Our tenth anniversary kicked off a season of unprecedented strife, most of which was circumstantial. My husband and I were homeschooling our three sons (all under the age of six), navigating multiple part-time jobs, and trying to manage my sudden health crisis. Both of us lacked sleep, energy, and patience. Prior to this time period, conflicts had not been an issue for us. We had them, processed them, forgave each other, and moved on. But a decade in, something shifted. And it wasn’t for the better.
In retrospect, we regressed to deeply embedded patterns from our families of origin. My northern European clan silently withdrew from one another and stoically pretended nothing was wrong. His Italian American household vocalized anger in operatic fashion. Tempers flared, voices cracked — and then someone made a joke and served dessert. That dynamic may have worked for them but when my husband applied it to our marriage, he unequivocally trumped me. Unable to match his emotional output, I resentfully deferred.
In the midst of one blowup, I made a tearful plea. When I’m angry, what if you listened rather than responded defensively? Based on his expression, this was indeed a new concept. As soon as he stopped matching my anger, the tenor, severity, and duration of our conflicts changed — this time for the better.
When he dialed down, he created a safe space for me to talk, which de-escalated my anger and validated my concerns. From his side of the equation, quieting his defensive tendencies allowed him to see that I was not imagining problems but rather responding to something real. When he was culpable — which was certainly not all the time — and offered me an apology, it calmed the raging sea and allowed us to address the actual issues rather than endlessly reacting toward one another.
This was not an easy or quick shift for us. I had to coach myself to speak up, present my side without blaming or accusing, and choose to trust him. He had to weather my tempest and face a degree of powerlessness. Fourteen years later, we’re still learning how to do this well.
I’m not a sociologist but I wonder, is this same dynamic contributing to the racial tension that we are now experiencing in the United States?
In light of this possibility, I have a question for Caucasian readers. When we see African Americans (or other minorities) protesting, or when we read articles that express their anger or frustration, what’s our response? For some, there is deep empathy and sorrow. For others, there is a shared anger over the injustice and inequality. But some of us feel angry — not on their behalf — but because our black brothers and sisters’ words come across as personal indictment, which then triggers our defense mechanisms.
Defensiveness is a natural response when we feel threatened. It protects us from unpleasant feelings such as shame, the pain of being misunderstood, or, as was the case for my husband, the vulnerability of powerlessness. In and of itself, defensiveness is not necessarily the problem — it’s what we do with it that can become problematic.
If we immediately overpower the other or catalogue all of the potential reasons why our brothers and sisters should get over it, what we’ve effectively done is invalidate their experience and their reality. For example, I’ve read numerous articles and posts by whites who have deflected black anger by asking, Why aren’t they talking about black-on-black violence? Why aren’t they willing to own how their disrespect for authority might have contributed to these situations? These are valid issues that are being addressed by many in the African-American community — but they are not relevant to the situation at hand: the killing of unarmed black men at the hands of police officers.
Furthermore, when we ask these questions at this particular time, we're simply disguising our defensiveness as reason and attempting to control the conversation. As Austin Brown wrote, “Resist the desire to control. A conversation is going to be the easiest form of releasing power; if you can’t do that, you will have little success doing so in systems, structures, and interpersonal relationships.”
The parallel here between my husband’s response and the exposed nerve of systemic racism, is that our defensiveness does not help African Americans work through their anger. Defensiveness shuts down dialogue and precludes anything helpful or healing. It also prevents us from exploring whether or not we actually might have any bias or resistance to sharing our power or privilege.
In order to push past his default response, my husband had to ask himself, What kind of marriage do I want? Do I want to defend myself or offer empathy to my wife? Similarly, as members of the body of Christ, we must ask ourselves, What kind of nation, neighborhood, and church do we want? Is it more important to defend our opinions and our views or to become mature men and women who love like Christ loved?
Though many Christians, particularly those under the age of 35, might want the latter in theory, Sunday mornings reveal a different story. Based on numerous current studies, it would seem that most of us want to live, work, and worship with others who are like us. Only 12 to 27 percent of American churches can boast a diversity rate of at least 20 percent. This is unfortunate but understandable because being with those who are the same requires less effort and fewer sacrifices.
And since day-to-day life often presents us with more challenges than we can keep up with, why press in when racial reconciliation will inevitably lead to more conflict? As anyone who has worked toward reconciliation will tell you, it’s costly and difficult. Author and professor Christena Cleveland writes in Disunity in Christ, “If reconciliation work isn’t painful, I’d venture to say that it isn’t really reconciliation work.”
Real reconciliation demands a willingness to let go of our power and be transformed by the power of the cross — something that cannot happen without pain and sacrifice. According to Sheila Wise Rowe, an African-American counselor, life coach, missionary, and unwilling participant in Boston’s forced busing of the 1970s, “Reconciliation is not only about systemic change. It’s actually about relational transformation.”
In other words, real reconciliation — and the equality that should come with it — will not happen simply by changing legislation or equipping police officers with body cameras. Something much more profound is needed and that something is our willingness to be transformed into the image of Christ.
We will become transformed people if, as we engage with those who are different, we allow the Lord to reveal and convict us of any biases, power hoarding, or pride. If it becomes obvious that we are indeed guilty of any of these sins, we then need to confess, ask for forgiveness, and engage long-term in the fight for equality and justice. For some, that might simply mean intentionally developing cross-cultural friendships. For others, it might mean helping to overhaul the broken criminal justice system.
Whether it happens in a conversation between a husband and wife or two diverse people groups, defensiveness fails to further the conversation. When we allow ourselves to feel the discomfort of being confronted and then choose to lay down our rhetorical swords, God can begin the process of transformation. As he empowers us to listen well, love those who are different, and willingly share both power and privilege, perhaps we will finally find our way to true and lasting reconciliation.
Dorothy Littell Greco spends her days thinking, praying, and writing about how to become more like Jesus. You can find her work at Relevant Magazine, Her.meneutics, Today’s Christian Woman, or by following her on Twitter @dorothygreco, Facebook, or her website.
Image: Communication breakdown illustration, durantelallera / Shutterstock.com.
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