Pauline Patience for Difficult Relationships

Here’s a passage of Scripture that’s been reorganizing my mind and heart lately:

“But one thing I do [consider]: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Let those of us who are mature think this way, and if in anything you think otherwise, God will reveal that also to you. Only let us hold true to what we have attained” (Philippians 3:13b-16, ESV).

I don’t remember when I was first struck by this realization: Paul is so convinced of the power of God to work in people’s hearts (see Philippians 1:6 and 2:13) that he isn’t fazed by the immaturity of believers, whether with underdeveloped theologies or a disconnect between their doctrine and their behavior; instead Paul trusts God to teach or correct them in due time. But in the past week two different reading group discussions, and multiple conversations with friends about rifts in our other relationships, have brought this passage back to my attention and have made its message all the more compelling, convicting, and comforting.

First, in my church my pastor has been leading discussions of Ray Ortlund and Sam Allberry’s book You’re Not Crazy: Gospel Sanity for Weary Churches (Crossway 2023). This past Sunday we discussed Chapter 6: “Leave Behind Lord-It-Over Leadership: A Culture Guided by Gentle Shepherds.” One of the points of that chapter is that, when a pastor trusts that “God himself is the ultimate shepherd, [he] can breathe. [The pastor has] responsibility—sobering responsibility—but God has the ultimate responsibility” (p. 108). When a pastor understands and embraces this truth, he won’t feel the need anymore to pick fights with cantankerous church members over secondary or tertiary issues, or to be pushy with those who are weaker in the faith and slower to grow (see 104-105). Instead the pastor can trust that God knows His sheep and is looking after each of them. I think this is a very Pauline take on patient, humble ministry, and indeed Ortlund quotes what Paul says just a few sentences after the above passage: “Philippians 4:5 says ‘Let your reasonableness [or gentleness, ESV margin note] be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand’” (113). From this verse Ortlund draws the conclusion that “a culture of gentle leadership means that people who differ on serious issues can belong together in the same church” (113). Imagine: if we really believed that people who received the same gospel and have the same Spirit don’t have to all be at the same level of maturity or agree on all the issues to have true, loving fellowship, there would be far fewer church splits, far fewer blogger brawls, and far fewer cage-stage Christians torpedoing perfectly fine friendships just to score points.

Second, I’m also reading J. Gresham Machen’s classic Christianity & Liberalism (1923) with two grad school friends, and on Monday we discussed Chapter 2: “Doctrine.” The point of the chapter is to dismantle the common refrain among theological liberals that doctrinal distinctions don’t matter, or at least distract from what they think is more important, following Christ’s ethics. But Machen doesn’t just expose the dangers and incoherence of this kind of thinking; he argues there is still space for a healthy ecumenicism, and even “tolerance,” when it comes to nonessential disagreements. And to make this point, Machen also turns to Philippians. In 1:15-18, Paul isn’t bothered that some other preachers are pursuing gospel ministry with the intent of upstaging him and making him jealous. Paul shrugs this off and praises God anyway: “What then? Only that in every way, whether in pretense or in truth, Christ is proclaimed, and in that I rejoice.” Machen writes, “It is impossible to conceive a finer piece of broad-minded tolerance” (p. 22 in the 2023 Westminster Seminary Press edition). Of course, Machen goes on to point out how intolerant Paul was of false teaching in Galatians—and I’ll add that in Philippians itself Paul has strong words for the Judaizers who insisted on circumcision (see 3:2). But there is no contradiction here, Machen explains, because in one case immature people are preaching the true gospel, and in the other case even more immature people are preaching a false one. Paul can live with the former, whereas the latter threaten to destroy the church at the root (22-25). And my own point is that Paul could be unflappable about these upstarts who “proclaim Christ out of selfish ambition” (1:17) because he trusted the Spirit could work in and through them, just as He had in his own life, and could get them to a place where they could say with Paul that nothing else matters but pressing on to know Christ (3:7-16). Imagine: if we really saw people the way Paul did, and trusted the Spirit’s power like he did, a fellow believer could try to egg us into arguing about something trivial and we could respond, “No thanks. I have better things to do, and so do you.” 

Ortlund and Allberry apply Paul’s patient mindset to pastoring and Machen applies it to theological disputes. But, finally, in my own life I’m finding these passages in Philippians immensely helpful for staying hopeful about fading or lapsed friendships. Some friends and I have each been grieving the abandonment or disengagement of people we considered close friends. These people have hurt us and either do not realize it or haven’t yet sought reconciliation. But what steadies me is Paul’s confidence that God always finishes the work He starts in a person (1:6, 2:13); that even misguided people can do transformative gospel work (1:15-18); and that God teaches and corrects His own in His own good timing (3:15). These friends of ours may not repair these breaches for months, years, even decades. But what if God has a long-term plan for bringing them to greater maturity and godliness, and only later will they be ready to reconcile? What if our conversations with them planted seeds that won’t grow to fruition until after a long, dark winter? Maybe, and maybe not. But if we take the promises of God’s Word seriously, we can at least rest assured that, if the other person is a brother or sister in Christ, we will be reconciled in heaven. Our disagreements, our grievances, or even just a lack of emotional intelligence will not separate us any longer. As I said in my last post, one day we won’t have to choose between our friendships and the Truth. God Himself will bring our erring Christian friends into the Truth.

Friends in the Truth, Forever

Two weeks ago I wrote a post about how, if they had to choose between having friends and being just, Aristotle might choose friendships whereas Plato would surely choose justice. As I was wrapping up writing that post, I asked myself, what would be the Christian’s response when faced with this dilemma? Providentially, this week I started to revisit Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Life Together, and within the first few pages Bonhoeffer helped me formulate my answer. 

Of course, it should be conceded that Bonhoeffer’s book is about Christian fellowship in general, not Christian friendships in particular. But I think everything I’m about to quote or summarize from him can apply to a Christian understanding of friendships. I should also signal that I’m going to use ‘truth’ instead of ‘justice’ as my other key term. This is because Bonhoeffer talks about truth, not justice, and living in the truth is a major part of what it means to be just.

First, for the sake of living in the truth, we may be separated from our friends. Bonhoeffer would seem to side with Plato in recognizing that in pursuing wisdom the just man may have to make enemies, and that those enemies may prevent him from living with his friends. He says on the very first page of Life Together that “It is not simply to be taken for granted that the Christian has the privilege of living among other Christians. Jesus Christ lived in the midst of his enemies. At the end all his disciples deserted him. On the Cross he was utterly alone, surrounded by evildoers and mockers” (p. 17 in the HarperOne edition). Christ warned us that a servant is not greater than his master (John 15:20). If He had to part with His friends to be faithful to God, we must be ready to do the same—just as Bonhoeffer was. He was imprisoned and executed for living in the truth that Hitler should not have any man’s allegiance.

In my last post I had talked about the difficulty of balancing the Already and the Not Yet in our eschatology. I think Bonhoeffer does an excellent balancing act here. Christians were intended to have fellowship with one another and can enjoy much of that Already because of what Christ definitively accomplished on the cross—but we are Not Yet able to enjoy that fellowship fully and without hindrances, not until we get to the New Creation. Bonhoeffer writes that “between the death of Christ and the Last Day it is only by a gracious anticipation of the last things that Christians are privileged to live in visible fellowship with other Christians” (18). He repeats, “the fellowship of Christian brethren is a gift of grace, a gift of the Kingdom of God that any day may be taken from us” (20). 

Even though God made us in such a way that it is not good for anyone to be alone (Genesis 2:18), we cannot insist or demand that God never put us on a deserted island or in solitary confinement. That might be just what it takes for God to sanctify us and glorify His Name through us. God doesn’t owe us a healthy or legal church in which to participate, or a best friend who pledges loyalty like Jonathan did to David, or Ruth did to Naomi. It is a mercy and a kindness that, on any given day and for however long on that day, we get to interact with any of our friends in Christ. Read this conclusion that Bonhoeffer reaches and let it weigh on you for a few moments: 

“Therefore, let him who until now has had the privilege of living a common life with other Christians praise God’s grace from the bottom of his heart. Let him thank God on his knees and declare: It is grace, nothing but grace, that we are allowed to live in community with Christian brethren” (20).

Second, for the sake of living in the truth, we may have to separate ourselves from our friends. Bonhoeffer distinguishes between spiritual and human love. One of the differences between the two is whether they submit to God’s truth. Bonhoeffer says that “Human love has little regard for truth. It makes the truth relative, since nothing, not even the truth, must come between it and the beloved person” (34). Human love would choose friendship over truth, ten times out of ten. But spiritual love cannot be divorced from truth. Without truth—or more precisely, Christ the Truth—love ceases to be love, for “love of others is wholly dependent upon the truth in Christ” (37). It is only because the truth in Christ transforms our hearts that we can truly love one another. And sometimes, Bonhoeffer cautions us, this Christ-transformed spiritual love will require ending a friendship: “Where [Christ’s] truth enjoins me to dissolve a fellowship for love’s sake, there I will dissolve it, despite all the protests of my human love” (35). 

Once again, insofar as Bonhoeffer is presenting a biblically accurate view, it would seem Plato is closer than Aristotle in agreeing to the Christian answer regarding what to do when faithfulness to the truth and loyalty to friends would push us in opposite directions. However, to return to the above point about eschatology, it is only in the present time, in the Already-Not Yet, that we will ever face this impasse and ever have to walk with Bonhoeffer and Plato’s mentor Socrates away from our friends and toward our deaths for the sake of truth. This is because:  

Third, ultimately we will not have to choose between friendship and the truth. As I said in the Plato and Aristotle post, rather than pitting them too much against each other Aristotle sees justice and friendship growing up alongside and reinforcing each other. But in this fallen world, that won’t always be the case. Yet the Christian is looking forward to a new and better world, where there will be no enemies to our friendships and no need to end a friendship for the sake of convictions—because everyone there will pledge allegiance to the same Lord and love the same Truth.

Bonhoeffer, writing Life Together while running an underground seminary and understanding that a government crackdown could happen at any time, was looking forward to that “Last Day,” too (18). He writes of the astounding reality that “we also belong to [Christ] in eternity with one another. … He who looks upon his brother should know that he will be eternally united with him in Jesus Christ” (24). We may have non-Christian friends turn on us; we may have to let some of them go. But our Christian friends—even if those relationships should cool due to time, distance, or conflicts—truly are our BFFs: best friends forever.

A few days ago I was reminded of a song by Sanctus Real called "Benjamin." The song is addressed to a friend who is approaching death around the same time that his son is born. The singer tells the dying father: “We've been friends for a long, long time, / So if you can't talk, just cry, / And know that we will talk on the other side.” And he tells Benjamin, the son, “And we will be friends for a long, long time, / So until you can talk, just cry, / And know that we will talk for the rest of our lives.” 

That is our Christ-accomplished hope for our Christian friends: We will be friends for a long, long time. As we wait in the Already-Not Yet, we can cry for the friends we’ve lost to death or disagreement or never even had, because friendship is a good thing worth grieving. And we can trust we will have friends to talk to for the rest of our lives, on the other side. 

A Tale of Two City Rankings

In Book VIII of both Plato’s Republic and Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, there is a taxonomy and ranking of different kinds of governments for a city-state. Plato names five kinds of cities and ranks them thus: 1. Aristocracy (which includes Kingship); 2. Timocracy; 3. Oligarchy; 4. Democracy; and 5. Tyranny. Aristotle’s list uses all the same terms, but it distinguishes between Aristocracy and Kingship so that there are six kinds of cities. His ranking is almost the same, too, except for one thing: he puts Democracy over Oligarchy. His ranking is: 1. Kingship; 2. Aristocracy; 3. Timocracy; 4. Democracy; 5. Oligarchy; and 6. Tyranny. So why does Aristotle break from his teacher Plato and say that having an oligarchy is a worse way to run a city than having a democracy?

The first thing to notice is that Aristotle’s Book VIII is not about politics first and foremost, but about friendship. The discussion of kinds of cities is included as an analogy for distinguishing between kinds of friendships. Aristotle ranks the cities in the order he does because he believes that a city ruled by a king is the most amenable for friendships and that a city ruled by a tyrant is the most inhospitable to friendships, because a tyrant is no friend to his subjects. In his scheme, a democracy is better than an oligarchy because in a democracy there is greater political equality, allowing for greater relational equality.

But Plato’s Book VIII—like the entirety of Republic—is about justice. Moreover, it is not about justice in the city first and foremost, but about justice in the soul. All the discussion in Republic about how to form a just city is incidental and analogous to the driving question of how to be a just man. Plato ranks the cities in the order he does because he believes that an aristocracy corresponds to a soul that is most ruled by wisdom (leading to justice) and a tyranny corresponds to a soul that is most ruled by lawless appetites (leading to injustice). In his scheme, an oligarchy is better than a democracy because an oligarchy corresponds to a soul that is ruled by necessary appetites (more just), and a democracy corresponds to a soul that is ruled by unnecessary appetites (more unjust).

What I’m suggesting is that, if they had to choose between a democracy and an oligarchy, Aristotle would prefer to live in a democracy because that’s where he would hope to find better friendships, and Plato would prefer to live in an oligarchy because that’s where he would hope to find greater justice.

Granted, it would be misrepresenting Aristotle to drive too great a wedge between friendship and justice, because in Book VIII of his Ethics the two are inseparable. For him, justice in the city and the health of friendships in the city rise and fall together. Aristotle writes that “friendship and justice would seem to be about the same things and to be found in the same people. For in every community there seems to be some sort of justice, and some type of friendship also. … And to the extent that they are in community, to that extent there is their friendship, since to that extent also there is justice” (p. 152 in Hackett Third Edition). And he says later on that “Friendship appears in each of the political systems, to the extent that justice appears also” (155). Moreover, Ethics Book IX argues that the just person is a friend to himself.

Still, Aristotle does place a higher value on friendship than on justice, because he holds that friendship “is most necessary for our life. For no one would choose to live without friends even if he had all the other goods” (141). Moreover, “friendship would seem to hold cities together, and legislators would seem to be more concerned about it than about justice. … Further, if people are friends, they have no need of justice, but if they are just they need friendship in addition; and the justice that is most just seems to belong to friendship” (141). For him, if friendship comes first, justice will follow: “Justice also naturally increases with friendship” (153). 

Conversely, Plato does seem to place a higher value on justice than on friendship. He would rather be alone if that was the cost of being just. Whereas Aristotle says that “no one would choose to have all other goods and yet be alone” (176), Plato’s Republic repeatedly emphasizes that the true philosopher will often be misunderstood, maligned, and isolated. Indeed, Plato’s teacher Socrates, the protagonist and main speaker in Republic, was executed by Athens because he chose convictions over company. Socrates refused to recant his beliefs to regain friendships with the city’s leaders, because that would have made him an unjust friend to himself.

All this fits with the general tendency in both Aristotle’s and Plato’s thinking about the good life, visualized in Raphael’s painting The School of Athens. Plato is pointing up, but Aristotle’s hand, while not pointing down, is almost level. Plato lives for his ideals, but while Aristotle also has his ideals—he wants to be a just man just as much as Plato does—he wants them to be grounded in community, because “good people’s life together allows the cultivation of virtue” (177).

John, James, and Joe: Film Composer Retrospectives

Three albums I’ve been listening to regularly lately are each career-spanning retrospectives from major composers of film scores: 

• John Williams and Anne-Sophie Mutter’s Across the Stars (Deutsche Grammophon, 2019)

• James Newton Howard’s Night After Night: Music from the Movies of M. Night Shyamalan (Sony Classical, 2023)

• Joe Hisaishi’s A Symphonic Celebration: Music from the Studio Ghibli Films of Hayao Mizazaki (Deutsche Grammophon, 2023)

What I love about all three albums is that they aren’t “greatest hits” compilations that only pull together old recordings from across the artist’s discography. These are all brand-new recordings, and each composer has created new arrangements of his signature works for the occasion. 

For the Williams project, the organizing principle is that each composition has been selected and adapted to foreground violin soloist Mutter. Across the Stars is primarily a collaboration between a composer and a performer. But for the other two albums, the organizing principle is that each composition emerged from the composer’s collaborations with one director. So the Newton Howard retrospective is also a Shyamalan retrospective; the Hisaishi retrospective is also a Miyazaki retrospective. As much as I enjoy the Williams and Mutter album, this gives Night After Night and A Symphonic Celebration a richer subtext: these albums are celebrations of life-long creative partnerships, even friendships. 

This friendship element is particularly striking considering Night After Night. Miyazaki has an extraordinarily consistent track record for making good-to-great films, and it would be unsurprising if this inspired a complementary consistency of excellence from Hisaishi. But Shyamalan’s films fluctuate wildly in quality, and yet Newton Howard seems to have always done his best by them as if they were all destined to be classics. Night After Night doesn’t discriminate between music made for a masterpiece like Unbreakable and music made for a career blunder like The Last Airbender. Including one as well as the other on this album shows that Newton Howard valued then and values now all of his collaborations with Shyamalan. When two people enjoy working together and bring out the best in each other’s work, the critical or financial outcome of the project is irrelevant.