on accompaniment, attentiveness, and contribution
Talking about fixing problems… is not the same as actually addressing them.
Yes, talking about strategy is important. It should also not be confused with the action, the actual fixing.
Here may be the hard part: Talking about a problem, finally getting it out in the open can feel good. A sense of relief follows. But if we let the tension of the moment drain all the way out, we will never do the thing we said we would do.
At work, at church, in your family, or online… Do we typically lurk (that is, sit in the back without interacting, watching what other people do) or lead (by connecting with one or more people, by starting a conversation about what is important)?
Lurking is easy to fall into. It can be scary to speak up, especially in the presence of a difficult problem.
But difficult problems are the only ones that are left. All of the easy ones are taken.
And so, leadership, not lurking, is really what we need from each other.
What does leadership look like? To risk having the generous conversation, to offer the next best idea to move the issue forward. To see someone as they are (and not as we want them to be), and then inviting them to be generous as well.
Leadership does not have to be loud or in front of everyone. We can lead from any chair in the “orchestra” of a community… as a conductor, an oboist, or the person who stacks the chairs at the end of the day. We each see something important and can make things better.
We need to lead, not lurk.
Mistakes were made (but not by me) is a delightfully devastating book chronicling the human tendency to avoid responsibility, to self-justify, to make ourselves look good.
Seen in one way, it lays bare our compulsion to try to control our own sense of goodness.
Holiness, by contrast, consists in coming to realize that:
(1) we are, truly, not any better than anyone else and are quite capable of petty and destructive behavior.
(2) we are, in fact, very, very good… much more so than we could ever manufacture by ourselves, and that unique goodness is a wildly extravagant gift.
Seeing this frees us to avoid the exhausting dead end of a life lived out of the “mistakes were made but not by me” mantra.
So freed, we are able to see that (and talk about how) we participate in a system that is not functioning as well as it could. And then we can ask: “How can I help?” “How can I show up in generosity, bravery, and love to participate (better) in this system?”
The answer to these questions may likely consist in doing less things, but seeing more deeply.
From September 1940 until the following May, in a period called “the Blitz,” German bombers dropped thousands of tons of explosives on the city of London.
Eight million Londoners moved in shelters and subway stations to avoid the destruction of these raids.
And from that time, there is data to suggests that mental health in London improved.
“Not only did these experiences fail to produce mass hysteria, they didn’t even trigger much individual psychosis. Before the war, projections for psychiatric breakdown in England ran as high as four million people, but as the Blitz progressed, psychiatric hospitals around the country saw admissions go down. Emergency services in London reported an average of only two cases of “bomb neuroses” a week. Psychiatrists watched in puzzlement as long-standing patients saw their symptoms subside during the period of intense air raids. Voluntary admissions to psychiatric wards noticeably declined, and even epileptics reported having fewer seizures. “Chronic neurotics of peacetime now drive ambulances,” one doctor remarked. Another ventured to suggest that some people actually did better during wartime.”
Tribe by Sebastian Junger (pages 47 and 48)
Wild, right?
So, certainly, the paragraph above does not describe everyone’s experience of violence. War is not a good time.
It does make me think, though, that meaningful, communal struggle actually does make us happier, in the long run, than lives oriented around individual comfort.
Instead of constantly rearranging our lives to make them more pleasant, let’s seek lives of responsibility and active love.
Hey there friend! I know it is not quite Thursday, but I sent the email today because there is a time-sensitive invitation at the end…
Officers and their families in the US Foreign Service pledge to be “worldwide available.” Where there is a need, an FSO will go.
And “bidding season” (the time when it is decided where one will serve next) for us is approaching… so this global availability is felt acutely.
As we research possible postings, we look at the different aspects of life in a certain location… pollution, for example. In the process, it becomes shockingly clear that we would have a very hard time living in some places because of the air quality.
That is to say, what is not “worldwide available” is air that will not make you sick. But billions (billions!) of people live in those places every day, unable to choose a different home.
I think the technology that exists to confront this problem is just the coolest thing.
(Want to learn more about this sort of thing at a free virtual conference? Use this link to join virtual programing at the Claircon conference. The link includes a discount code,TCACC23, to receive free access. The conference takes place on May 19 & 20.
You’ll have the opportunity to dive into the engaging sessions in cleantech and sustainability, learn and interact with industry experts, network with like-minded people and discover innovative solutions for a greener future.)
I once heard of an orchestra conductor who trained all of his musicians to do the following.
Whenever they made a mistake, they were to raise their hands over their heads and proclaim, “How fascinating!”
Is this not a wonderful habit? To engage our mistakes with curiosity and playfulness?
This stance releases us from the compulsion to fabricate (and dig in behind) a self-justifying narrative. (It also skips over the reflex to just give up.)
That is to say, there is more time and energy left for becoming a more loving person.
When we are habituated to this mindset, everything is an opportunity to grow.
I once heard this story of a student auditioning at a school of music.
He had exhaustively prepared his audition piece. During the actual audition, though, the instructor interrupted him almost immediately and asked him to play it differently.
That’s great. Now, play it at double speed.
Now, play it at half speed.
Now, play it like Adele sings.
Now play it like Santana.
Now play it like Dylan.
The teacher wanted to see how well the student adapted to the challenge of changing his default mode.
In life, we typically have a default “way we play.” Call it our personality, or our narrative, or our way of being. It has helped us survive this long and do some things well.
Crucial to the skill of living artfully, though, is beginning to see this “way we play” as limited, learn to experiment with playing differently, and then watch new doors open wide.
Foreign Service families move countries every few years, so that means we have to find a new faith community quite often.
Upon moving to a new country, one FS family we know asks these questions of a new faith community that they enter:
Is this a place where I can contribute? Is this a place where I can pour out my love, generosity, and experience?
If “yes,” they dig in and make it their home. If “no,” they move on and look for another.
Contribution is their criterion.
So obviously there is more to a strong faith community than that… but I would be willing to bet that this “more” would be there in a community strong enough that it seeks to involve everyone in a robust contribution party.
I love this family’s mindset and feel appropriately challenged by it. It is a proper antidote to how many, especially Catholics, have been habituated to engage (or not) in the church.
We are creators of culture, not merely consumers of it.
Remember that moment in Pirates of the Caribbean where Jack Sparrow finds himself on a different ship with cannons firing on his beloved Black Pearl?
“Stop blowing holes in my ship!” he wildly protests.
I think that we blow holes in our ship – more than we are aware or would like to admit.
In families, when we harbor the grudge or the old way of being…
In the church, when we cling to “commentary” instead of weaving communities and offering contribution… when we polish a tiny idol rather than pray for the Mystery…
And on the earth, when we do not acknowledge what is happening and imagine a new way forward together.
For Lent, let’s give up blowing holes in our ships.
Lots of things in life are scarce.
Opportunities to take responsibility are not among them.
Responsibility for one’s actions or anger or aloofness…
Or for what is happening to the earth…
Or for a languishing ministry at church, a weak workplace culture, that pile of dishes…
Or (and perhaps most importantly) for engaging that person who needs to be seen as they are…
Chances to take responsibility abound.
The opportunity to say “I’m here. How can I help?” is a grace and a gift.
Paul's Blog