I was struck by a couple of comments from last week's post about my difficulty letting go of toxic relationships.
My brilliant friend (an out-of-town friend I haven’t seen in years who surprise visited our church on Christmas eve!) wrote:
One of the patterns that really bugs me in books/ movies is the way they depict toxic or abusive relationships. They show the battered wife, for instance, living a daily hellish existence with a monster of a man. That is undoubtedly true in some cases. But in many cases, it isn't that simple. The toxic or abusive person has good qualities and may have periods of time when they do good things - I have some personal experience with this. The toxic relationship is a relationship, with all the complexity and shared history that implies. The adult child may remember the times the abusive parent patiently taught them life skills and cared for them when they were sick and feel an obligation toward that person. The toxic friend may be a lot of fun when they aren't drinking, etc. These are people we care about, on some level, and we know many of the reasons they are the way they are. That's how abusive people are able to be so manipulative. And Christian culture pushes forgiveness and reconciliation really hard, so if you're wired to feel guilty... I'm not saying you should hold on to toxic relationships, I'm saying enforcing boundaries and letting go of people is more complex for us than spitting out something 100% disgusting.
This was followed by a comment by another brilliant friend:
Peddling off the complexities of real life as either totally good or bad is an ideology of our culture that sets us up to feel we have to choose one of the other. I agree it’s just not that simple. And it’s too other focused. As a person who highly values relationships I believe growing a strong appreciation for all of me the good the bad and the ugly helps keep relationships and the complexities of them in a healthy perspective in which I can choose how to or not interact within them.
Last week I was laser-focused on the idea that my loyalty to my former friends and my hope and desire to change them was the primary reason for not wanting to let them go.
But I didn’t really think about the previous relationships we had before they fell apart.
Years ago I listened to a sermon by legendary preacher Fred Craddock.
He talked about Paul’s boring list of his friends in Romans 16, and drove home the point that each name on that list has a long history for him personally.
Fred told story after story about the friendship that Paul had with each person on the list.1
And when I reflect on my previous friendships, there’s a ton of positive history with each person that I have trouble discounting.
I think of my friend (who no longer talks to me) who I sat with in the hospital for hours as she shook with nerves while her nephew was in the middle of a major surgery. I remember the time we sat in uncomfortable wooden chairs and she shared about feeling lost in life and wishing she had made different choices. I think of the time she encouraged me when I wondered if I chose the wrong life path entirely. I remember the times we laughed about nothing in particular but it made my whole week.
I think of another friend (again, who won’t talk to me anymore) who regularly invited me out to lunch and bared his soul to me and I to him. A friend who never let me or my family be alone on a holiday or special occasion.
And while these relationships don’t likely have a future, they live on in my mind because there’s so much history there.
I grieve over the lost relationship because it was just that - a relationship.
Last week I compared some of my dead relationships to drinking toxic or contaminated fluids.2
I asked myself the question, “Why don’t I gag when I’m tied to a relationship that’s contaminated like those fluids?”
I think it’s because, while I know the relationship is toxic and likely has no future, I still remember the good times.
I long for the good times to return.
I desperately want to overlook anything toxic or painful, because the good times were really good.
My friend ends her comment by pointing out that “Christian culture pushes forgiveness and reconciliation really hard.”
Undeniably true.
I do it as a pastor.
I do it in sermons. I do it one on one with people. I did it in my book.
And I don’t know if I’m right or wrong to do it.
As a general rule, I think I still value the pursuit of reconciliation.
But sometimes it’s never going to happen.
I still don’t know how to accept that.
I don’t know if I want to accept that.
I started this Substack talking a lot about my own deconstructing faith.
Learning that forgiveness and reconciliation may never happen with some folks might be the hardest thing for me to accept.
It may well be the hardest value of my Christian faith to let go of.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.
The good times are far too present in my mind.
I’m using the word “list” in reference to a sermon whose point is literally not to call it a “list.” I don’t know what else to call it. It’s a list. More than a list, but still a list.
Like Tom Cruise does in Minority Report. For real, if you haven’t seen it, watch it. It’s perfect.
Your brilliant friends said what I tried to several times but couldn’t get the words right. Yay for brilliant friends.
I wonder if the idea that forgiveness and reconciliation could happen is less letting go of a value and more accepting space for what was and now isn’t, and striving to not judge what ever could be in the future. Maybe sometimes hope is accepting that a relationship could never repair AND could someday be repaired, in equal measure. I wonder because I don’t know, but I do know this is the only way I can engage with hope.