude and words."
At a whole different level, I'd been humbled to the marrow of my bones. Truth was I had been playing fast and loose with the risks inherent in any culture apart from heaven. In my zeal to engage pop culture, I had dropped my guard to the danger of becoming numb to the threat it poses. I needed the reminder—and the humble-stick struck me all the harder having been swung by a 13-year-old girl.
Stand firm. Once I got aboard the humility wagon, I nearly rode it off a cliff. Coming clean felt so good, I wanted to take all the blame. But true honesty would not let me. I'd contributed my share of sin here, but both parties had acted wrongly, and my playing the martyr would not have provided the best ending to the story.
So I took a risk and stood firm in two areas. First, our church seeks to live out seven values, one of which is culture-friendliness. We believe glimpses of God can be found in culture, even those parts that are seemingly opposed to him. We envision God as similar to a great judo master, one who uses the opponent's energy to his own advantage. Hollywood movies and pop songs reveal God even in their opposition to him, and often they tell the human story so honestly that our need for God comes through loud and clear. Though I'd promoted this conviction with a poor attitude and had failed to employ it appropriately, I could not toss it away just to salve this conflict.
I told the family that lovers of Christ could disagree on the matter and asked them to respect my conviction as I would respect theirs.
Reconcile. In one difficult attempt at grace, I gave the family my permission to seek a new community of faith since I'd given them reason not to respect me. Surprisingly, they refused. They apologized for their lack of grace, asked my forgiveness, and said they would remain in the church if it was okay with me.
I replied that the next time we met I would first say, "I'm sorry," followed by, "I love you guys." E-mail alone would not suffice—I had to speak words that they could hear.
Three days later they gave me the chance to keep my promise. We exchanged apologies, hugged, and ended up laughing at ourselves. They remain active in the church and serve to remind me of my need to avoid cultural compromise as well as self-centeredness.
SIDEBAR: Don't Confront by E-mailby Angie Ward Our church is tech-savvy. We use e-mail regularly for announcements, prayer updates, and notes between staff. But one thing we no longer do with e-mail is handle conflict. We learned the hard way. E-mail is not suited for dealing with conflict. 1. E-mail doesn't convey emotion well. Face-to-face, you can gauge emotion by watching body language. But with e-mail or instant messaging, readings of emotional tone are often wrong. People read into things what they think you feel. During one heart-to-heart online conversation, being a fast typist, I responded quickly to each of my friend's posts. I noticed she became defensive and the conversation ended. It was weeks before I realized she had been offended by the speed of my replies. She interpreted my rapid posts to mean I was angry. After making peace, we agreed to talk in person next time. 2. E-mail is a read-and-reply culture. If you are angry, it's all too easy to "vent and send" before investigating the facts. Last year, one of our volunteers heard about a budget issue that made him angry. He immediately fired off a harshly critical missive regarding the church's leadership. While every member has a right to raise questions, his e-mail was inflammatory and based on misinformation. Checking the facts beforehand would have kept his message out of the "outgoing" folder. 3. Online conflict spreads like wildfire. It's too easy to forward e-mail to lots of people, many of whom may not need to get involved. Add to this the varying frequency that people check e-mail, and soon no one knows who has seen what, which only adds more fuel to the fire. I was surprised one Sunday morning to learn of a heated, critical e-mail generated by a key leader. I was even more shocked to learn who had received it. Current leadership, past leadership, and others who were completely uninvolved in the issues–all were blind copied. Fortunately, the situation was contained and the author issued a personal apology to the entire distribution list–but only after a face-to-face visit from the pastor. Some things are best handled in person. Now, when an incendiary e-mail comes across my desk, I fire off an automatic reply, but with an invitation: "I'd be happy to get together with you to talk about this issue. Give me a call, and let's set up a time." |
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