Jen had never known what it feels like to become the villain in someone else’s story. When she found herself on the outside of a community she had come to serve, she had to navigate the unfamiliar territory of being misunderstood, betrayed, and afraid. Her story explores what it means to become known, to believe the best about people who see you differently, and to let conflict become an incubator for our own formation.

Mending Divides is a production of Global Immersion.

Hosted by Jer Swigart

Produced by Andrew Brumme

Audio post-production by Great Feeling Studios

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As misunderstandings mounted, she found herself cast as the villain in someone else's narrative and faced a difficult choice. After her story, Jen and I are gonna explore what it means to remain curious when conflict tempts us towards certainty. Here's Jen. I grew up in conservative evangelicalism, and I thrived in that environment.

That was brand-new information for me. And then Barack Obama came on the scene, and he was a guy talking about getting out of the war in Iraq and getting healthcare for everyone, especially little kids, and that seemed interesting to me. So for the first time in my life, there was a candidate I was paying attention to.

I wasn't campaigning. I didn't make phone calls. I didn't go to rallies. I just found a guy who seemed like someone that I actually wanted to be president, instead of just ignoring politics altogether, as I'd done for most of my life at this point

It sounded like a good fit for me. It's weird, I can't explain it, but as we talked, by the time we hung up the phone, I knew that I would be moving to do this job. I hadn't interviewed, I hadn't been given a job offer. I was kind of only barely asked to consider it, but I knew it was gonna happen.

Not long after I interviewed, I was indeed offered the job, started packing up my life to move to this camp literally in the middle of nowhere

And she said, "No, th- this is not a problem at all. You'll be fine." Turns out she was incorrect

The program that I moved there to work with was in a lodge at the top of a hill about a mile removed from most of what was happening at camp. My house was behind that lodge, and so I felt like I was pretty anonymous at the camp, just up on the hill doing my job, head down. As I'd drive in and out of camp, people noticed that my car had a bumper sticker on it and had some questions and had some concerns.

Bob didn't love my car with my bumper sticker as he looked out his window, but I didn't find this out till much later. So a month or two after Bob, the board member, was with us, after a meeting, as an aside, my friend said to me, "Hey, if they fire you, you should sue And I said, "What do you mean if they fire me?"

They felt that maybe I was influencing students, that I was a threat to the camp and the culture and the community, and this was new territory for me. I have never known anyone to consider me a threat. The best way I can describe it is that trick in a movie where things zoom in and zoom out at the same time, and you get disoriented.

Everyone had a story they were telling themselves about me, and it was so hard for me. That story wasn't true. I was solidly on the outside

As I began to emerge from the shell shock and started learning more about what was actually happening, I heard that the board was having conversations with the executive director of the camp of a situation that needed to be handled in my program. That was the polite way of saying, "Fire Jen." The executive director, to his great credit, would clarify and say to the board, "Are you suggesting I fire someone because of the way she votes?"

He got fired because he would not fire me. He did not take care of the situation the way the board had wanted Just a couple months after that, the friend that called me up and offered the job and brought me to the camp resigned with the threat of being fired. So here I am, less than a year after I moved to this camp, and I am feeling more alone and unknown than I have felt maybe ever in my life.

I told them, "When I come to cry on your couch, give me two days. I get a weekend, but then you have to send me back because I still feel like pretty certainly this is where I'm supposed to be, even if it's not where I want to be at all

I had a lot of impulses. Maybe the strongest one was to just leave. Everybody will be happier if I just leave. Sometimes I wanted to blow it all up, to talk to newspapers and tell my story in ways that would really be harmful to the camp. Sometimes I just wanted to stand on a soapbox in the middle of camp and defend myself and explain to people that I am not a threat.

I am not harmful. Go to a board meeting and, you know, have Sister Souljah moment of like, "This is what truth is."

But don't worry, I'll order more. And then I did, and put another one on my car and handed a few out to my friends for their work trucks. So as the pressure was building, social media became one of the pressure release valves. At some point, though, I decided to stay, and I really wrestled with how do I move forward?

What is the actual problem here? And where I landed, it seemed like this was a problem of me not being known, and so I needed to become known

Some of them really did think I was great and liked me and got to know me as they saw, oh, I actually do have a face that belongs here. And some of them never really understood me. So it was a mixed bag

In the spring, the camp would have a big offsite staff retreat, and it was really hard 'cause the director had been let go a few months before, and my friend was about to resign, and it just felt a little shell-shocked at this retreat. But the retreat ends with communion, and the communion is served to us by the board.

I turned to my row of friends and said, "Hey, pray for me. I'm about to go talk to Bob." And they looked at me with big eyes and dropped jaws, and I was up and out of my seat before they could convince me not to

And Bob was caught off guard and said, "Oh, well, you know, that really isn't the board's place to talk directly to staff members about concerns." I said, "Okay, well, I understand that, but I was hoping we could talk now and maybe clear the air a little bit." And Bob, to his credit, said yes. He didn't push me off.

He didn't hide behind protocol. He didn't dismiss me, which was great. And in the hallway, we had a conversation that got a little heated at times because Bob had some strong opinions about Obama, and I was able to address some of those concerns. I told Bob that I wanted to assure him that I wasn't trying to campaign or advocate for anyone, and Bob responded with, "Yes, I know.

It was still a conservative camp, and I was still an outsider in my views

But choosing to stay and intentionally engaging in the community allowed me to love this community for what it was and allowed them to love me for who I am also

And much like they became whole people that could be good and bad and just human, I became a whole person to them that could be good and bad and just human. And in the end, I left on my own terms, and I didn't get fired. This experience did leave me a little battle-wounded and shell-shocked. I've had to go through counseling and recovery and different ways of processing my relationship to authority and getting back to a place where I am confident in who I am.

So I had to work through what was going on with that, and the fear of that specific type of authority dogged me for years

Conservative Christian spaces are still a challenge, but I walked toward them acknowledging and recognizing my hesitation and woundedness in that, and see that as a strength, not a weakness, to be reminded that they are people who are doing their best to live their faith, and we just don't agree yet on what that looks like, and that's okay.

And that is not how anyone usually chooses to stop doing it wrong. And so I can be in relationship with conservative Christians, and I know the language, and I know the talking points, and I can speak to those.

But that one was made out of paper, so it came off real quick. So I, I do have some bumper stickers. None that would piss off a whole camp

There's some threads that I wanna pull with you, Jen, for all of us as we're thinking about navigating the front lines of similar conflicts in our own lives. I think you gave us such a sacred gift and a story that's really real and it's really relatable. I heard in the very beginning you used the word betrayal, and I mean, the circumstance of course is a bumper sticker and stories are being told about you.

Was that the first time you had ever been made to feel that way? And I'm just wondering, help us understand what that actually felt like for you. How did you navigate that? Yeah, it really was the first time that I was aware that I was the villain in anyone's story. It was a shock to the system of like, "Wait, what is going on?"

I didn't have any skill to be an enemy. Ooh, that's well said, and I think we can all resonate with the unstable ground that that is. You spoke to a couple of folks on your team who really became advocates for you, and I wonder if you can reflect with us around the importance of advocates and how they helped you get your bearings in the midst of that feeling of betrayal.

And that was key. The next one down was the one who made sure that I knew what was going on. Because up until that point, all of these conversations were happening, and I was just blissfully doing my job on the top of a hill, and his advocacy was very much a like, "Hey, I'm gonna shoot straight with you."

Just very quietly, not in any rabble-rousing sort of way, doing the work of letting people know me. Yeah. Wow. I mean, you just gave us three remarkable examples of what it means to be an ally or an advocate, and I think those of us who are listening in, we recognize that we can play any one of those three roles, whether the conflict that we find ourselves in is in an institution, an organization, or it's in a friend group.

And as I'm here in Seattle and have many more friends of color who get overlooked and forgotten in systems, I will jokingly say to them, I'm like, "If you need me to go be a middle-aged white woman at someone, you let me know." And I'm joking, but I'm not joking. I really do have some positional power in this society that I am happy to use on your behalf.

Do not let me not get back in my car and head up the mountain. How did they hold you, and why did you require them to send you back? Yeah. I mean, they were great. As people who knew me, they would remind me of who I am, remind me of the misunderstanding that people were having from me, reminding that outside of that world, there are people who think differently.

And I was like, "Oh, there is a different way to think about this." You know? 'Cause you're hearing the opposite message in the environment that you're in, right, right. Yeah, to the point of, like, "Am I a Christian? Am I a believer?" And so some of it was normalizing who I was. Some of it was hearing my pain and reflecting to me so I could think through all my messy thoughts with them.

But I also, to your s- second point, knew that I didn't wanna run away from this. I didn't wanna leave in the middle of the mess if I didn't have to. Like, if they said, "You're out," there's not much I could do about that. But I didn't want to just bail, and a little bit was stubbornness. Like, I didn't wanna confirm anything they believed about me by peacing out or being irresponsible or any of that.

And I do wonder what it means for us as we continue to navigate the tricky terrain of conflict. What would change for us if we began to acknowledge that with every conflict, though uncomfortable and though costly, is an incubator of our own transformation? You talked a little bit about social media as a pressure release valve for you.

Yeah. I probably would be less petty on social media- ... about decisions that were being made, specifically knowing those decision makers would see these eventually. Yeah, I would probably, much as I do now, have a trusted circle that r- I rely on to say all the petty things to, and be more sincere and direct in my critique to people that needed to hear it.

I, I think it's interesting though too, and, and returning to your refuge, your community of friends, I like the way that you speak of having space to be petty. The way that I hear that at least is in the midst of conflict, I need an environment where I can be incomplete, I can be messy, I can say it wrong.

And the release valve of the petty is so important because otherwise I'm going to hold that in. And for me, it often comes out in sarcasm, and quick barbs, and smug statements. And they let all of that get out of my system, and then remind me, like, "And because of who you are, how are you gonna move forward with this?"

If I'm unknown, I need to be known, and the way I'm gonna do that is I'm gonna find the, like, most powerful church ladies in the area. I'm gonna accept their public invitation And in that space, I'm gonna be winsome and I'm gonna win them over. It's an amazing strategy. I think insightful for all of us that once you identify the problem, get creative and get strategic.

There were a couple that we never really were speaking the same language, and that's okay, but there were a couple who still check in on me to this day, and it's not, like, deep friendship, but we have a lot more in common than I had assumed. And it became a safe enough place for me to be my full self.

Don't receive the gift until you do the work of repair. I think that's amazing. The outcome of this, and you said it didn't magically get better. I feel like sometimes we have this kind of ethereal aspiration around what happens on the other side of resolution. By the way, I think sometimes resolution is as far as we get in the process.

I think often we don't get all the way to reconciliation, where the shalom that has been shattered or the relationship that has been interrupted between us is not only repaired, but our relationship is now stronger and more beautiful than before it was broken. Like, it didn't magically get better. It didn't result in a transformed environment, but it did result in a transforming you, which brings me back to conflict as a dynamic crucible for our own formation.

I'm like, I think without that conversation, I would have always felt like there was a target on my back, like I was just waiting for the shoe to drop, and I would have always felt resentment of being less understood. There would be the bubbling up of, "I need to say my piece." I think the practice of believing the best about Bob and the board is part of what made me able to stay.

There's a seven-year process that continues to incubate your life, your leadership, who you are as a human being. But then in the aftermath of this, you speak in the story about healing that happened and overcoming some fears. Talk to us about the importance of that work, and just briefly, like, what was that like for you, and was it worth it?

And I leaned back in my chair, and the facilitator said, "Jen, why aren't you writing anything?" I'm like, "Well, 'cause I don't wanna forgive them." And it was a very shocking moment to me of like, oh, this work isn't done, and I am still in it, and there are still wounds that need to be healed. I don't just get to put this on a box on a shelf of memories.

And I wrote the names down and really struggled with the next couple of pages. There was a prayer, and I was okay with the first paragraph of letting go of the wrongs done to me, and the second paragraph, it took me several days to be able to read out loud of wanting God's best for them and their flourishing and recognizing their belovedness.

And I said, "Yeah." And then just kept not doing that and was like, "Oh, you- there's still some stuff here that I gotta work through." Yeah, for sure. Amazing then how even in the midst of the hard work, next invitations surface for us parts of the work that have been left untended still. And I think there's so much more to explore with you around that ongoing process of healing and recovering and hopefully the experience of having a board- Yeah.

has been good and has, and hasn't been made just of white men, as I imagine it is not. And so- It is not. It is not ... so good. Hey, two final questions, Jen. As you look back on this experience is if there's one thing that you wish you would have done differently, what do you think it would've been? I don't know the answer to that because it's not not rolling into camp with an Obama sticker on my car, 'cause I still wear...

My last question is, you remained in that space for seven years, and you commented in your story about how though you may not always want to, one of the invitations on your life is to be a companion, to continue to think generously of those who maybe think ideologically or theologically differently than you do.

And so I very intentionally engage in ways that are part of how I process through it. The hardest piece for me is not just needing people to already be there and to have space for that process, to let them be on the first step when I just wanna shake them and say, "Don't you see the harm you're doing on this first step?"

What I appreciate about that, Jen, and what I've witnessed in your life is that you really do create soft landing spaces for people who are in the process of wonder. And I think that's a great gift, and I think people who have been wounded by a particular system and have done the work of healing and transformation become the best guides, the most poignant landing spaces for folk who are then living a similar story.

Um, and in so doing, what a remarkable body of work that you get to offer as a peacemaker. Jen, thank you. Thank you for your story. Thanks for this conversation. I'm learning real time, and I know the rest of us are, too. Yeah. It was so great to dig back in and laugh about the silliness of it, but really recognize, like, there was some deep growth that happened through that.

Thanks for listening. Every story this season reminds us that conflict isn't just something happening around us. It's also revealing something within us. And when we're willing to pay attention, conflict can become one of our greatest teachers. In two weeks, you'll hear Ron's story. As a Black leader stepping into a newly created role at a predominantly white Christian university, he quickly discovered that bridge-building often requires far more courage, patience, and resilience than any job description could ever prepare you for.

Be sure you subscribe to the Mending Divides podcast wherever you listen, and I'll see you in two weeks. The Mending Divides podcast is a production of Global Immersion, produced by Andrew Brumley with audio post-production by Great Feeling Studios. This season is made possible by generous listeners who support Global Immersion's work.

To learn more or become a monthly supporter, visit globalimmerse.org/donate. Thanks for listening.