I avoid conflict because of the Scandinavian blood in my veins. What goes better with lutefisk and Swedish meatballs than keeping the peace? If relational moods remain as neutral as the sofa shades at IKEA, all is well.
Of course, blaming our conflict style on heritage is silly banter, a lighthearted mask for something serious. James might have dubbed it our wars of want (James 4:1). Our wants often reveal what we worship. Others threaten our bloated longings, and we draw swords — if not with our words, then in our minds. Whether you’re a fellow sheep or a more brazen bull, we all experience desires colliding and the ensuing conflict. It has been the weather report since Adam and Eve and will be until heaven ushers in spring.
Here’s the good news for the timid, the brash, the wounded: Conflict is an opportunity to experience our peacemaking God and be changed by him, so preparing ourselves and others for the day conflict dies and peace reigns.
‘Conflict’ in God’s Tongue
“Conflict as something positive” hits my ears like crickets on a menu, but Scripture speaks louder than preference. The Bible is “the ultimate ‘war and peace’ novel,” as Dr. Robert Jones puts it (Pursuing Peace, 18), and Jesus is the master engager. God has good plans for this mega-theme in Scripture. When our natural inclinations say otherwise, we stop and earnestly pray with Johannes Kepler that God would help us think his thoughts after him.
And his thoughts aren’t muddied. “Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation” (2 Corinthians 5:18). Paul teaches the Colossians that Jesus “[made] peace by the blood of his cross” (Colossians 1:20). Jesus did not die for a virtuous, adoring lover at his side, but a hostile people, alienated and evil (Colossians 1:21). “In order to present you holy and blameless and above reproach before him” (Colossians 1:22), Christ gave himself.
If our reconciliation with God was worth the blood of his beloved Son, and we claim to be his followers, how could we approach conflict in any posture other than our Lord’s? He “made himself nothing” (Philippians 2:7 NIV). Do we likewise enter tense conversations meek and pure of heart (Matthew 5:5, 8)? Or do we share the stance of Jonah, the prodigal’s older brother, and the unforgiving debtor, who resented a God “merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and relenting from disaster” (Jonah 4:2)?
Neither guilt trips nor positive thinking ready us to reconcile like our Lord. The gospel doesn’t suggest, “Do better,” but demands, “Be reborn” (John 3:3). We can engage in conflict like Christ only if we’ve first had our feet washed. Have the sinless hands of Jesus cradled yours, rubbing out every stain? Did he find you cowering, naked and ashamed, only to clothe you royally? Have you watched him guzzle the goblet of your punishment, the poison of God’s wrath, that you might enjoy “a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wine, of rich food full of marrow” (Isaiah 25:6)? Then you are ready to disagree like your King.
Maybe you’re like me, and Christ’s reconciling work sparks inspiration. But then dinner burns, kids enter like elephants, and we snap at them for spoiling the peace we were seeking. The wars of want rage on; the reborn require refilling. Praise God, the Holy Spirit is no miser. We can eat from his buffet all day and produce “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control” (Galatians 5:22–23). It sure beats the long list of what the flesh cooks up (Galatians 5:19–21).
Horror or Splendor?
Conflict is an opportunity not only to experience our peacemaking God but to see other people truly — beyond the ways they bother us. They are immortal beings, valued by God, created in his image, and, if in Christ, necessary appendages of his body. They are spiritual siblings to sharpen, not to bite and devour (Galatians 5:15). In our conflicts, we help one another become one of two things, as C.S. Lewis observed: “immortal horrors or everlasting splendors” (The Weight of Glory, 15).
We join sides with the father of all horrors when we enter the fighting ring with his signature moves. The devil hates, lies, and accuses; he is too obsessed with himself to care for anyone else. We employ his tactics when we enter conflict red-hot and blind, our rage a rabid love for self. We should pause and pray for mercy if we regularly hear complaints like this: “You’re not listening” or “Please, calm down.” We may not physically push our opponent (who, in reality, is our child, spouse, brother, or sister), but our unmeasured words and destructive actions will push people toward the ghastly.
How differently Jesus handles conflict. His worth isn’t on the table, so a desperate desire to win or to be understood doesn’t block his view of others. His closet isn’t stuffed with secret idols, so he doesn’t war for his wants at another’s expense. The ticking of the clock doesn’t rush him into half-apologizing or half-listening. Jesus’s lavish love massages our stiffest grievance like a mother who tenderly strokes her child’s sobbing back. My husband has the irritating habit of saying in our arguments, “I love you more than this fight.” He waits for me to say it back, and I eventually do. It’s a small taste of Jesus’s better ways. It sounds like something he would say, and it moves me toward splendor.
Bound for Peace Himself
Do you know the small pleasure of an organized junk drawer, shoes straightened on a mat, dishes neatly lined in the cupboard? Then we can only guess at the satisfying sensations of the new heavens and new earth, when God has made all things right. The wounds we’ve received and inflicted on others will be healed. We’ll not judge the position of our sister five rows ahead in the sea of white-robed worshipers before the throne, but we’ll stand alive together as never before. We’ll never pine for lesser loves in the presence of Peace himself.
Heavenly thinking doesn’t make conflict in the here and now featherlight, its solution a summation of Sunday school answers. Rather, in view of the Peace inside of us and ahead of us, conflicts shrink to proper size. We are the humblest of fighters, loving because he first loved us, people whose God causes them to expect parched lands of disunity to one day flower and pool with water (Isaiah 35:1; Psalm 107:35).