There's Always Another Point of View/ Jeff Heidkamp

I was at a meeting a while ago, and one of the other people there was publicly known as being against a point of view about ministry and leadership that I had. It wasn't a matter of animosity, and as the topic came up in conversation, we sat down at a lunch to try to talk about our differences.
 
The conversation, from my point of view, was nothing but fruitful. I understood what he was saying, clarified some things, asked some questions, offered some rebuttals. I came away from the conversation having decided I didn't disagree with him at all. And that I hadn't changed my mind at all. And that I hadn't misunderstood him at all.


And, for a few sermons after that, I found some of what I preached was powerfully shaped by that conversation. And those sermons were reportedly some of the most powerful I've preached this year. I have to believe that conversation had something to do with it.

And this is turning into something of a worldview for me. If I actually find I can understand another person, I find I almost never disagree with them. I find that my heart towards them is only charitable, and only grateful. Sometimes I find myself leaving changed in my thinking, or in my acting, and sometimes I don't.

I can anticipate an objection. What if I am talking to a person who is clearly misguided? Let's just throw some out: what if I have a conversation with Fred Phelps about how his approach of hatred is really the best way to minister the gospel of Jesus? Wouldn't I have to say that he was wrong? Or if I was having a conversation with Joseph Stalin, wouldn't I have to conclude that slaughtering millions of people might fall into the category of "things you shouldn't do"?

There was one of those comical quad preachers at the University I went to. We called him Mad Max. He spent many of his days on the quad yelling at anyone who would listen that God was judging them and they needed to repent today. Time after time some well meaning Christian would try to stand up and oppose his message, and he was experienced enough to shout them down fairly quickly. More entertainingly, many improv comedy troupes would use his sermons for rehearsal.

But one day, I saw Mad Max sitting under a tree. I went to talk to him. He was initially defensive, so I did my best to not come off as angry toward him. I just asked him why he did what he did, what it felt like to experience such rejection, and what he thought about all the Christians who found him to be so counter-productive. I walked away from the conversation with a different point of view. Would I do what he did? No. Do I think it's helpful? I tend to think not. But I never thought about the man the same again. What does it take to troop out to that quad day after day and take that kind of hate? Insanity? Maybe. But I have to tell you, it's a special kind of insanity.

Of course I can't end without saying that clearly Phelps and Stalin have done a lot of bad things. But, for the record, so have I. And I have to be honest, I'd still like to try to have a conversation with them.

I'm not trying to express a morality or epistemology here. What I am wondering is that perhaps conversations have something powerful in them that morality and epistemology, for all their necessity, don't have.

So, who would you like to have a conversation with? Right now, John Piper tops my list, for a lot of conflicted reasons.