Courage? Or Cowardice?

Is this courage or cowardice?

Issue A arises inside an organization. The issue is more than a purely academic one; the way A is resolved will set the organization's direction in the future. There are sound opinions on both sides of the issue, and is was possible at the beginning of the debate to work toward a thoughtful synthesis of those opinions. But a few key individuals drew immovable battle lines early in the discussion instead of going out for coffee to talk through their differences. There is no middle ground. Everyone in the organization seems to be taking sides.

A leader (let's call him Mr. X) is watching from the sidelines as the rhetoric between his coworkers grows more intense. He has an opinion, but his instincts toward self-preservation and his love of a steady paycheck cause him to keep that opinion to himself at the organization's meetings and throughout the battle of e-mails and memos about the issue. A sizeable percentage of the organization's members are being hurt by the war of words, and the entire organization seems to be emotionally paralyzed by A. Mr. X tries to quietly encourage some of his underlings by sharing his opinion about A with them, but never "outs" himself to his coworkers. He's like Switzerland - an oasis of neutrality - at staff meetings.

Mr. X gets a way better job offer as the battle reaches its zenith, and he leaves with the organization's blessing for much greener, safer pastures, where his career thrives. The radioactive nature of the debate aroound A eventually causes several key individuals to leave the organization. Mr. X follows the gyrations from afar.

It's now more than a decade since Mr. X left the organization. He still works in the same field, and interacts with some of his former coworkers on a professional level. He's a communicator, and writes about his experience at the organization a decade ago around A. He describes the battle, and celebrates by name a couple of individuals who expressed courage back then. But mostly, he points at himself, expressing great regret at his choice to remain silent, rather than entering the battle. He isn't sure he could made much of a difference in the entrenched positions his coworkers chose, but he's sure he could have made a big difference in the lives of those underlings who might have been looking to him for leadership on this issue.

I've written myself about some of my own unfortuate church situations - and I haven't always gotten those messes right in the midst of the battle, either. I am grateful for the wise hindsight that comes from time away from the situation, time in the Word and a ravenous desire for God's healing. I've been told that the transparent words about the messes both around me and inside of me have been helpful to others experiencing the same kinds of issues in their own lives. Are we only supposed to write about the things we get right? Are we only supposed to tell hero stories, or do we need to hear stories about broken, sinful people who turn A (or B, C, D or Z) into the hill they're willing to die on so that others can figure out how to navigate their own A's?

I've heard a few people say that Mr. X's post-mortem account of A seems cowardly. What do you think?

If only I could sing like Julie Andrews

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens... Just the kind of images you can count on if you purchase greeting cards at Big Lots, and they certainly made their way into the lyrics of the classic Sound of Music songbook.

I wouldn't put wet flowers or mewling cats into my own Fave Things list. It'll be very obvious as you read my list below that I'm no songwriter. But I am grateful for (almost all of) the gifts below:

- Chopped chicken liver from the deli at Sunset Foods.

- A Sunday afternoon nap after church. I wish I could take one every day.

- The sight of the faces of my kids and my son-in-law.

- The sight of my grandson's face.

- A glass of wine shared with my husband.

- Movie night.

- Silence.

- Sore stomach muscles because I've been laughing and laughing and laughing.

- A new book to read (right now, I have two: an advanced reader's copy of Scot McKnight's Blue Parakeet and Margaret Feinberg's The Sacred Echo.)

- A song on a CD passed on to me by a student at Trinity. Don't know the title, but there is a line in there about honeydew melon and pumpernickle bread that is genius. The image crawled into my skull and took up residence this weekend.

- Memories: tomorrow is the one-year anniversary of my mom's death. My heart has been leafing through the photo album of the events leading up to her passing. I am grateful for the peace with God she discovered in the days before her death.

- The incubation stage of a possible writing project.

- The parables. They continue to undo and remake me.

- Prayer.

- The scent of summer merging into autumn.

- My morning commute. (Just kidding about this one.)

- Clean laundry.

- Grace.

What are a few things on your list?

Union...yes!

"66% of you have the spiritual gift of 'helps'."

I once heard a church consultant confidently state this statistic. The consultant said it with the kind of certainty that convinced quite a few people in the room that he was telling us something that any four-year old would know. Well, any four-year old who worked for the dude's church growth firm, that is.

To this day, the smugness of that comment still echoes in my head. It sounded like he was telling us that most of the people in every church were nothing more than worker bees, and the rest of us (who didn't have the gift of helps, since we were 'leaders') were tasked with the job of giving them the blue colllar grunt work to do so we could devote ourselves to Leading. Capital L, because we were the management.

Oh, he didn't quite put it that way, but this was the implication. And where on earth he got this absurd statistic is beyond me. It's sure not in Scripture, and I'm not sure you can apply metrics to something we're supposed to be giving away (to God and to others) anyway.

Every time Jesus talked about the kingdom of God (such as here, here, and here, just to name a few), He painted a picture of a completely different kind of culture. I know we know those words, but I hear too much of the of us defer to the kind of language that should be reserved for labor union organizers to describe the way the church must work. It is violent and hurtful, and turns people into commodities instead of the dearly-loved children God calls us.

Our gifts don't belong to us (and that includes 'helps'). They belong to our brothers and sisters:

"Now to each one the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good" (1 Cor. 12:7).

Is that how you've seen spiritual gifts exercised in your church, small group or among your Christian friends?

And another question: Do 2/3 of the Christians you know have the gift of helps?

Worth some reflection....

This post is well worth some of your pondering time.

It's 1500 all over again, this time with ipods

I'm currently reading a book penned by Washington Times religion Julia Duin called Quitting Church: Why The Faithful Are Fleeing and What To Do About It. It's a very well-written book with a surprisingly personal spin, given Duin's journalist credentials. It doesn't break any new ground, but pulls together stats, trends, and bits of her own story in a winsome, readable manner.

Though I haven't finished it, here's what I discovered in what I've perused so far: I've read almost every single book, study and article Duin references in this volume. I've got a kind of ongoing literary lament going on the subject of the church.

And I always circle back to the same sad reality. The church is alienating more people than she's embracing. There are so many people who've exited the church, never to return. They love Jesus, and they are the "big C" Church/Bride of Christ...but are weary of what the institutional church offers and demands of them. I am, too.

There is a need for a new reformation, but it won't be anything like the Big Reformations that rocked the church 1500-1000-500 years ago. I wonder what will come of this current tired and shallow unsettled practice in the western church, and what this new reformation will look like.

Any thoughts?

What's growing in my garden?

Maybe it's because I've been reading the book of Job as part of my devotional reading. Maybe it's the cumulative effect of my life experiences. Maybe it my current awkward growing pains as I'm trying to learn my new job. Or maybe it's because I'm firmly planted smack-dab in the middle of mid-life and my newly-emptied nest.

No matter what the reason, the melancholy cry of Psalm 39 has captured some of emotion of my soul:

I said, "I will watch my ways and keep my tongue from sin; I will put a muzzle on my mouth as long as the wicked are in my presence."
But when I was silent and still, not even saying anything good, my anguish increased.
My heart grew hot within me, and as I meditated, the fire burned; then I spoke with my tongue:
"Show me, O LORD, my life's end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting is my life.

You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Each man's life is but a breath. Selah
Man is a mere phantom as he goes to and fro: He bustles about, but only in vain; he heaps up wealth, not knowing who will get it.

"But now, Lord, what do I look for? My hope is in you.
Save me from all my transgressions; do not make me the scorn of fools.
I was silent; I would not open my mouth, for you are the one who has done this.
Remove your scourge from me; I am overcome by the blow of your hand.
You rebuke and discipline men for their sin; you consume their wealth like a moth—each man is but a breath. Selah
"Hear my prayer, O LORD, listen to my cry for help; be not deaf to my weeping. For I dwell with you as an alien, a stranger, as all my fathers were.
Look away from me, that I may rejoice again before I depart and am no more."

Though this Psalm will probably never be on the Top Hits list, along with Psalm 23, 91 and 139, it captures the longing for God in the midst of discipline and soul-despair.

Lest you infer I'm depressed, let me tell you nothing could be further from the truth. I am more aware than ever of my own limits, the fierceness of the opinions of others, and the truth of my finiteness of my life on earth. It is an anthem of sorts to pray David's prayer today: Lord, my hope is in You. As I do, I learn what David knew, even in the midst of his excruciating circumstances - Hope grows in the soil of a stripped-down life.