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Sibling Rivalry

Karen Russell

Family quarrels are bitter things.  They don't go by any rules.  They're not like aches or wounds; they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material.  ~F. Scott Fitzgerald

     A friend of mine says it best:  sisters make for complicated relationships.  My sister and I are very different and agree on very little.  We disagree on politics, religion, child rearing, wallpaper choices and how to cook a turkey, among other things.  Every time my sister and I have an argument, my mother is convinced we will never speak to each other again, and attempts some sort of reconciliation.  When we were small, she would put us side by side on the couch and make us hug each other and say “I love you.”  As punishments go, that one was especially cruel and unusual.  Luckily, her technique has changed over the years, but the results are often as lackluster.  I’ve spent hundreds of hours trying to figure out exactly why my sister and I have such a complicated relationship and am no closer to an answer than I was when I started.  But somehow we muddle through and manage to stay in relationship, regardless of how complicated it gets.  After all, we’re family.

     In the context of family and at our best, our problems with each other fade and we remember that we are part of something that goes beyond our relationship to each other.  Our relationship is not defined by our differences but by the reality of our kinship, which is bigger and more important than either of us individually.  The unity of our family relationship transcends the disunity of our personal relationship.  How?  I have no idea.  It’s a mystery.

    At our worst, however, there are the Thanksgivings ruined by high drama, Christmas dinners spoiled by arguments over things long since forgotten, Sunday afternoons of silent brooding and tears.  It's these times that make our relationship "complicated."

    Christianity creates complicated relationships, too.  Paul told the church in Rome that we are “joint heirs with Christ,” (Romans 8:15) children of God, adopted fully into the family.  As brothers and sisters in Christ, we often find ourselves in places where our relationships can get complicated.  We speak long and often about the “unity” of the church, but looking around, the things that unite us are often obscured by what differentiates us.   Sibling rivalry at its best.  And its worst.

    When you search for “unity” in the Book of Order, the first hits are on “community” rather than “unity.”  In fact, one of the first is “community of diversity.” (Book of Order G 3.0401b)  Another early hit is “opportunity.”  Getting to unity apparently takes both community and opportunity. Who knew?

    But back to that phrase “community of diversity.”  It seemed like one of those paradoxical phrases that meant something to the writer but didn’t really speak to me.  I've read it, heard it, said it hundreds of times without really thinking about it.  But this week, that phrase has been stuck in my head like an ear worm, forcing me to deal with it.   

    As Jesus journeyed toward Jerusalem, accompanied by twelve he had called to go along with him, he watched this group argue, miss the point, disagree, and generally act like siblings at a family dinner.  It’s possible that Jesus could have found twelve people from similar backgrounds, educational experience, religious viewpoint, or occupation but he didn’t.  He had a zealot and a tax collector.  Fishermen and skeptics.  Brothers and betrayers.  Despite all these differences, in John’s gospel one of Jesus’ last prayers was that his followers would be “one”. (John 17:20-23).  Jesus had seen little evidence that once he was gone the twelve would even communicate with each other, but as he prayed in the garden, he asked that these loved ones would know oneness with God and with each other.  That the reality of their kinship would transcend the disunity of their personalities. 

    As it turns out, these followers did achieve a unity that did not include uniformity.  Each went to a different place, ministered in different ways, contributed to the overall spread of the faith and the church, and each died a martyr's death for that faith.  While separated in space and focus, they were united in the need to spread the good news to the world, and echo Jesus' prayer that "the world might know." (John 17:23)  Unity doesn't require uniformity - which circles back to that phrase "community of diversity."  

    I suspect that Jesus knew, without the benefit of a Google search engine, that it takes community and opportunity to get to unity.  We have to spend some time with each other and get to know each other before we can unite.  Unity is unity only when we take the opportunity to display it, otherwise it's simply an abstract concept.  The opportunity for unity can be uncomfortable.  It comes when the tax collector sits down with the zealot.  When the skeptic stays in the room despite the doubt.  When the fishermen leave their boats and nets to join a land journey they don't fully understand.  When we have to sit side by side on a couch and say "I love you" in times those are the hardest words to say, much less believe.  When, despite our differences, we can sit down at table and know we are part of something bigger than our relationship to each other.  When we can be united to spread the good news - united "that the world might know."  

     How does that work? I have no idea.  It's a mystery.

• Posted at 9:02 p.m.
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