Article
Change
Generosity
7 min read

What a campfire encounter teaches about making enemies and building empathy

Crossing divides in the most unexpected circumstances, Jer Swigart shares an extraordinary encounter that brought questions about friends, enemies and how far his empathy could stretch.

Jer Swigart is the co-founder of Global Immersion, a peace-making training organization in North America. He is a Senior Fellow of the Dietrich Bonhoeffer Institute.

a group of people crowd round a campfire backlighting them in silhouette.
Around a campfire.
Joris Voeten on Unsplash

This article was first published on the Difference blog of the Reconciliation Leaders Network. The network was established as part of the Archbishop of Canterbury’s Reconciliation Ministry.   

In her book, Shalom Sistas: Living Wholeheartedly in a Broken World, my dear friend, and peacemaking conspirator, Osheta Moore defines enemy as anyone or any group that exists beyond the reach of my empathy. 

I don’t like the idea that I have enemies. I prefer to congratulate myself for crossing divides into transforming relationships with those who have been marginalized by power. I certainly don’t like her suggestion that there are people or groups of people that exist beyond the reach of my empathy. For it asserts that I play a role in constructing my enemies and that, as john a. powell argues, my “circle of human concern” is far too small.  

Not long ago, I was confronted by both my expertise in constructing enemies and the limit of my empathy’s reach. 

I had been shot twice by non-lethal rounds while holding a non-violent line between protestors and law enforcement. 

It was the early months of the COVID-19 pandemic and a time saturated with upheaval. Migrant and refugee communities were disproportionately impacted by the pandemic. The Black lives of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd had been prematurely extinguished by White vigilantes and law enforcement. A next racial revolution was at hand, and I was privileged to be a part of political advocacy efforts, direct non-violent action, and creative civil disobedience. I had been shot twice by non-lethal rounds while holding a non-violent line between protestors and law enforcement with fellow clergy, giving me a tangible experience of absorbing state-sanctioned violence on behalf of those who have been for generations.  In local protests, White militia groups would regularly descend in acts of intimidation with diesel trucks, offensive flags, and guns. 

While I was contending with those disadvantaged by inequitable uses of power, I didn’t realize that I was fabricating a new enemy. 

After months of this, I and my family were fatigued and in dire need of a change of scenery. So, we loaded up our camper and embarked upon an off-the-grid adventure in the wild wonderland that is U.S. America’s Pacific Northwest. We set up camp next to a high-alpine lake and were thrilled to have the entire place to ourselves. My enthusiasm waned as the sound of a diesel engine drew near to our camp. My joy evaporated when an enormous truck towing a camper trailer, stickered with brash political statements, parked right next to us

In my mind, our tranquility had been invaded by folks of the other political persuasion who clearly had no regard for the unknown dangers of COVID-19. Without even seeing their faces, I concluded that these were the ones who stood on the side of the very injustice I was fighting against. 

In my daughter’s mind, we had some new neighbors to build relationships with. 

For hours, the five of them built friendships while I deepened my fabricated narrative about who these people were and why they were parked right next to us. 

Within moments, she introduced herself and volunteered to organize a water adventure with her brothers and their two kids. For hours, the five of them built friendships while I deepened my fabricated narrative about who these people were and why they were parked right next to us

I’d like to say that we crossed over to their camp and introduced ourselves, but I can’t. Rather, it was the two adults from their camp that crossed over to ours. They wanted to meet the parents of the extraordinary young woman who lived with such relational intention. 

As they drew near, my fabrications seemed to be confirmed. Both of them wore t-shirts plastered with American flags, guns, and imagery that boasted their preference for law enforcement over Black lives. His and her lower lips bulged with wads of tobacco and they both wore handguns on their hips. They introduced themselves and proceeded to rave about my daughter…which softened my heart toward them. 

While in conversation, I could sense that he was evaluating my camp. Eventually, he shared his two observations. First, he saw my bow. I had recently taken up archery with the intention of learning how to hunt for elk in the forests of my homeland. I liked the idea of ethically harvesting meat for my family and knew that I needed a lot of practice in order to be successful. I had brought my bow with me so that I could practice and he indicated that he had brought his bow as well. Second, he saw that I had an insignificant amount of firewood for the length of time we’d be camping. With a grin, he declared that he hadn’t brought any firewood. Then, after motioning to the fallen trees around us, mentioned that he had a chainsaw instead. 

I invited him to shoot his bow with me. He offered to cut more firewood for us. A nominal invitation and the offer of generosity sparked an uncommon friendship that is transforming me. 

Our families spent the weekend together, sharing meals, extended fireside conversations, and wilderness adventures. We shot arrows at targets and I heard tales of his elk-hunting adventures. At the conclusion of our not-so-solitary camping trip, I asked him if he’d be willing to teach me how to hunt elk. He responded with an emphatic “Yes!” and invited me to join him in the woods one month from then. 

Thirty days later, the two of us met in what seemed to be the fusion of a mythical jungle with a magical pine forest. It was dark and steep and the brush was impossibly thick. For hours, we hiked together up and down mountains: he was the teacher, and I was the student. That evening we found ourselves around another fire, preparing our food together yet again. 

With our meal plated, he opened our next conversation with this: “So, I’ve been researching you online.” He proceeded to share with me that he had seen images of me in protests and war zones, with political leaders, movement leaders, and faith leaders. He had read many of my reflections about peace and justice and saw that I had even written a book about it. He closed with, “I gotta know. What are you?! FBI? CIA?” 

I didn’t perceive his question as a threat, but rather, as a next invitation.

After a good laugh, I explained more about who I am, what I do, why I do it, and how my faith is the fuel behind all of it. As I did, it dawned on him that I represented those on the other side of his political and ideological persuasion. At one point he leaned back from the fire, his 9mm pistol glistening with its reflection, and declared to me that he was an avowed Three Percenter

In the U.S., Three Percenter is a term utilized by White militia groups based on the myth that only three percent of settlers were willing to pick up arms and fight for independence during the Revolutionary War. It is a designation for those who are willing to pick up arms again when they sense that their rights and advantages are being tread upon. 

After his declaration, he asked, “Is that going to be a problem?” 

I didn’t perceive his question as a threat, but rather, as a next invitation. I understood him as wondering aloud if the divide between his ideology and mine was too expansive for us to continue building a friendship. 

I responded with this: “Your convictions and the way they shape your life are different from my convictions and the way they shape mine. Yet I sense that we both wonder if bridging the gap between us into a friendship is better than remaining enemies on opposite sides. For us to do so would likely make ours among the most uncommon friendships in the Pacific Northwest. I’m in if you are.” 

With a nod, he leaned back in and we finished our dinner, reflecting on all that we had experienced that day. With the rise of the sun, we were back on the trails, but the conversation had shifted. He began to open up his life to me with surprising vulnerability and I did the same. We began to recognize that what we shared in common far outweighed our differences. As the miles grew, so too did the reach of my empathy. 

Three years later, our friendship continues to deepen and it’s transforming me. I find myself reflecting frequently on Jesus’ revolutionary teaching on enemy-love. I’m inspired by the notion that Jesus was the only one who ever took us beyond convenient understandings of neighbor-love to love of enemy. I’m learning that in order to love my enemy, I must first understand my enemy. To do so requires that I confess my efficiency at fabricating enemies, lament the limits of my empathy, and dare to cross over any divide equipped with curiosity and compassion.

Article
Attention
Change
Community
Loneliness
6 min read

Take some risks, invest in your friends

At the other side of risk is a precious thing: the overcoming of distance.

Tom is a physician and completing a theology doctorate. 

Three friends in the street laugh together.
Jed Villejo on Unsplash.

In the year 2000, political scientist Robert D. Putnam published Bowling Alone. Putnam analysed the decline of “social capital” in America, observing that relational networks, community involvement, and civic engagement were all waning. Why “bowling”? Well, for Putnam, the decline of involvement in bowling leagues was representative of his findings. It served as a microcosm of a bigger picture—the broad downtrend in social engagement. 

What of “social capital” in 2025? Everything, it appears, is different. The arrival of the online ecosphere has reframed how “social” is best understood. We are more “connected” than ever. Indeed, the proportion of society attached to a virtual social network, I suspect, outstrips the proportion of society involved in bowling (or other) leagues at their peak. And even in the short history of the world wide web, the nature of social engagement has developed at breakneck speed. A once revolutionary platform for connecting with past pals from school (remember “Friends Reunited”?) now seems prehistoric. We can “connect” in ways that no bowling league could ever have manufactured. Today, the array of relational possibilities is endless. Awaiting your acquaintance are inert artificial friends, with whom—we’re assured—“You can form an actual emotional connection.” Yes, the Replika app offers virtual companions “for anyone who wants a friend with no judgment, drama, or social anxiety involved.” 

What counts as “social” has expanded beyond measure since the year 2000. No doubt Putnam’s book would look different were it released today. But has the tide of social engagement really turned? 

The bond of friendship is precious. And, like many precious things, it is hard-won.  

Does today’s social mindset encourage us to pursue relationships marked by depth, confidence, nearness? The digital realm makes it extremely difficult not to treat connection as a commodity, more a product in the marketplace of life than a good to be pursued for its own worth. It generates a fantasy of risk-free relationships. “If a friendship isn’t working out, leave it; there’s always another one available”—one without “drama”, as the wisdom of Replika would have it. The measure of a good relationship here is not the strength of the bond itself. Such ties are a means to another end. Perhaps how well the relationship serves individual interests or meets personal preferences. And if we swallow this kind of “you do you” pill whole, we shouldn’t be surprised if our basic assumption is that people do not belong together but apart. 

When friendship becomes a commodity, enduring friendship is nothing short of a miracle. We are all too changeable for consumer relationships to last. Our preferences change. Our life-stages change. Once upon a time, lasting non-romantic bonds were perhaps a more given feature of life. When lifelong relationships and local community overlapped far more, the troughs of friendships were less easy to avoid but had to be faced. It wasn’t so easy to dodge “drama” and move on. But if today’s online social realm shapes our expectations of relationships, the long road of friendship becomes—unsurprisingly—uninviting. Seemingly viable alternatives to our present friends are always available. Indeed, if the “you do you” mantra holds, friendship most likely will not. Or at least not of the precious kind. 

Recently, Sheridan Voysey launched the Friendship Lab. Its aim? To make friendships thrive. Voysey, an author and broadcaster, has developed this new resource alongside a team that includes academics in psychology, law, and statistics. The Lab offers both live and on-demand courses to equip individuals and friends with wisdom and skills for fostering reciprocity and deepening connection. The Friendship Lab is Voysey’s answer to a question he asked himself: "Who can you call at 2am when everything has gone wrong?" Hence, its mission: “to see every adult have at least three 2am friends.” 

The Friendship Lab is on to something important. I suspect that something is, at least in part, that friendships require perseverance

In friendship, it takes time to be understood and to understand. We are all so remarkably complex. Our pasts are so multifaceted. There is no straightforward access to another person. No algorithm can achieve it. No personality test can name it. The deep roots of a relationship are established in attention and commitment. They are reinformed through loyalty and perseverance. The resources provided by the Lab point to the fact that friendships form over time. Like a muscle strengthened through repeated use, they are shaped by practices. Developing connection is more like slowly sculpting clay than sharing in a series of transactions.

At the other side of risk is a precious thing: the overcoming of distance. That precious feeling of being at ease. Unguarded and unafraid

This leads to something important: on its own, perseverance is not enough. Something else should be named if friendships are to thrive and last. And it is less common: risk. 

The bond of friendship always involves risk. Friendship is hard-won because it is risky. To let one’s guard down is a step into the unknown, a “drama” that can never be neatly calculated, because we can never know the outcome. And it is a particular kind of risk: the risk of making oneself vulnerable. Of exposing our hopes and fears, our wounds and weaknesses. Or facing these in others. And of course, we are all so aware of what can go wrong. Sometimes putting yourself out there results not in depth but in misunderstanding or, perhaps, rejection. And to be rejected in one’s vulnerability can be humiliating, even devastating. 

But the bond of friendship is established in these daring footsteps of risk. Friendship does not take shape by side-stepping risk but by taking the road through it—a road not free from but marked by missteps and disappointments.  

Yet such steps are not an end in themselves. They lead to a place that addresses a deeper longing—the ache for connection. At the other side of risk is a precious thing: the overcoming of distance. That precious feeling of being at ease. Unguarded and unafraid. The knowledge that you’re in safe hands.  

In an age where seemingly risk-free alternative connections are available, who would dare to take these steps? Some ancient wisdom might be needed here most of all. 

Around 30AD, a man called Jesus of Nazareth walked the road to hard-won friendship like no other. One of his followers described Jesus’ life as one of commitment to his companions “to the end.” Whilst Jesus’ profound teaching and demonstration of love often gets plenty of attention, there is something precious to be mined here. 

Risk and perseverance belonged to Jesus’ life. The risk of misunderstanding and of rejection—both of which he experienced at the hands of those closest to him. He was not immune to these. In fact, what it meant for Jesus to persevere in his commitment to his followers was for him to endure their abandonment of him. They modelled the opposite of friendship. But Jesus’ risk-taking perseverance knew no limit. It led him all the way to death. It persevered through the failure of his friends to reciprocate to the end. This is why it is just so startling that, in rising from the dead, Jesus says to his followers: “no longer do I call you servants… I have called you my friends.” 

If Jesus has walked the ultimate road of befriending us human beings “to the end”, could looking to this source unlock friendship in a new way today? 

There is a woman in the church community I’m part of who was once asked: “why are you part of this church?” Her answer: “I decided to come here.” She is in her eighties and has been part of that community for decades. I envy the simple sense of risk-taking perseverance in her approach. She is not side-stepping the “drama”—the inevitable missteps that belong to life with others. I do not belong to a generation or an age that puts a premium on risk-taking perseverance “to the end” in friendships. But another look at ancient wisdom might give us just the freedom to do so. And if the road to deep connection goes via some kind of “judgement, drama, or social anxiety” then I, for one, am all in. 

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