How Strong Is Strong Enough? Relational Strength, Part 1 of 3
For several years, my former supervisor would stop by toward the end of the budget cycle and point out that I had a hundred dollars left on the books and media line. “Use it or lose it.” Nice. So I’d order three books for the bookshelf, things I could hand to clients, things that made me better at my job. It was sweet, though I didn’t always understand forcing budget items I didn’t always need.
Then came a January. New year, new resolutions, and a prospective client who asked to meet with a trainer at 8 pm. My supervisor knew I often had 6 am clients and young kids at home. He told me to take the client anyway. I said no, then replied to the client the same way.
The next day, my supervisor stood in my doorway and looked at my bookshelf. I felt it coming. My arms were crossed, and I leaned back in my chair. Here we go. I wasn’t wondering what he was going to say. I was bracing.
He noted how generous the city had been to me over the years … all those books. One hand came uncrossed, signaling, “Do what?” I didn’t say a word. But I knew he was counting, keeping score. Look what we’ve given you, and you won’t take this one client.
That’s the sort of conversation I would chew on, coming up with four different replies I’d eventually swallow. I was still lifting that one at 5 am the next day.
Here’s what I’ve learned since. Most of what we call relational strength isn’t about moving the resistance, or using force, the way strength is usually defined. It’s about questioning whether the resistance is real.
“The only real weights in the gym,” I often tell my athletes, “are the barbells, the dumbbells, and the kettlebells.” Barbells are honest. A hundred pounds is a hundred pounds. The tension in a room is not honest. Half of it is projection. My supervisor often complained about his own boss’s unrealistic demands on his time, especially on weekends. Some of it is a bad week on the other guy’s end. And the part that’s real usually can’t be moved by force anyway.
And notice my arms crossed, leaning back … already bracing before the conversation began. I didn’t take the time to discern between a load that was there and a load I brought with me. Those conversations rarely go well.
What Was Missing?
Aristotle said the friendships that last aren’t the useful ones or the pleasant ones. Those dissolve the moment the use or the pleasure does. The ones that hold are between people who want what’s good for each other. C.S. Lewis added a picture I love: friends stand side by side, looking at the same thing, something outside the two of them. Some have called this the transcendent third.
Blessed Fulton Sheen wrote about this. He taught that it takes Three to Get Married. Christ is the transcendent third, and He keeps a couple’s gaze pointed in the same direction.
But we need more than the vision. Often we need the effort to find and embrace the transcendent in our relationships.
Zacchaeus was short. He was going to miss the entire parade, including the guest of honor. So what did he do? A grown man in a big crowd, he climbed a sycamore tree. Undignified, awkward, in front of everybody. He did something about it. He climbed for a better view. He came down with a dinner guest.
“Zacchaeus, hurry and come down, for I must stay at your house today.” (Luke 19:5)
That’s the part nobody wants to hear. Relationships take effort, and usually physical, inconvenient, slightly embarrassing effort. The drive across town. The meeting you could have handled by email. The climb.
Fortunately, in some places we’re set up for success, or at least for less effort. Notice how a church is built. You may come in from the parking lot still talking, still facing each other, maybe still disagreeing. Then you find your pew and sit down, and suddenly you’re both facing the same direction: the altar, the crucifix. Nobody sits in a circle. The altar, the tabernacle, the promise of Christ turns you. It focuses you outward and inward, but not at your neighbor.
That afternoon, my supervisor and I were face to face, across a bookshelf. That part may have been OK. Eye contact is how people connect. What was missing was anything above us. Neither of us was looking at the work, or at the people we were both there to serve. Just each other, and a hundred dollars a year in books.
So before the hard conversation, breathe. Say a prayer, for the other person too. Actually smile, with your face. Then go sit across from him, look him in the eye, and keep in mind the transcendent third, the vision bigger than both of you.
Telling signal from noise is key in any business or relationship. The text, the rumination, the replies you write at 5 am: that’s noise.
Signal is two people in a room, eye to eye, looking at the same thing above them.