Speaking Truth Without Clenched Fists

I listened to an insightful video by Heather Cox Richardson in which she discusses how Americans have been turned against one another.

All of us inevitably hear about, read about, and encounter real-time examples of this fragmentation. About five years ago, I began to realize I was largely wasting my time and breath on Facebook and other social media trying to add something helpful to political discussions. It felt good when people agreed with me, and frustrating when they didn’t. Ultimately, I concluded that Facebook was largely a warren of echo chambers. People tended to engage others who agreed with them, and steered clear of those who didn’t.

I do find myself, occasionally but rarely, in conversations with people who have wildly different views from mine. Depending on the strength of my relationship with them, I find I’m often silently processing my primary questions: Is this something I care enough about to take the time to listen? What’s in this for them? What’s in it for me?

Do you find yourself frequently shying away from what you suspect will be difficult conversations, avoiding hot topics, staying in safe zones where nobody’s going to push back too hard on what you’re strongly invested in?

Although some of us have given up any hope of reestablishing civil discourse with people who strongly disagree with us, I think more of us long for a way to connect with people who see things differently but are open enough to listen to more than one side of an issue.

I’m thinking not only of the left-right political divide, but also of issues that cut across that divide. For instance, the way we feel about death—a topic that touches us all every day—is not something that neatly follows political profiles. Another example is how we feel about education. Sure, politics divide us around certain aspects of education: we’re all over the map on who pays for education, how we think public schools should be funded and equipped, and how nutrition affects learning. But our views on education are largely rooted in personal experience, not germinated by politics.

If we set aside the ready-made list of political hot-button issues and address topics bigger than slogans, sound bites, and bumper stickers, there’s a lot of room for conversation, if we’re willing to listen to understand and not simply to agree or disagree.

And that brings me to the core of this discussion. Looking for middle ground is not necessarily the best strategy for moving beyond disagreements. We already know this from personal experience and from history. Think of the history of the United States from roughly 1800 to the Civil War. The overriding issue was slavery. Commercial trade in human chattel drove national debates, governed economic policy, shaped westward expansion, dominated political theory, exacerbated religious and social differences, and ultimately left us with a Gordian knot of racism and social strife that has proved thus far to be too strong to cut cleanly. Henry Clay, a Senator from Kentucky, became known as “The Great Compromiser,” credited with finding ways to mollify opposing sides of an issue. He largely authored both the 1820 Missouri Compromise and the Compromise of 1850. Both eased the road to expanding human enslavement to new States in the West.

In retrospect, those compromises by no means settled underlying issues. Abraham Lincoln put it succinctly in his 1858 speech accepting the Republican nomination for US Senator from Illinois: "A house divided against itself cannot stand. I believe this government cannot endure, permanently half slave and half free. I do not expect the Union to be dissolved—I do not expect the house to fall—but I do expect it will cease to be divided. It will become all one thing, or all the other.”[1]

Arguably, the “compromises” of 1820 and 1850 were not examples of “finding the middle.” Rather, they artificially evened the score between two opposing sides, thus ensuring that the enmity would continue. That’s not quite the same as finding the middle ground or the least common denominator.

While we’re on the subject of being in the middle, I want to ask why the church is so often, to my mind at least, namby-pamby about taking stands. A few days ago, I was part of a clergy group discussing whether the Episcopal Church is making a clear witness on behalf of justice, particularly in the current chaos that prevails in the United States.

Why, someone asked, does church leadership often feel that it can't take a clear stand?

My answer to that is money. I think the church runs scared that if it comes down too hard on, say, economic or health care reform, or a more equitable tax policy, it will alienate its major sources of support.

I get that. I was a parish priest for over forty-five years and the rector or senior priest of four parishes from midsize to large. And I understand the risks involved in alienating major donors. But, number one, I don't think catering to money is likely to result in following Jesus, because he never did that. In fact, he modeled the opposite by associating with the poor, the outcast, the alienated, the foreigner, the stranger.

And number two, there is a way to bring moneyed people into the conversation. But rather than launch an assault on the rich, how about getting the leadership of those segments of communities and congregations on board? Maybe invite them to be a part of constructing an approach to fair housing or health care for all. How about creating conversations between different socioeconomic groups where people can listen to each other?

Will it work?

I have no idea. But I will say I've seen it work.

I knew a priest who was singularly skilled at leading upper-class parishes in doing stunning mission work. How did he do it? By giving the leadership a chance to lead.

That's one way of getting off dead center and moving in the direction of the inclusive and all-embracing gospel.

If we are serious about healing these devilish gaps that separate us, sowing love where there is suspicion and division, we need to model the result we're aiming for.

And debate is not the medium that will do anything but drive opponents into hardened positions.

I'm down for giving people a chance to speak their truth without being slammed for it. Good leadership is neither about arrogating control to oneself nor about trying to make everybody happy. All progress requires change, and we can't have change without conflict. We simply can't resolve conflict by simply adding to it.

That comes down to practicing some challenging listening skills as well as articulating clearly and non-defensively one’s own commitments and beliefs.

I was speaking recently with a friend and fellow Episcopal priest. She was substituting in a parish which has apparently a strong-willed, conservative group of parishioners. After the Sunday liturgy concluded, she read to the congregation a letter from 154 bishops of the Church released on January 31, 2026, entitled "Whose Dignity Matters?"

The letter explicitly grounds its message in the Gospel of Jesus Christ and the baptismal covenant, addressing civil rights, the treatment of neighbors, and the rejection of fear, cruelty, and arbitrary power in favor of justice, accountability, and human dignity.

My friend said that one woman angrily walked out and has not returned to the church when my friend has been there serving as priest.

There was, however, a group of men opposed to the content of the letter, or at least to its being read in church. They came in a group to speak with the priest. There was give-and-take in the conversation, and, I gathered, a context and tone of mutual respect. One of the men commented that they should talk more; there was more on which they agreed rather than disagreed, he thought.

I’d call that a win. It appears that the conversation with the priest was unplanned—which seems to me to be important—it was spontaneous rather than scripted. I know the priest well enough to attest that she knows how to be clear without being defensive. She and I worked closely for well over a decade. She knows how to be present with people who are contentious, spiteful, angry nursers of grievances—without disrespecting them or patronizing them. She also knows how to stand her ground. She can speak her truth without clenching her fists.

Not everyone is good in conflict situations. Many folks are conflict-averse and would rather be horsewhipped than intervene in an emotionally charged quarrel. But if you’re a living being on this planet, you can’t get through life without conflict. In an age when new, and often unwanted, changes come at us like water from a firehose, conflict abounds. We can’t have change without conflict. That’s axiomatic. All of that suggests we need to learn at least some basic things about handling conflict.

Broadly speaking, we can make several productive moves when we’re a part of a conflict.

The first move is basic. Let’s call it awareness. It’s important to be aware of ourselves: who we are, what our role is—whether moderator, disputant, observer, critic, reporter, or something else.

Just as important is awareness that whomever we’re talking with, people invariably want to be respected. Feeling disrespected is the surest way to ensure that a conflict will continue and very likely escalate.

The second move presupposes the primacy of awareness. It is speaking the truth, like my priest friend, without adopting a fighting posture. I want to speak my truth clearly and unequivocally, framing it in a way that isn’t combative or overpowering. In other words, I want to speak softly enough that people will listen. In turn, I want to invite those in opposition to voice their opinions without feeling they must clobber their opponents. Truth is, I can’t control others, but I absolutely can control myself. Leading by example is what we’re always doing. The challenge is to be the example that people will want to follow.

Third, I want to approach others presuming a relationship with them. Most people in positive relationships lubricate that relationship with a sense of humor. Still, it’s important to keep in mind that humor in the context of an emotionally charged disagreement can sometimes seem dismissive or be mistaken as a form of put-down. Without being patronizing, let’s make appreciative comments to those who disagree with us and each other.

Many years ago, I listened as a wise person distinguished among three approaches to conflict: conflict resolution, conflict management, and conflict utilization. No doubt each one has some value. But the most creative is conflict utilization. Think about that. How can we use conflict for healthy purposes? Figuring that out is a third move, a promising one.

In my own life, I’ve learned from handling my own internal conflicts that my ego—my conscious, willing self—chairs my internal board and directs my inner symphony. I’ve got to make sure that the conflicting elements within me get “heard.” I need to listen to discordant voices, even when I find them irritating.

Νot all parts of me can get equal treatment all the time. Sometimes the crude, country boy in me must shut his mouth and let the preacher part of me take over. Equally true, the preacher part of me needs to take a hike when the crude country boy needs to play, or is among other country boys who can’t easily relate to the preacher or the writer or the musician or the baker, or other parts of me.

I’ve learned that the most troublesome parts of me are those connected with protecting my self-image. When I start fretting about what other people might think (or do think) of me or my positions, it’s a signal that I need to keep my eye on my own truth. That, too, can be tricky. The temptation to be self-righteous is a real one, no matter how we might feel about the “righteous” part.

I’ve learned that vulnerability and brokenness are precious assets. It isn’t heroes that people are searching for (though they may seem to be). It is people who are real human beings. In fact, the best heroes are not those who pretend flawlessness, but those in whom we see traces of our own flaws.

Although we Americans have made great progress in some respects, progress in dealing with troublesome issues, we keep learning (if we’re paying attention) how often we must re-learn lessons we thought we’d learned and inwardly digested. I thought of that this summer as I read The Gilded Age, co-authored by Mark Twain and Charles Warren.

It is not a story about the late 19th century, although the book gave its name to the age of robber barons and wealthy lifestyles in the1880s and 1890s. The Gilded Age was in fact published in 1874, less than ten years after the end of the Civil War. It is about the widespread corruption in Congress that spilled over into all kinds of dealings among people trying either to survive or get rich when everyone seemed never satisfied with whatever piece of the pie they had, always craving a deal that would move them higher on the social ladder. The result was cancerous distrust, cynicism, cheating, and the resulting misery brought about by it all.

It sounds more than a little like the present age. Indeed, many of the issues, like the acknowledgement of women’s leadership gifts, are startlingly “modern.” Ultimately, the widening gap between the very wealthy and most of the working class gave birth to progressive reforms ranging from monetary policy to workplace safety to the abolition of child labor. But almost none of the lessons learned then have escaped having to be re-learned in subsequent decades, including the present. History is indeed cyclical, not linear.

The point is that human beings really don’t change all that much from age to age. What happened in what we call “the ancient world” is not so different from what is happening today. That isn’t to say we haven’t made progress. But the things that cause rifts and divisions keep popping up like proverbial Hydra heads, tempting us to throw in the towel, to concede to cynicism and despondency.

I leave you with this question. In a society wracked by discord and contention, how can you be a force for unity and respect? Can you imagine a few people, perhaps friends who think as you do, with whom you could have a conversation brainstorming ways to speak truth that could contribute to healing rather than exacerbating division?

Maybe something said here in these last few minutes has sparked a bit of hope. Maybe you’ve had a flash of inspiration to practice a bit of bridge-building in your circle of family and friends.

If we are ever to get out of this season of discontent, it won’t be from folks doing nothing but the same-old-same-old. It will be because a few of us begin moving out of negative space and into something that promises more than continued toxic conversations and fractured communities.

Isn’t it worth a try?

[1] From Lincoln’s acceptance speech when nominated for US Senator from Illinois, June 16,1858, delivered to more than 1000 delegates to the Republican State convention in Representatives’ Hall at the Illinois State Capitol.

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