Into the Peace of Wild Things

Thinking Constructively About the Challenges of Legal Practice

“[L]et him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.”

J.R.R. Tolkien

Introduction

Every year, I take a little trip with the family to Colorado to ski. This is a time usually filled with an opportunity to let things slow down a bit before the start of the spring travel and reflect on the testimony of nature. A time, in the words of Wendell Berry, where “I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”

On my recent trip, I noticed something quite remarkable on my morning strolls to the local coffee shop with the sounds of Joshua Burnside. I noticed the purity of the place: a convalescence of nature. But more importantly, I finally understood why. Those who come to ski come prepared to chase an experience where nature, not mankind, is the primary complication. Skiers get up bright and early, seeking to catch the first trip up; strap on an uncomfortable set of boots; attire themselves in heavy underlayers, goggles, and gloves diminishing most of their five senses; and then carry a heavy load of equipment into the blistering cold—all after paying hundreds of dollars to be there. And when they return, their souls are satisfied: the anger they accumulate in their morning ritual is now transmitted from the enemy of flesh to the conquest of ice and rock.

For someone like me, all this brings more struggle than pleasure, especially with ungroomed slopes and moguls. Without the proper conditions, my body begins to give way to fatigue prematurely, and my experience moves from enjoyment to survival. But I do it anyway because in those few moments when I’m comfortable and safe heading down the slopes and seeing the beauty of creation, I feel a purity of ritual devoid of stress and anxiety and, maybe more importantly, devoid of self-awareness.

The Adaptability of Love

On my most recent trip, I was thinking about all this in light of Ephesians 6:12 where Paul tells the church that “we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.” Our fight is not with flesh and blood, it is a fight against the spiritual forces of nature. The mountain, like these forces, is the natural enemy of skiers. When we begin to understand this common enemy, we find ourselves unburdened by the tensions we feel with flesh and blood and enter instead into a kinship of flesh and blood where we can struggle together against the “forces of evil”—robed with righteous armament and common practices, e.g., vigilance, prayer, supplication, proclamation (see Ephesians 6:16-20). It is through struggle and holy habits that we begin to learn the adaptation of necessity. It is through the discomfort of holy growth that we outperform the natural limits of our human condition. We begin to understand that God is a God of movement and repose, and that, as his children, we must learn anew to adapt to the changing landscape through our own labor and rest.

In his new book, Tim Alberta makes this same point writing that “Jesus’s disciples spoke of the need to adapt to their environments and meet people where they were at, instead of forcing every prospective convert into the same box.”^[1] In the practice of law, this often requires a “supernatural” capacity to not only negotiate in good faith with opposing counsel, but also exercise the requisite patience to deal with difficult clients. But as the quote from Alberta makes plain, Christians are called to an adaptive spirit that often requires us to bend toward centers of need^[2] regardless of these divisive notions of “guilt by association” espoused by the Pharisees throughout the Gospels. In his new book, John Inazu writes about the importance of learning to disagree.^[3] And while I’m not sure if his underlying intention was to evidence that process through experience, I think there is an underlying tension of Christian witness that requires us to be among the folks who have little interest in showing up to church on Sunday. In the legal profession, you will inherit a powerful place in the social order whereby your time might become a prized possession, but remember the words of Christ to his disciples after his humiliation: “a messenger [is not] greater than the one who sent him” (John 13:16).

In fact, it was in this context of John 13 that we find Christ offering a powerful demonstration of His command to love one’s enemies.^[4] Not only did He condescend to the practice of lowly servants by washing the feet of enemies and friends alike, but He did it in spite of cultural expectation imposed by the religious leaders of His day. In performing this task, explains Andreas Köstenberger, Christ superseded the self-imposed limitation on humility that other rabbis would prescribe. That is a powerful model for not only Christian legal ethics, but a boundless and adaptive love that demands of us the duty of divine prerogatives.

Lawyers as Servants

Which brings me to the heart of this article—the need for adaptation within the legal profession given its quarry of ethical concerns and the application of love and service therein. This is a simple idea to embrace a priori of course, but becomes increasingly difficult as the application of virtue to legal practice begins to take its toll on a daily basis. This means that a rooted practice needs to be established early, and students must begin considering the ethical quandaries that might take place in the future as it relates to their faith in practice. Students must be prepared for the arduous girding of Christian practice if they are to have any hope for the application of those habits in times of true testing. Consider today the ways to develop a faithful adaptation so that your witness profoundly speaks of your competence as attorneys and Christians. As Dallas Willards writes, a “successful performance at a moment of crisis rests largely and essentially upon the depths of a self wisely and rigorously prepared in the totality of its being—mind and body.”^[5] No one on the mountain is able to adequately maneuver the requirements of the descent and gravity without first possessing the requisite equipment and skill to adapt to the changing terrain. And while a Christian attorney can expect in moments of trial to escape from time to time so as to not completely lose his witness, none can expect to thrive in those periods of testing in a manner worthy of the calling unless they spend their time prior to those moments in preparation to walk as Jesus walked (1 John 2:6). 

Writing for the St. Mary's Journal on Legal Malpractice & Ethics, trial attorney Nick Badgerow makes an important contribution in his connection between the values of the Christian faith and the role of true professionalism. He does this by looking at the verses in Micah 6:8, Matthew 5:3-11, and Titus 2:7-8 in considering how these values can be manifested in the practice of law. For example, in discussing the role of the peacemaker, Badgerow suggests the practice of discouraging litigation. In discussing Titus, he notes the importance of lawyers modeling good deeds and sound speech. And, in mentioning Micah, he emphasizes the all-important task of prioritizing justice at the forefront of one’s work. Here is how he finalizes his analysis in his concluding remarks: “But above all of these should be the lawyer’s own moral compass, the inherent need to do justice, humbly, meekly, mercifully, and patiently. In this way, a lawyer can be a true professional.” A true professional—this a wonderful phrase that speaks to the underlying ethics of the legal profession and the objective worth that accompanies the privilege of practice.

Given the disconnect so often between the demands and actualities of the Christian life, it is important to start to think about these issues early and often. And perhaps no one has thought about this topic more in the recent years than Robert F. Cochran, whose new book marks the passage of that time and the distillation of his journey. Writing in The Servant Lawyer, Cochran offers a prolonged examination of the Christian life in the law, picking up where others like Tom Schaffer and Mike Schutt have left off in their advice on how to properly position the courthouse from the steps of the church. In relation to the discussion above, I drew three interesting lessons from the book.

The first is akin to the advice I provide in my earlier piece regarding the need for creativity in our work. Cochran writes that “wise lawyers will be creative lawyers and may need to look beyond the usual paths of the legal system for resolution of a problem.”^[6] Especially in the business of finding justice, the system itself could be manufacturing unjust results and needs to be remedied or circumvented. The very process by which man represents man is oftentimes the very impediment that facilities our ability to see our clients through instrumental lenses. In this instance, there is little that could be done by mere human habits. Adaptation to the work is a two-way street whereby those of us out of practice will often let the conditions of our work transform us into creative vessels of wrath instead of justice. We become immune to the consequences of our indifference to love our neighbor as ourselves. This is where divine design takes hold in our creative capacity as God’s creatures. We are able in moments of habitual decline to return to a semblance of spiritual order by recommitting ourselves to the path of faith and utilizing that newness into a creative effort toward finding justice. In prayer, solitude, and study, we are able to readapt our lifestyle toward sanctified patterns and, in turn, plug into the wisdom of God in facing the conditions consistent with our fallen nature.

As part of the first, the second interesting lesson from Cochran is the balance between reflection and aggression. Writing in his chapter on lawyers as advocates and peacemakers, he makes this point: “Scripture itself suggests that there may be a place for deception in some cases.”^[7] Offering a number of examples of shrewdness personified (e.g., Exodus 1:17-21, 1 Kings 3:27), he notes the important balance between innocence and deception in the legal practice. Notably, it is in this conversation that he also discusses the need to temper vengeance and litigation with the call toward reconciliation and peace. Quoting from Abraham Lincoln, he writes that as peacemakers, “the lawyer has a superior opportunity of being a good man.”^[8] I really appreciate this section from Cochran because it provides a much need jolt to the normalcy that law students are often made to believe define legal practice. Law practice is difficult and requires a certain type of character and resolve to navigate its many challenges, regardless of the community of Christians that might surround you in the office. It is not a static environment. Things are always happening and, when things appear in repose, there is always the weight of deadlines and expectations that force our movements downhill. It is precisely when we become complacent with our day-to-day practice that we run the greatest risk of committing the Laodicean error (see Revelation 3:14-22) of becoming lukewarm and useless to God (and frankly our employers). In order to ensure our “faithful presence,” we must remain vigilant to the requisite balance of legal practice between action and abstinence. We must invest in our holy calling on a daily basis so as to augment our potential for increasing the aroma of Christ—a scent marked by wisdom and love.

And finally, taking from a John Venn quote, Cochran does well to emphasize the importance of a holistic witness in everything we do and say. Namely that “a zeal for works truly Christian” should impact “a man’s whole conduct in every transaction and every place.”^[9] It is not enough that your faith is manifested in isolated pockets of conversation and the occasional time when you are forced to resign from a case that has too many problematic components to your Christian witness. The Christian faith should also be there in the ways you structure your conversations with coworkers and clients with purpose and design. It should be there in the excellence of your draftsmanship of briefs and contracts and the dedication you take in researching matters of law. It should be there in the way you treat opposing counsel and respect the judge by manifesting the requisite integrity to develop a reputation for being a decent and shrewd attorney. It should be there when you interact with building staff, needy folks on the streets, in the corner bakeries where you get your coffee and snacks, and on your commute home dressed in fine linens. You don’t have to be a push over or a bulldozer to practice law, but as Christians you will have to think more constructively and deeply about the ways you carry out your practice.

Conclusion

In the new Dune movie, there is an interesting scene where the Emperor who plotted to kill Duke Leto Atriedes told his son the reason why his father failed: “Your father was a weak man, who believed in the rules of the heart. But the heart is not meant to rule.” Oftentimes, I hear that students are encouraged to enter the legal profession without the pretenses of it being a place conducive for the moral life. That somehow the heart itself is incompatible with the rigors of the adversarial system and that lawyers have to toughen up in order to effectively serve their clients. That is a lie! Nothing about the legal profession requires that you become unconscionable or unfeeling toward your clients and opposing counsels. Nothing in the profession requires that you become sedated to the moral demands of the Christian faith. Nothing in the profession requires that you become imbittered by the slow descent and the challenges of maneuvering the landscape. Yes, it might be more difficult to find that requisite balance, but that trial has always been the promise of the Christian life. James forewarns us of the trials to come and instructs us to embrace those conflicts for the sake of spiritual development.^[10]Peter tells us to rejoice in equal measure to the suffering we endure.^[11] And Paul promises us that this momentary affliction is but the passing of our moral coils into the eternal rest.^[12] But more than that, we are also instructed to gird our loins for spiritual combat. And we have another verse that speaks to the type of habits that we should develop early in our career.

In an article from 2020, scientists describe this thing called the “inner dialogue” that some people have during the day. It is essentially a conversation that you have with yourself that could have the positive effect, according to psychology professor Russell Hurlburt, of creating a sequential plan and solving logical problems. Think about this in light of 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, which instructs us to “[r]ejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” Whatever Paul means with his words of unceasing, he doesn't mean for this instruction to be so all-consuming that your stewardship goes unmet. What makes more sense to me is this idea of having an incessant inner dialogue with God as you go about your day in preparation for the trials and victories therein. Not only in constant conversation, but also invoking the goodness and memory of God that keeps your steps aligned with divine will. It is the inner conversation that I have when I go down the mountains of Vail telling myself “Don’t fall, focus on your turns, be mindful of the crowd downhill.” Writing in his commentary on Habakkuk, Heath Thomas helps summarize this idea: “His memory of Yahweh provides the frame by which Habakkuk sees his own context and responds to his situations. His memory of Yahweh becomes the tracks on which his response to the Lord may run.”^[13]

We too should seek to find throughout the day those memory triggers that help align our steps without becoming a nuisance to our working environment. Things that strengthen our internal resolve without disqualifying our witness. Things that help us navigate the challenges of the legal practice and develop the requisite spiritual character required for that context. Alas, embrace the collective challenge so that you can also enjoy those moments of rest at the bottom of the mountain after having squarely attuned your senses to the proper Enemy.

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^[1] Tim Alberta, The Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory 442 (2023).

^[2] See Anton Sorkin, A Theology of Tropism, 12(2) J. Christian Legal Thought 1 (2022), available at https://www.christianlegalsociety.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/12/CLS-Journal-2022-No2-web.pdf.

^[3] John Inazu, Learning to Disagree: The Surprising Path to Navigating Differences with Empathy and Respect (2024). Listen to my conversation with John on the Cross & Gavel podcast.

^[4] See generally Andreas J. Köstenberger, John 400-09 (2004).

^[5] Dallas Willard, The Spirit of the Disciplines 4 (1991).

^[6] Robert F. Cochran Jr., The Servant Lawyer: Facing the Challenges of Christian Faith in Everyday Law Practice 44 (2024).

^[7] Id. at 69.

^[8] Id. at 74.

^[9] Id. at 166.

^[10] James 1:2-12.

^[11] 1 Peter 4:13.

^[12] 2 Corinthians 4:17-18.

^[13] Heath A. Thomas, Habakkuk 150 (2018).

ART WORK:

Caspar David Friedrich (1774-1840), Olof Jernberg (1855-1935)