Posts Tagged ‘leadership’
In recent months, we’ve been trying on a unique shape of community, one discerned over years of prayer and practice. It’s been good … but recently, I’ve experienced an awkward kind of tension in meetings (and not for the first time). Part of the reason, I think, is because I still have habits, as a pastor, that fit a different model of pastoring than the one I feel is called for in our project, in this season. Pastoring is often done from a front-of-the room position, where the pastor as ad-ministrator stands in the place between God and the people, putting into words the things that need saying—the pastor speaks to God on behalf of the whole community and to the whole community on behalf of God. It’s a model that has deep historical roots, and can be powerful when the pastor is able to hear God and the community really well. That’s all I will say about that.
I haven’t felt like that is the right model for this community project. We’ve had occasion to talk about leadership as a shared domain, not belonging only to a pastor-type. Leadership can come from people striking out in the power and perspective of their own God-given gifts. It’s been a hard sell: that is, it’s been easy for all of us to talk about, but hard to do. Because we all have these same organizing habits, I think. In practice, I am still the person who talks the most in meetings, and I wonder if my jabbering makes it hard for people to believe that they have as much right to the floor as I. To make matters worse, there is an old story (rarely spoken, firmly believed) that nobody is as qualified as pastors to “lead” in church. I think that’s wrong, and the problem is in how we think about leadership. Leadership is not expertise, or even one kind of skill above others … it is choosing to go after something and inviting people to join you. The person who gets to do that is the one who sees the opportunity and responds, and that person may or may not know what they are getting into, or how they will get out of trouble when it comes. That’s why they don’t go alone.
The invitation has been open for some time for people to bring their thoughts, readings, questions, problems, ideas, art, whatever, and to share them with the group, where we can join in with each other. Here are some examples of what that might look like in community, regardless of who is doing the sharing.
From my own weekly musings on life and faith, here are my offerings, and ways that I would hope the the community could respond; how others could join me in my pursuits.
1. I have a long-term concern for the day-workers, undocumented, and/or generally low-income and service-industry hispanics in my community. I am not comfortable when I see one racial group largely relegated (?) to a single social/economic status. I am disturbed by what I see, confounded by the complexities, and don’t know how to respond.
I would like nothing better than to talk and pray and explore these themes in my Christian community. I imagine different people taking up different aspects of the conversation: some might have a prayer response, some might bring scripture or other stories from faith history to light, some might make art to work out something that words can’t express. Or, and this is OK too, the group may bless me in my struggle and not join me in it … but having been heard, I would feel supported in a basic way. And more important, I would be known.
2. I want to do an art project next Easter to focus on resurrection during our (now, annual) lamb roast.
I would love for members of my community to make art along with me, wrestle with the theological questions around resurrection, and help me think about the practicalities of creating a semi-public event to communicate something of the power of this essential Christian idea.
3. In reading the letter to the Hebrews, I noticed how the author has a different way of speaking to readers than can be found in the letter to the Romans (more about grace and rest than sacrifice and obedience), which I thought had a real resonance for our community. It prompted me to think about our community like the Hebrews, and draw out the unique way that author calls people to God.
As I explored some of these scriptures, and drew out themes of rest and obedience, it was cool to be able to read, discuss, and pray with the group. I was satisfied by that. What would have taken it to the next level was some art-in-response, or a story from others about how these scriptures continued to resonate in the weekdays-in-between. Or not–negative responses provide their own refining quality.
Non-directive community is not without direction. It is, though, without a single director. When the community joins an individual as they “work out their salvation in fear and trembling”… and where every individual can have a turn if they want, then community gets stronger by encouraging and strengthening each individual in their God-given impulses. That is the great theory. Non-directive community is not without direction. It can be specific, focused, and purposeful. But the direction comes from within the community in a dynamic and organic way, and not from a single person.
An obvious fear of letting people lead out of their unique perspective is that there would be chaos or weirdness. But what I’m describing here is not an absence of pastoring, just a more dynamic kind of leadership. I don’t think pastors should disappear, no way. As a pastor I will always have a shepherd’s instincts, to see that people are safe to grow and explore in peace (and I’m not the only person with those instincts). I’ve always thought that sheep (to extend the metaphor) do not need to be told where to eat … they know pretty well where to find the fresh grass. Shepherds don’t need to spoon feed sheep, or to protect them from wandering off of cliffs—sheep are not lacking in intelligence, contrary to popular misconception. But there are risks, and shepherds tend to be the kind of people who keep their heads up, not down in the grass munching. King David was a shepherd, and he was very dangerous with a sling. How’d he get so good at hitting targets at distance, unless he was used to watching the horizon?
Anyhow, having put these things out there to the group, by way of example, I return to the Awkward Tension as I walk the line between pastor, leader, and community member. Now, pastor-guy has spoken, and people may default to “What if my ideas don’t measure up? What if the questions I struggle with are less theologically or culturally weighty?” It’s for this reason that I have tried to keep my mouth shut, making room for people to bring their own things. But this wasn’t working so well. The lack of communication on my part was not creating an environment where people would spontaneously do something that they had rarely (if ever) been asked to do in church. So in this case, it seemed (with a little nudging from Anghelika) like a good opportunity to throw some examples out there.
Each of us has a personal storehouse of musings on faith and life. These are the content that gives our community shape and are the shared struggles that connect us to one another. That is, if we are willing to risk sharing these things with one another.
About two months have passed since our small group of adventurers began to meet to discover what God might do with a community in this time and place. I’ve described the feeling as like being on a ship that’s just left the harbor for the open sea … and most of us have been on land for a while … and we aren’t used to working on a ship together, let alone this ship … and it’s … choppy. So I’ve been feeling a little woozy. I’ll own that: I might be the only one. In fact, I know that I in particular have had reason to feel a bit off-balance.
A couple of weeks ago, I told my ship-mates that I was feeling a little at odds, sort of in limbo, like I’ve had one foot each in two worlds. Here’s what I began to understand. When I committed to this journey, I had a pretty strong conviction that I wanted to share leadership, to trust the community to discern direction together, to hear from God together, and to move together. But as we started out, I had some items on my agenda, if you know what I mean, and so I asked for permission to lead the first bunch of meetings. We were going to meet every other week for a season, and, even though I knew I wanted to share the planning, we easily settled into a kind of rhythm, one that anyone who’s ever been in a church group would recognize. I was planning and running the meetings. I was becoming the executive-pastor-leader-administrator-visionary etc. etc. You get the picture.
But here’s the thing: I think that might have been fine, if that’s what I’d set out to do, or if that was the thing that I had felt God nudging me towards. But it wasn’t. And so there I was, doing what I’d seen modeled, doing what I had learned, doing what is pretty normal in churches (and might be really fine and good if that’s what God and the community have chosen), but I felt no blessing. Another word for the thing I wasn’t feeling is anointing. Both these words are used in churches to describe that thing that comes from God when we are in the sweet-spot, oriented, aligned, in-sync, flowing and grooving. I wasn’t so much feeling any of these things.
I also have a feeling that it had become hard to hold on to other convictions because I was outside of that sweet spot. Thankfully, when I raised the issue during one of our gatherings, others were not so clouded and were able to speak clearly from their perspective, bringing certain commitments back into focus. The good conversation that followed led to a course correction that I am very thankful for, and that I think will save us from going way off the path later.
We’ve decided to meet every week now, alternating our weekly content between talking (about what we want, and what we are doing, and will do) and practicing (the life rhythms and liturgies that help us grow in strength and knowledge). I don’t have to bear the weight of every decision, and I don’t have to take time away from our liturgical practices. And I get to take my place as one member of the crew again: yes, one who holds a shepherding role, but who nevertheless doesn’t have to do everything himself to keep the ship moving. Ahh.
So there’s this big sea out in front of us. What direction will we sail? How will we handle the big waves when they come? How long until we get to feel like we know what we’re doing … and will that be the day we get humbled by some great white whale? I’m actually excited by all these questions, and happy to be on this ship, at the edge of this sea, with these people.