How Christians Should Approach Conflict Differently: "Do Not Resist an Evil Person"

Imagine two men, Jeff and Dave, both living in a faraway land called Erath. Jeff is a citizen of Erath, but Dave is only a visitor. In fact, Dave is there on a work assignment; he is an ambassador for his country – Vehean – and he is tasked with increasing goodwill, promoting tourism to his home country, and ultimately facilitating immigration. One would expect there to be many differences in how these men lead their lives in Erath.

So it is with us.

The citizens of this world teach that in conflict, it is our job to protect ourselves, to achieve justice, and to do what is right for us. For these people, they are already home. They are their own kings.

But we are citizens and ambassadors of Heaven. We have a job to do, and this calls for a more winsome approach. As if that weren’t enough, our King has instructed us very clearly on how we are to act:

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility, value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of others. In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus, who – being in very nature God – did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing…he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death. Even death on a cross” (Philippians 2: 3-8, punctuation changed for emphasis).

Let’s unpack this a bit. Firstly, Paul addresses very explicitly what we should do with our sense of entitlement in conflict. Before Jesus took on flesh, humanity had been embroiled in an epic conflict with God that had lasted millennia. Then although he is God himself, although he has every reason, every justification to leverage his due, Jesus set it aside because doing so was exactly what was required to resolve the conflict. Sometimes it’s less about what is “right” and more about what is effective. Was it “right” for Jesus to die on our behalf? Absolutely not. But was it the most effective way to reconcile us to himself? Absolutely. 

Paul instructs believers to take on this same Christlike posture. I think there are three reasons: 1) That’s what is effective. 2) He is our king; we take our orders from him, and we follow his example. 3) Our goal is bigger than resolving this immediate conflict. We have a job to do. The next verse continues with “therefore,” a verbal signal that what follows is the logical extension of what came before:

“Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is the Lord, to the glory of God the Father” (Philippians 2:9-11).

It’s easy to miss the connection Paul is making here. When Jesus humbled himself to resolve our conflict, it enacted a cosmic “therefore.” But Paul is not stopping there; we have our own piece of “therefore.” Paul is drawing a parallel between our response to conflict and Jesus’s. When we forgive others their trespasses, when we humble ourselves to reconcile with others, it catalyzes the same cosmic promise. Our humility in conflict can actually cause more knees to bow and more tongues to confess that Jesus is Lord. 

To truly “look to the interests of others” means to consider their greatest good — that is — Heaven. Speaking in eternal terms, is there anything more important than them being reconciled to God? Jesus models this in an incredibly powerful way. Consider his response to those attacking and betraying him leading up to the crucifixion: the first word he utters to Judas after the betrayal kiss is “friend”; he tells Peter to put away his sword and heals the man whose ear was cut off; he goes willingly with the mob; he remains silent in the face of mocking and torture; and ultimately, he expresses his forgiveness toward everyone who was cruel to him even as he was saving them: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34).

This is our job. We are Christ’s ambassadors. We’ve been tasked with promoting goodwill, increasing tourism, and facilitating immigration from Earth to Heaven. 

Our ability to reconcile with others and love them when they least deserve it is one of the most powerful witnesses we have (John 17:21), perhaps because the expected, earthly approach is so self-focused. There’s a natural tendency to withdraw and protect ourselves. It’s shocking when we do something different. People notice. When we’ve been hurt but we spread our arms wide as our Savior did, even when it sometimes means further injury and humiliation, we echo the gospel.

From a counseling perspective, this is so powerful because it shifts our value from being works-based to intrinsic. It says, “I love you because God loves you, even at your worst.” It takes direct aim at the default message encoded in far too many people’s hearts: “I’m only worthy of love if/when _____.” This toxic lie leads to shame and eventually death, but love based on intrinsic value leads to life. It can be absolutely transformative in marriage, with children, with parents, friends, and even strangers.

As Jesus said, even tax collectors love those who love them. Even pagans greet their own people. Jesus issues a higher calling: “Do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well. If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles” (Matthew 5:39-48).

Can you imagine actually, literally doing this in real life? It's a nice idea to read about, but I find it to be one of the most practically challenging concepts in scripture.

This may provoke in you a sense of violation. It goes against what you have learned about standing up for yourself, standing up for what is right. That is exactly the point. It may provoke the same in your assailant, and that may provide an opening for God’s prime objective: reaching the lost.

And we are not scared of injury in the same way these earthlings are, for we are eternal beings. When we return home, every tear will be wiped away. There will be no more pain or suffering. We do not balk at shame, for “we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character, and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame” (Romans 5:3-5a). We know that when we humble ourselves to reconcile with others, it is not weakness but God’s strength within us. It takes great obedience to willingly take up your cross and bleed for others, but in this endeavor can you feel the pleasure of your Father, feeling your heart pulse for the same lost souls as His.

Abuse

This topic can be so difficult, partly because it is all too easy to read the above as an argument for staying in abusive situations. However, that is not God’s heart.

God himself models this for us in his relationship with the nation of Israel, giving chances as hearts move toward him but withdrawing as he is betrayed, abused, and neglected. Then there are centuries of separation and silence before Jesus shows up, changing the parameters of the relationship entirely.

In the New Testament, we learn even more about how to respond to abusive and/or unreceptive situations. As Jesus is sending out his disciples, he instructs them to search for “some worthy person” and then says, “If the home is deserving, let your peace rest on it; if it is not, let your peace return to you” and “If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, leave that home or town and shake the dust off your feet” (Matthew 10:11-14). A few chapters later in Matthew 18, Jesus lays out a process of how we should address when we are sinned against by a brother or sister in Christ. It is a tiered response, designed to use the smallest effective intervention and to maximize the likelihood they will repent. But if they don’t, distance and boundaries are prescribed.

You see, self-sacrifice is not a panacea – just as it wasn’t for God. Jesus sacrificed himself, but there are still countless souls who refuse to be in close, healthy relationship with God. As his followers, we sacrifice ourselves for others, and that counterintuitive gesture can soften them, bringing them to a compelling decision point. But they can still choose incorrectly. If they do, we can continue to love them and pray for them. However, especially in situations of abuse, we also shake off the dust from our feet and treat them as tax collectors. We get out of the abuse.

Too often, though, Christians stop short of these commands to shake off the dust and treat them like tax collectors because it “feels unloving.” But God works through our obedience. Far be it from us to believe we know better how to love those He created. In these cases, withdrawing is the most loving thing we can do. In a very Christlike way, our obedient withdrawal honors their clear request not to be in healthy, close relationship. Just as Jesus does not force himself on those who have rejected him, we cannot force a healthy relationship with those determined to abuse us.

Do not be confused: abuse is not a dysfunctional attempt at a healthy relationship. Abuse is the attempt to extract something from the other person. It devalues the image of God in the person experiencing the abuse and gives both parties the wrong view of their worth and purpose. It robs both parties of the abundant life we can experience through treating one another as God calls us to. Leaving abusive situations actually gives abusers the best chance to recognize these things and perhaps have a shot one day at healthy, reciprocal relationship, but staying in the abuse will not make it better. Jesus endured abuse, but he did not stay in it.

Whether abuse or not, our charge is this: offer truth, love, grace, and forgiveness. If these are received, hallelujah! If not, we are unequivocally directed to get out of that situation. Christians often struggle with this because it can feel contrary to the passage above encouraging us to “turn the other cheek” or “go the extra mile.” But we must remember: in each example, it is only one extra thing. It is not letting yourself get beaten to death. It is not indenturing yourself to a life of servitude. It’s one other cheek. One extra mile. It’s about loving someone at their worst in the name of Jesus that they might turn toward him. It is not about staying in abusive situations.

Navigating abuse can be indescribably difficult — emotionally, spiritually, legally, and logistically. If you think you might be in that situation, I urge you as a brother in Christ to seek help from a believer trained in responding to such cases. It can be so isolating, confusing, and tragic, and many well-meaning Christians will offer platitudes or unwise or even unbiblical advice, trying to love you but sometimes making things worse. Yet there is hope. And the God who saves sees you and loves you and is able to deliver you.

May God continue the work of deliverance in and through our lives. May he accomplish untold wonders as we submit ourselves to his direction. May he grant us wisdom to know when and how to lay down our lives as he did, and when to shake the dust off our feet. May he continue to equip us for the work of ambassadorship, making straight our paths as we seek to be his hands and feet to a world in desperate need of him.

You Are Not a Good Person (and Neither am I)

If I were to extend the title of this post, it would be “and Neither is your Wife, Your Husband, Your Mom, Your Dad, Your Friend, or That Person on Social Media, but You Already Knew That Last One.”

There’s a trend I’ve noticed amongst some of my favorite men, some of the kindest men in my life. They’ll say to the other men they love, “You’re a good man.” It’s a nice gesture. And it’s also heresy.

Wow, that’s an extreme statement! And I must admit, I’m intentionally using extreme and incendiary language partly to hook you into reading the rest of this post. But it’s also true. This blog post runs great risk of sounding pedantic or judgmental and entirely missing the hearts of those men I love, so I want to be careful here. I admire their motive to encourage others. Furthermore, I think the men who peddle this phrase have likely seeded more good in other men’s lives than most could ever dream of. I think they are attempting to speak directly to the shame and unworthiness most men carry with them throughout life, and I think their intent matters so much more than the words. So I applaud these men for showing the love of Jesus, and I’m also going to humbly suggest a better alternative.

But first, here’s the problem with telling someone they’re a good person: they’re not. Jesus is very clear about this. In Matthew 19:17, Mark 10:18, and Luke 18:19, Jesus unequivocally states there is only one who is good — God. We approach “good” as a relative term, but Jesus defines it as an absolute, synonymous with “perfect.”

Even as I write this, there is part of me that wants to water down Jesus’s words. Yeah, but maybe we just use the word differently today than back then. I don’t think so. I think this speaks to a deep theological truth. Since the beginning of time, man has tried to achieve salvation by being better than others when God has always insisted that Heaven can only tolerate perfection.

I once heard this crude but effective analogy: how much poop is okay to be included in your cake? I mean, obviously, 1 ½ cups of poop in your cake is too much, but what about ⅓ cup? Still too much. A teaspoon? Of course not. You’re not eating a cake with a teaspoon of poop in it! And if you are, I encourage you to see a counselor about that. 

Apparently I like analogies with cake; this is the second blog post I've written featuring one...

God is the same way about sin. Too often we excuse the “smaller” amount of sin in our lives by labeling some people (and ourselves) as “good” when the truth is that we have all fallen short of the glory of God because of our sin (Romans 3:23). This makes us all worthy of death, but we can be made right with God again by accepting Jesus (Romans 6:23). Crucially, it is NOT because of who we are or what we’ve done, so that no one can boast (Ephesians 2:9). Instead, “Let the one who boasts boast in the Lord” (1 Corinthians 1:31).

A common goal in counseling is to have a realistic view of things. We want to be intentional about what we think and how we view important topics in life; if we are not, we face enduring inner tensions at best and delusion at worst. This miscalibration often happens when we define our reality based on how we feel. I feel like a good person. Or what others tell us. People tell me I’m a good person. But first and foremost, we must define reality by what God tells us.

We also must consider that God is love. And not just generally — he specifically loves you. So why would he tell you you’re not a good person? Because it is true and it is better than the delusion. Because if God loved you because you were good, it wouldn’t really mean much. “Are not even the [worst people] doing that?” (Matthew 5:46). You would have earned his love, and it would be a conditional kind of love, or at least an untested one. But no, God loved you while you were his enemy (Romans 5:10). Really consider that for a minute. God’s love for you was not and never has been based on your performance. It is based on your intrinsic value, value that he placed in your being. And his desire to be in relationship with you is not a passing fancy or a mild preference — it is the point of all of creation. It’s all one cosmic love story, the grandest of romantic gestures, where God woos your heart despite its imperfections and failings.

This is true love. And our response is to love others because he first loved us (1 John 4:19). When we bring that kind of love to our friendships, our marriages, and ourselves, this is what brings true transformation and healing. It is that earthly delusion that erodes those relationships; when we expect “goodness” from others and ourselves, that counterfeit love is fragile. But when we impersonate Christ in those relationships and look for ways to forgive and love people despite their unsurprising imperfection, there life is found.

In conclusion, I would like to propose an alternative. Instead of telling ourselves or others that they are “good people,” let’s get more specific: “I love how you pursue Jesus in your life; you remind me of him.” “The way you play with your kids inspires me.” “The joy and faith you have in the midst of this trying time are incredible.” “I love how you say yes to God’s calling on your life.” “The way you and your wife invest in the health of your marriage is such a beautiful model to me and to our community.” By the way, this can be a helpful tool in your relationships in general. We sometimes get lazy with our compliments, but specificity is a powerful ally as we endeavor to speak life into one another and into ourselves.

Lord, may you remind us to give you all the glory. May we not cheapen the immensity of your love, your grace, your forgiveness by crediting ourselves or others as “good,” for you alone are good. And may our growing understanding of your love for us bring us greater freedom, peace, and love for ourselves and others so that the world would see Christ in us and come to embrace you.

Therapeutic Lessons from Quigley the Cat: Radical Acceptance and Recovering from Trauma

There is a reason animals are so often studied and their lessons applied to people. Animal learning and development is analogous to that of humans, and some of the most important basics apply to both. So with that in mind, I would like to share insights from my longitudinal study of Quigley the cat from 2010 to 2025.

But first, some background. During my first year of marriage, I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life. My wife and I needed more cat food, and we stopped into Petsmart. “Ooh, they have kittens,” I said naively.

My wife, always the voice of reason, replied, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Let’s just look,” I said. She raised her eyebrows playfully. With the foresight of a toddler, I forged ahead and was quickly overcome by the cuteness, separated from it only by a thin pane of glass. But my inner toddler was insatiable. “Maybe we could just play with one,” I suggested. That’s when Quigley and I met.

He was adorable in the cage, but he was even better when we took him out to play. Fearless but affectionate, he played when we wanted to play and snuggled when we wanted to snuggle. And when I flipped him on his back — a very vulnerable position for a cat — he just purred and playfully pawed at my hands. That was when I knew I was taking him home.

At first, I was delighted. Quigley was cute enough to forgive even his utterly revolting habit of carrying his dried turds around in his mouth and using them as toys, which he thankfully grew out of. He also had his heart-melting attributes, like how I trained him to be held like a baby in my arms. He loved it so much he would occasionally leap into my embrace, feet up, sometimes when I wasn’t even ready. Fortunately, I never dropped him, so he didn’t know any better.

Despite his endearing qualities, that cat tested my patience to its limits. He caused literally thousands of dollars in damage, mauling every conceivable upholstered surface. No training could deter him nor any cat post lure him away. Add to that his wanton vomiting, a ritual he observed at least once daily but usually more. There was no discernible cause, as the wretch didn’t know want and was only scarcely acquainted with illness.

Commitment and Change

When he first began clawing at our new couch, I was determined to change him. Surely, I thought, my determination, resources, and intellect are superior to this cat’s instinctual clothlust. I tried everything. The spray bottle was first, hilarious but wholly ineffective at interrupting his drive to destroy. Then decoys: abundant scratching posts. But cardboard and twine could not satisfy his expensive tastes. Fabric treatments with “deterrent” scents fell short, as did temporary coverings fail to decondition his appetites. Finally, I gave in. This was my reality. We were “those people,” the ones whose pets determine the condition of their home. Our principles required us to fulfill our adoptive commitment to Quigley, and inanimate belongings were a lesser priority than keeping him and his unbreakable will.

When we initially decided to commit ourselves to Quigley, I had no idea what I was in for. He seemed to be the perfect cat. But when the “honeymoon period” ended, all sorts of questions swirled. Had I made a mistake? How had I missed the red flags? We simply did not seem compatible anymore. Or perhaps I was not meant to be a pet owner at all. Maybe the problem was me. Then I was faced with a decision, and much to my chagrin, changing him was not one of my options. My options were divorce (from him — not my wife) or adjustment. We did not want to consider divorce, so I was left with the difficult, painful, and humbling path of change. 

It took longer than I expected. It began with a decision: this is the cat I committed to, so I am choosing to love him as he is. Then I worked to make things a bit more livable for myself. As we slowly worked to replace the things he had destroyed, we found objects less prone to be damaged by his claws. We studied patterns of what appealed to his most undesirable tendencies, then we worked preemptively to avoid triggering circumstances. As things improved but he experienced relapses, I tried to remind myself how much better things had gotten.

I also worked on my reactions. Before, I noticed it used to make me angry when he would claw at furniture. But this is who he was, and I realized my angry reaction was not inspiring change in him — the only one it was changing was me. I could feel my blood boil and my pulse rise. Why was I getting so upset about something that would always be this way? When I felt the anger returning, I would take deep breaths and set my mind on the thoughts I wanted to cultivate. Sometimes I would even choose to go and pet him shortly after correcting him, a practicing of the love I wanted to feel and express.

After years of this slow progress, I realized something: I had grown to appreciate Quigley in a new and deeper way. I loved him not only for how he looked or even how he made me feel while I was snuggling him or playing with him; I also loved him because of what we had been through together. Our lives had grown together, and we had been with one another through virtually my entire adulthood. Ours was an easy connectedness built on deep trust, understanding, and unconditional love. What once had felt like the greatest mistake of my life had turned into something very rich and deep, something that can only grow over a long period of time and on the other side of hardship.

Without being tested, one cannot know the limits of love. What seems like love could be the shallow reflection of a puddle, which has a certain romantic appeal but once disturbed quickly evaporates. But long-lasting, committed love contains untold depths. A lifetime is far insufficient to explore it, to catalogue or comprehend its wonders. Even in a roiling, turbulent storm, the sea nurtures legions underneath the surface whose wellbeing is undisturbed by the passing tempest. And no, I’m not talking about a cat anymore.

You Are Not a Cat

One of my other favorite observations about Quigley relates to his attachment style and his lack of exposure to trauma. Quigley never knew mistreatment. For not knowing better, he trusted every single person he ever met. As a result, he went through life with an incredible kind of pre-Fall, Garden-of-Edenesque posture. When the doorbell rang, Quigley ran to greet the visitor, regardless of whether he had met them or not. Generous with his affection, Quigley made fast friends with nearly everyone. 

And in those rare cases when a person was allergic to or detested cats, Quigley was unbothered. He never took it personally; those people never seemed to discourage Quigley from befriending the next visitor.

Quigley greeting one of my wife's students

Quigley’s style was quite different from my sister-in-law’s cats, Penny and Pippa, who tragically experienced abuse as kittens, which also happens to be when both feline and human brains develop the template for how to engage in relationships. My sister-in-law adopted these kittens, rescuing them from their abusers, but the effects of their abuse will be obvious lifelong.

Although my sister-in-law entertains many visitors, few of them have ever laid eyes on her cats. If a visitor stays long enough and quiet enough, one of the elusive creatures may slink by, hissing along the way. Only a couple of her visitors have stayed long enough to touch the braver of the pair, Penny, but even in so doing, Penny’s response makes clear her persistent antisocial preference.

While these cats for me represent the far end of the traumatized feline spectrum, there is reason for hope. Do they experience far more maladaptive anxiety, fear, and avoidance than Quigley? Unquestionably. But the vast majority of their sheltered life is still filled with healthy relationships with one another and with my sister-in-law, with whom they are very affectionate. Even people who have experienced a great deal of trauma can enjoy healthy bonds. Furthermore, I believe Penny and Pippa could undergo an intensive therapy program where through enough treatment, their trauma responses could be deconditioned and they could learn to rewire their template for humans, instead coming to a default of trust. For these cats, though, it would take a ridiculous amount of time and resources.

The good news is, you are not a cat. You have access to a different layer of skills. A cat is motivated by base instincts that make reprogramming difficult because the cat does not “want” to get better. A person, however, has access to faith, hope, and reason. Your desire to get better is powerful, and your ability to suspend disbelief so you can try something uncomfortable but good can make all the difference. You can see the long-term goal, and this can motivate you to much faster progress.

You might find the utopian description of my cat unrealistic for a person, especially if you don’t feel about people the way Quigley did. However, essentially what I’m describing in him is referred to in my field as “secure attachment,” and it is possible in people. I believe it is even possible to rewire your brain so you can experience secure attachment even if it is not the attachment style you currently tend toward.

It is possible to learn not to be governed by your anxieties and to increasingly shift your default to a healthy trust. It is possible to go through life more like Quigley and less like Penny and Pippa. And you do not have to be oblivious like Quigley, who would have lasted two seconds out in the wild. You can be intelligent and wise enough to not be disproportionately taken advantage of but free enough to enjoy relationships and feel a general sense of peace, wise as a serpent and gentle as a dove (Matthew 10:16).

Thank God you are not a cat.

May God lead you to deeper, better relationships with others, with Him, and with yourself. May you relish the strength God has given you and feel the inner warmth of his loving care as you face the tempest of growth with determined grin. May God whisper untold blessings in the very fire of the crucible. May your hard-won sanctification bring Him echoing glory. And may the space between those echoes be the quiet peace and rest of a soul that has toiled valiantly for magnificent cause.

In loving memory of Quigley (2010-2025).