It has been said that humility is standing at our full height next to God at his full height—and that means standing next to others at their full height too. When you are in a situation of conflict, are you ready to give due credit to your (actual or potential) opponents? Paul is clear that this is not about fawning to people; God does not pick and choose favourites. But it means being open about the value of other people’s situation as you are about your own.

We appear to be in a cultural moment where conflict dominates every aspect of life. It is not just the green benches of Parliament, laid out in opposition to one another on two ‘sides’, that communicate this—though the discussions about Europe (and just about every other political issue) seem to exemplify this. Social media has allowed perfect strangers virtually to walk up to one another and trade insults, and that seems to have affected the way we hold all conversations about difficult issues. But the paradigm of conflict runs even deeper. Since the shift in our thinking about economics in the 1970s and 80s, everything is characterised by conflict and competition. If you want to buy something, you need to engage in ‘competitive tendering’. Public services need to compete with one another for efficiency. And the purpose of education now seems to be to equip young people to fight more effectively for their own success in the ‘jobs market’—which we are told is highly competitive.

But conflict and competition always leave the competitors and combatants bruised and wounded. Politicians feel threatened; many feel disillusioned; and conflict in churches and families takes its toll. Some time ago Justin Welby observed the pain caused by unresolved conflict.

In a process of reconciliation in which I was involved recently, one of the questions that people were asked (quite a standard question in these circumstances where the disputes are within the church) was, “What has this dispute done to your soul?”

You could adapt the question to different sorts of disputes, not least by changing the word ‘soul’ to ‘spirit’ or ‘inner self’ or something like that. But it is a very valid question: the impact of conflict is not only external, but deeply internal. It causes trauma and lasting damage even where there has been no physical violence.

I will remember for a long time a letter I received in the last few years from someone who’d gone through a particularly difficult conflict in the church. It was full of what can only described as deep trauma and sorrow. It had been deeply damaging.

At St Nic’s where I am Associate Minister, we are currently working through Paul’s letter to the Galatians, and I preached on Gal 2.1–10 at the weekend. Paul models four things that are key to resolving our conflicts—but it is curious that he devotes so much space to giving a quite measured account of how he has handled his differences with others. Given that this is quite a short letter, that writing was a demanding and expensive thing to do, and that he has much to say about the gospel, why does he give over this precious space to talking about resolving conflict? Could it be that it is intimately connected to the very gospel that he is so keen to proclaim? This will become clear as we explore his four principles.

1.Take your time—or rather, take God’s time

In his account, Paul emphasises the time elapsed before he comes to Jerusalem, whichever occasion we understand this to be. 14 years has gone by (Gal 2.1), and Paul’s visit is prompted by a ‘vision from God’ (Gal 2.2). If this second visit corresponds to Acts 11, then this ‘vision’ might be the prophecy of Agabus; if it corresponds to Acts 15, then it looks as though Paul is referring to something revealed to him. (It is worth noting here that Paul was in the habit of sharing whatever vision he has received with those around him—see the episode in Acts 16.9–10; ‘After Paul had seen the vision, we got ready at once…’)

I wonder how often we think to ourselves ‘I will just wait 14 years before I talk to this person about this awkward situation?’! If we do, it is because we want to put off a difficult conversation and avoid trouble! But most often we are pulled in the other direction—an instant provocation produces and instance response.

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