"Life's Compromises, Great and Small"

One of the more memorable lines

        from the annals of marriage

                comes from a couple I don't know very well.

They told me that when conflict arises between them,

        he becomes stubborn, rigid 

                and unwilling to yield.

She manages to avert a chilly standoff

        by challenging him to come around,

                saying,

                        "Which do you want – 

                                to be right

                                        or to be married to me?"

 

It works every time.

They've been happily married for years.

I have the impression that she does not resort to this tactic very often.

 

But her bracing challenge is memorable 

        because it rivets attention on the difference 

                between being right

                        and belonging to a relationship.

Belonging to a relationship –

        whether in a marriage or a family,

                a community,

                        or a nation –

                                requires many kinds of give and take.

Relationships thrive on the practice of compromise:

        the possibility that two people, parties or nations

                working together,

                        can find an alternative to victory or defeat.   

Compromise is an instrument of peace.   

 

However we might resist yielding our position

        when we are certain we are right,

                a good compromise often leads us

                        to an even better resolution.

A good compromise imagines outcomes

        that no one person could have argued all alone.

It is work people do together.

Synergy develops 

        and gives back something new and original.

Entering into a compromise 

        moves us onto higher ground together.

 

Yet when it comes to aspects of human character

        we admire and want to emulate,

                the ability to compromise 

                        might not be on the top of the list.

We tend to admire qualities that are consistent,

        unswerving,

                faithful,

                        and true.

We associate strength 

        with being the one who is right

                and able to make the case successfully.

Winning is good

        and losing is bad.

But if you take these admirable characteristics

        and look at them in the context of relationship,

                they lose some of their appeal.

In a family or in a community like this one,

        the ability to yield 

                and to set aside one's own preferences

                        is a strength as well.

Being right becomes less important

        than preserving relationships.

 

I learned to appreciate the value of compromise 

        through life experience.

I used to think that integrity had to do 

        with never yielding one's position,

                and that strength meant always being right.

With a mindset like that,

        I was frequently humbled 

                and reminded of how wrong I could be.

As the humbling incidents and errors accumulated,

        I began to notice something I had not noticed before:

                I learned more from being wrong

                        than I ever had from being right.

 

Learning to accept that others often – 

        more often than not –

                had better ideas than I did

                        has been a transforming growth experience.

I'm sure I have just as much difficulty letting go

        as anyone would,

                but when I do, 

                        I am always glad I did.

This turns out to be true

        whether the compromise involves a home improvement

                or a church policy decision.

When I let go,

        the result only gets better.

 

Have I turned into a weakling?

I don't think so;

        in fact I feel stronger now.

I have shifted my idea

        of what makes us weak

                and what makes us strong.

It takes strength to compromise,

        because we extend ourselves 

                beyond our own immediate interests

                        and place our trust in the relationships we share.

 

Our Unitarian Universalist tradition has always emphasized 

        the value and the power

                of the individual conscience.

Standing up for what you believe is right –

        even when you are all alone,

                surrounded by hostile opposition –

                        represents an ideal 

                                we have sought to preserve

                                        every way we know how.

This is a strength and a legacy of our faith tradition,

        remembered in our predecessors’ praiseworthy struggle

                for civil rights and religious freedom,

                        and work to affirm the inherent worth and dignity

                                of every person.

But standing up for what is right

        is not the same as being right.

Standing up for what is right builds community 

        and leads to wholeness.

Needing to be right only holds us back.

 

What about rights about which 

        there can be no compromise?

While attending a ministers' meeting 

        in Birmingham, Alabama last week,

                I visited the excellent Civil Rights Institute there.

In it were many artifacts of the civil rights movement:

        the actual jail cell where Martin Luther King, Jr., wrote

                his "Letter from Birmingham City Jail,"

                        and inspiring examples of the struggles and courage

                                of the African American people in that time.

One less than inspiring artifact

        was a letter written by the leading clergy of Birmingham

                pleading with local civil rights leaders 

                        not to move too fast 

                                in demonstrating for their demands.

Rather than rallying behind the movement,       

        these ministers were holding it back,

                fearful of the disruption and challenge 

                        a vigorous, public action would present.

Though it was written in the language of compromise,

        what the letter offered was anything but.

It was a poorly disguised attempt

        to undermine and weaken

                the most important social justice movement

                        in our nation’s history.

A good compromise does not ask us 

        to surrender our rights or mute our convictions.

A good compromise is grounded 

        in the equality and commitment of all the participants.

It takes power to yield.

Then the outcome makes everyone stronger.

 

"The rigid will have a tough time,"

        wrote Archbishop Desmond Tutu.

"The flexible, 

        those who are ready to make principled compromises,

                end up being the victors."

How desperately the world needs to apply this truth.

What the people learned in South Africa

        is what people need to learn everywhere.

 

Wherever your sympathies may lean

        in the tragic conflict in the Middle East,

                hope seems to be on the side of compromise,

                        of yielding,

                                of sharing,

                                        and even of forgiving.

As Tutu writes, 

        the goal is to "find ways for all to be winners"

                rather than to fight until all are dead.

Peace is possible

        if enemies can make principled compromises.

 

None of us can do it, however,

        unless we have a vision of the wholeness

                that calls us out of ourselves.

A vision of wholeness – creation, God, human community,

        the common good –

                gives us the power to yield

                        and to hold onto our integrity at the same time.

This vision of wholeness requires the equality

        of all who enter into it.

People cannot make meaningful compromises

        unless they act out of a position of strength and freedom.

 

A vision of wholeness also calls us to look beyond ourselves.

In the children's story I read earlier,

        two rivers argue with each other

                over which one is better.

Nothing stops them from their competition

        until one day they happen to round a bend

                and see where they have been going all along:

                        to a vast and enormous ocean.

"Now you see how foolish you have been

        arguing about who is the best,"

                scolds the cloud.

"There is no highest or lowest.

There is no greatest or least.

All things are one

        and all are joined together

                like rivers in the sea."

 

The vision of wholeness that calls forth a good compromise

        is a vision of something like that ocean,

                a vast and enormous reality to which we all belong,

                        that puts into perspective our petty differences

                                and our sense of our own importance.

When people are locked in a struggle,

        they must look beyond their differences 

                before they can cease fighting.

A vision of wholeness 

        shows us how to transcend ourselves.

With that sense of transcendence comes healing

        and peace.

 

Martin Luther King, Jr., wrote nearly 34 years ago,

"If we are to have peace on earth,

        our loyalties must become ecumenical

                rather than sectional.

Our loyalties must transcend our race,

        our tribe,

                our class,

                        and our nation;

                                and this means we must develop a world perspective.     

No individual can live alone;

        no nation can live alone,

                and as long as we try,

                        the more we are going to have war in this world.

Now we must either learn to live together

        as brothers [and sisters]

                or we are all going to perish together as fools."

 

To live together as brothers and sisters:

        whether in families,

                in communities,

                        or in the world,

                                we must learn how to move beyond our sectional loyalties

                                        towards a sense of the larger whole.

The art of making "principled compromises,"

        as Desmond Tutu called them,

                is the art of building community and making peace.

Here in our church we have many opportunities to practice.

Whether we are considering complex design decisions

        in our building program,

                or scheduling many different events at the same time,

                        the art of compromise keeps us together.

The higher value of community 

        and the wholeness it reflects

                remind us to transcend our differences

                        and to work together on new solutions.

What if there are ways of doing things

        yet to be proposed,

                far more imaginative than we realized,

                        that we can discover by listening to each other?

 

The path of peace begins with the small acts of give and take,

        the compromises people enact

                to stay connected to each other.

From there we learn how to make peace in community,

        by yielding ourselves to a larger sense of wholeness,

                and to a trust in the work we can do together.

If we begin here,

        perhaps our path will lead us 

                wherever peace is needed

                        and the people long to be made whole.

References cited: Desmond Tutu, No Future Without Forgiveness (New York: Random House, 1999);Martin Luther King, Jr., "A Christmas Sermon on Peace," in Testament of Hope,James W. Washington, editor (Harper San Francisco, 1986).