By Tina Teng-Henson

Conflict is an apt word to reflect upon at the end of this tumultuous year of battling COVID, even though it is Christmastime. 

Conflict reared its ugly head recently, uncomfortably, between me and one family member this fall.  Largely around text etiquette and political difference, the nexus of it was that she felt I’d shamed and humiliated her publicly in front of other relatives.  But I suspect there are a whole host of “ways I’m bad/wrong/hurtful to her” in her book, starting with my having been born 4 years after her, encroaching on the love my parents had for us, which she already felt to be limited or lacking. Add to that having grown apart over several decades as the natural result of going to different colleges, then living in different cities of different states — not to mention having different values and faith commitments over the course of those years. Compounded differences can lead to conflict. Yet I hope and pray for reconciliation and forgiveness to be our shared work as we look ahead.  

Conflict was present earlier this year, between me and another family member, but more self-consciously on both parts — because of greater trust, greater self-awareness, and more years of practice listening to and understanding one another. As a result, our conflict wasn’t conflictual; it was more of a shared awareness we finally articulated and acknowledged to each other with some mutual sadness. We had cultivated (or ceased cultivating) different spiritual practices over time — and had thus ended up with differing commitments to Christ.

I often feel quite a bit of conflict within myself. I believe I’m much like Jacob, or Israel, from the Old Testament. I love volleyball, but I’m actually a wrestler. I wrestle with God. I wrestle with His call on my life. I wrestle because I want the blessing. But I also wrestle because I resist belief.

So when former students of mine tell me they are taking a break from the institution of church during COVID, or they’ve lost faith, or they’ve given up on Jesus, I understand. Sometimes I want to as well. It seems like it’d be easier or simpler to stop trying so hard to live out all that I’ve learned over the years. Following some generic version of Christianity — some form of Christian orthodoxy without the evangelical pressures to be constantly reaching out or evangelizing — that would be nice. Less expectation. Less responsibility for others.

But I’ll get a day of rest or a long bit of quiet to enjoy, and on those days, I experience God’s quieting nurture and care. He loves me. He is real. He cares. 

Or I’ll respond to a friend in crisis or in need, and I realize, I need them as much as they need me. God in his capaciousness puts us together to care for one another. He is there. He is good. 

Disagreement will arise in a discussion group, but instead of dividing us, it energizes the conversation. We are all more tuned in, more careful with our words, more engaged by the material. Do we agree? Do we disagree? It is all okay. What do we really think? Let’s express that without fear. Let’s listen with open minds. 

So I sit with myself and pause in gratitude. Jesus can take it. Babies are remarkably resilient, and so are young men. And so is this God-man who lived a short life two millennia ago but whose birth is still heralded, celebrated, lauded. Of course we waver in our belief and unbelief. Of course we are the ones who come and go, sometimes hot, sometimes cold. But better that than otherwise. Better to be in the conflict than so completely discarded that no one bothers to fight with you. 

God’s love is so tough and strong. He created all of this, and he knows best how it all works. Faith is a practice. It is a decision. It is a commitment. Its accompanying feelings ride the waves, but like the ocean, He is the one constant. He holds, contains, perhaps even generates those waves. Maybe he created us to be this way. That we may wrestle, and chafe, and doubt, and struggle, and resist, and sometimes even give up entirely. But he in his nature is ever that tall handsome figure at the center of the dance floor. Irresistible. We may intentionally wander off to the edges of a cliff, fully aware that we’re playing with fate, toying with our destinies, ready to give God the finger and free fall into oblivion. 

But you just never know what he will do. What tricks he has left up his sleeve to draw you back from the edge. To bring you back into his embrace. Because he just loves you that much. He knows you that well. He is that committed to you. And even if in the moment you feel he’s ridiculous, forgettable, and worth putting off to the side, let’s just wait and see, shall we? 

Tina Teng-Henson and her family live in Santa Clara, California. She is presently serving as an interim co-pastor at Orchard Valley Christian Church (orchardvalley.org). She enjoys volleyball, independent film, and being in nature.