There is nothing more dangerous than a newly graduated pastor full of ideas. (I say this from personal experience.)

A seminary professor of mine often said, “If you could just get people to believe [insert theological conviction, ministry framework, or other trend here] then it would change everything for your congregation and the world.”

I was naive enough to take them at their word. As you might imagine, all my castles in the sky all experienced quick and unceremonious crash landings. Information didn’t automatically produce transformation.

In climate advocacy, there’s a similar dynamic: the assumption is that if we give people the facts, they will change their lives.

However, merely addressing ignorance has not led to the transformation we believed it would. See: the precipitous environmental backsliding over the last five years in the United States, where this threat has been relegated to just another talking point in the culture wars.

In Outgrowing Modernity, Vanessa Andreotti says this about the facts: we’ve developed excellent resources to solve the wrong challenge. Our challenge is not climate ignorance. It’s climate denial.

She writes:

When dealing with ignorance, presenting new and compelling information is enough to shift behaviors.

However, in cases of denial – where people are actively repressing what they do not want to see or feel – presenting the same information can trigger a range of defensive reactions. These responses include resistance, deflection, avoidance, minimizing the issue, rationalization, projection of blame onto others or even outright aggression.

Now, I see this distinction everywhere.

• “Life is too stressful, I just can’t think about it.” (Avoidance)

• “Doesn’t the Earth’s climate just go in cycles?” (Minimizing)

• “Well, there’s nothing that I can do about it.” (Deflection)

• “Are you telling me I can’t drive my car or run my air conditioner?” (Resistance)

• “But we need fossil fuels to sustain our way of life. You don’t want people to lose their quality of life, do you?” (Rationalization)

• “I didn’t create this problem!” (Projection of Blame onto Others)

The problem is that the strategies most helpful for addressing ignorance actively trigger denial.

Learning to address denial, rather than ignorance, therefore requires that we change the ways that we teach and communicate.

This is a shift from information to formation – from imparting knowledge to the forming of long-term reciprocal relationships that can lead to transformation over time.

What might this look like in practice? Here are five examples from my own experiences:

 

1. Expect to activate people’s defense mechanisms if you’re doing it correctly.

When we receive information that threatens how we fundamentally understand the world and understand ourselves, it is natural to feel uncomfortable, skeptical, or even angry. We should expect that when we invite people to engage with their own denial, they may feel the same way. When we teach, it’s easy for us to assume that the less negative feedback we receive, the better we’re doing. However, if we receive nothing but agreement, then those denial mechanisms are most likely unthreatened and intact.

Engaging denial may mean more difficult group discussions, expressions of anger or anxiety, and perhaps more mixed reviews of our work at the end. All of these could be evidence that what we’re doing is actually working, rather than evidence that something needs to be changed or improved.

This does not mean that we should be thoughtlessly provocative, nor does it mean that all pushback is an expression of denial. Rather, it means that we cannot let people off the hook, even when the questions we’re asking may lead them to dangerous places. It also means that we need to be willing to accompany them through the journey that follows.

 

2. Stay in the struggle.

One of my favorite mottos is “In the struggle is the formation.” Struggle means that we’re actually trying to go somewhere. Transformation is hard, messy work. There are difficult feelings, false starts, and dead ends. There will be periods where the learning journey isn’t fun for anyone.

When that happens, we should rejoice! The most important work will probably be done when the community is struggling the most intensely. Learning how to engage this struggle (and persevere through it) is critical for this type of formation, so we should make sure we’re ready to put on our boots and wade through the muck with the people we’re accompanying.

 

3. Find moments to push and find moments to offer comfort.

Many preachers have heard that their preaching should “comfort the disturb and disturb the comfortable.” The same applies here. Adaptive change talks about this as keeping people in the “productive zone of disequilibrium.”

 

The job of the teacher is to keep people in this zone. If they’re too comfortable, then they won’t change. If they’re pushed past the limits of their tolerance, then their lizard brains kick in and all they can do is fight, deny, or flee.

Part of the work of a teacher is to understand when the group needs to be pushed hard and when a group needs to be offered comfort and respite.

In my experience, this means being genuinely present to the people we’re with. Sometimes it means loving them enough to push them past their easy answers. Sometimes it means taking time to celebrate and affirm the progress they’ve made, no matter how partial. Sometimes it means taking a breath for community, or to offer mutual support, or to simply cry together. There’s no script for this type of work, which is why it involves presence, steadfastness, and deep listening.

4. Use rituals to name grief, anger, and lament.

Difficult emotions are our friends, not obstacles. Research compellingly suggests that challenging emotions – such as grief, anxiety, and anger can all be powerful motivations for engagement. They are also natural, healthy responses to the cascading crises that we are experiencing.

Even the simplest opportunities to name and share grief can help people confront their own denial.

An executive director once told me the story of a high-stakes event gone awry, with many bad feelings all around for the staff. They didn’t have time to sit down and “talk it out.” Instead, he invited everyone to write their feelings and experiences on scraps of paper. They took them and burnt them in a fire as a sign of mutual release. That simple event allowed them to name their experience, let go of resentments, and move forward in a sense of shared purpose.

5. Release faith in easy fixes, and claim the resources you already possess.

No one is coming to save us. There are no easy fixes. We cannot put our trust in brilliant innovators, forward-thinking government policies, or the steady march of progress.

Engaging denial means releasing our faith in denial-reinforcing cultural narratives. It also means understanding that we are not helpless and therefore we are also responsible. Engaging denial means teaching people to look first to their own resources: their religious traditions, the places where they live, and what they already do well.

It means helping them understand that this is where the work begins – not with another expert, but with themselves. In the words of Wendell Berry, “All that we need is here.”

If our task is to engage denial, then there is no single idea that will change the world. This should bring us comfort. We don’t have to have the answers, we just have to accompany people through the process of transformation. That work may be far messier, but it’s far more attainable. Your ability to sit with discomfort, be present in the midst of anxiety and questions, and accompany others with sensitivity matter much more than your command of “the facts.”

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About the author, Ben Yosua-Davis

Ben Yosua-Davis serves on The BTS Center staff team as Director of Applied Research, where he shapes the organization’s posture of “rigorous and reverent curiosity,” focused on research that supports and shares the wisdom of on-the-ground practitioners working in a climate-changed world. He is a graduate of Drew Theological Seminary and Colby College. Previously, he lived in Haverhill, MA, where he co-planted a new church called The Vine, one of the earliest mainline missional church expressions in the country, and hosted a podcast entitled, “Reports From the Spiritual Frontier,” which chronicled the day-to-day lives of leaders innovating new forms of spiritual community. Ben is a Maine native and now lives on Chebeague Island, Maine with his wife, Melissa, his son Michael, and his daughters, Genevieve and Emeline; where he directs the community chorus and delivers tins of cookies to unsuspecting neighbors.