I Choose Gentleness

And Sometimes That Means Walking Away

Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near.

— Philippians 4

I have always been a fairly gentle substitute teacher. I sometimes tell students right at the beginning, “I'm not a mean sub. That's not me.” But over the years I've learned to add something to that: “So don't blow it.” My gentleness doesn't mean that anything goes. If a classroom becomes a place where I cannot have a good day, I don't have to return. And sometimes I won't. That isn't a threat so much as an explanation. I choose gentleness. But I also have some responsibility for choosing the situations in which I can remain gentle.

Paul's instruction to the Philippians is wonderfully simple: “Let your gentleness be known to everyone.” Not merely to people who agree with me. Not merely to people who behave themselves. Everyone. Gentleness can seem risky. People may mistake it for weakness or assume that a gentle person can be pushed around. In an age when so much public conversation seems designed to reward outrage, a consistently gentle person can even seem a little suspicious. Surely nobody is really that nice. What are they selling?

But Paul follows his instruction with four remarkable words: “The Lord is near.” Perhaps that's part of what makes gentleness possible. I don't have to win every argument. I don't have to punish every person who is wrong. I don't have to prove my strength by overwhelming somebody else's. The Lord is near. I can speak clearly, disagree firmly and establish boundaries without surrendering myself to anger or contempt.

I've had to think about this particularly in online conversations. Sometimes I encounter something provocative and feel almost obligated to answer. But an exchange can reach a point where the more important question is no longer, Am I right? It becomes: Can I remain gentle here? If I can, perhaps there is value in continuing. If I cannot—if remaining in the conversation is steadily turning me into somebody harsher, angrier or more contemptuous—walking away may not be cowardice. Blocking someone may not be hatred. Sometimes leaving is how I protect the gentleness I have chosen.

The rest of this beautiful passage seems to tell us something about how that gentleness is sustained. Paul speaks about anxiety and prayer, and then tells us to think about whatever is true, honorable, just, pure, pleasing and commendable. Gentleness isn't merely a pleasant expression pasted over an interior volcano. What I continually feed my mind eventually becomes part of what other people experience when they encounter me.

So perhaps gentleness needs a stronger foundation than niceness. It needs boundaries. It needs discernment. It sometimes needs the courage to stay and sometimes the wisdom to leave. “Let your gentleness be known to everyone” does not mean allowing everyone unlimited access to me. It means that, as much as it depends upon me, gentleness is what I want them to encounter while they are there. And underneath that choice are Paul's four quiet words: The Lord is near.

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