Archives For Ministry

Ministry: When ‘…Bless His Heart’ Becomes ‘I Will Miss Him’

Jason Micheli —  May 21, 2013 — 3 Comments

choir_taize_crossI’m closing in on my 8th year of serving this particular congregation and more so every day I’m convinced there is fruit in ministry that only becomes possible with a longer measure of time.

For instance, a few weeks ago I confirmed about 40 students in our congregation many of whom I remember from their Day School years here at the church. The students from my first confirmation class 8 years ago are now in the midst of choosing their careers and have since blossomed into adults. One of those first confirmands is joining me this weekend for the Taize Pilgrimage of Trust at the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota.

These are all blessings only made possible by the patience and passage of time, blessings our Methodist system of itinerancy rarely affords pastors.

Yet of all those, one such example is at the fore of my thoughts this week.

On Sunday I was privileged to spend several hours at the deathbed of someone in my congregation, a man whom just a few years ago I would’ve ended any mention with the passive-aggressive Southern epilogue ‘…bless his heart.’

I can be honest about the rough edges of our relationship because to pretend otherwise would be to dishonor the grace-filled trajectory of our relationship ultimately took.

He was a thorn in my side and, to my chagrin, I could not avoid being so in his. He was for me the personification of what pastors and non-churchgoers lament as ‘church politics.’ He was convinced I didn’t know what I was doing, couldn’t preach my out of a paper-bag and would be the ruination of his church…”bless his heart.”

My- less than pastoral- thoughts generally ran ditto but in the likewise direction.

He has the distinction of being the only parishioner ever to challenge me to a fist fight.

And an arm-wrestling contest.

And the softie in me hopes no one ever takes that distinction from him. 

Yet with all that ‘history’ between us, something in the past couple of years changed between us. He first made peace, I think, that I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon and decided to make the best of it.

He then started earnestly to listen and read my sermons, stealing them from the pulpit lectern (sometimes before I’d preached…teaching me to have a spare copy handy) and concluded that even I’m not Billy Graham I’m not without some gospel IQ.

Later, he one day filled up my voicemail box not with complaints but with a thoughtful history of his faith walk.

The barbs I’d once received in the receiving line after worship became playful ‘young fella’ banter and I’d chide him that ‘if I had my own 12 disciples then he’d be….the guy who replaced Judas.’

Last spring he sincerely thanked me for being involved with his granddaughters’ experience at church and this winter he made a substantial gift to our mission work in Guatemala; however, he requested that I carry said gift down to Guatemala myself in cash.

When I asked if this was to insure 100% of his gift went where it was needed or if he was merely trying to get me cavity-searched at the airport, he responded with a cryptic chuckle and a ‘we’ll just see.’

Thus was the down then up path of our relationship that found me visiting him in the hospital this week last. Weak, emaciated and slightly disoriented, he smiled when he saw me. He grabbed my hand and tried to hug me.

Pulling me close, with dehydrated lips he asked me ‘to forgive him for any ugliness he showed in the past- I reckon I was in the wrong…’

I smiled and said: ‘Ditto.’

‘I still could’ve taken you in a fight,’ he said mouthed hoarsely.

‘Try it old man’ I replied loudly into his ear. His smile quickly became another cough.

And then I prayed for/with him.

(* If I was in a different temper I’d insert a diatribe here about how our United Methodist system of itinerancy actively prevents moments like this, moving pastors before relationships can come full circle, but that’s a grouse for another day.)

On Sunday I spent several hours at his bedside, holding his hand while his son rubbed his head and shoulders and reassured him of both our and God’s love.

I sat there quietly amazed that 5 years ago I was about the last person he would’ve wanted next to him in those moments yet all the more amazed that just a few years since there was absolutely nowhere else I’d rather have been on Sunday.

I left him Sunday afternoon not realizing he had only a few hours left.

I got in the elevator of the assisted living facility behind an elderly lady toting a walker. She acted as though she knew me.

I pushed ‘1’ for her and then, to my surprise, I started crying.

‘It’s all right John’ she said.

I’ve no idea who she thought I was but I appreciated the solace nonetheless.

It would take me a while to track back through all the deaths and burials I’ve been a part of since I started out in my little parish back in Princeton. Whatever the number, it’s a lot. Children, parents, men no older than me. They cover the gamut from tragic to the welcome blessed rest, with some well-loved congregants sprinkled in along the way.

Seldom, if ever, has a death hit me the way as has this one.

I’m not quite sure what’s behind this effect.

Is it that I saw in him someone much like myself, someone who as Martin Luther described was ‘at once sinner and justified?’

Is it that, in both the good and the bad, there was absolutely no pretense about our relationship- something that can be rare in congregations?

Is it that he (or our relationship) was a genuine, identifiable proof of grace, that tempers can ease and relationships can heal?

Is it that with him I’d experienced both how petty church politics can be but also how easily such pettiness pass into irrelevance if we let it?

Probably, I suspect, it’s a little of all the above which is but another way of saying:

 ‘_____  was like family to me’ with all the complexity and joy the word ‘family’ entails.

And though the me from 5 years ago would’ve laughed at the thought, I can now honestly say I will miss him like family.

 

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Change in Church: ‘Jason, If You Were Older…’

Jason Micheli —  May 16, 2013 — 12 Comments

Bishop-Will-WillimonSome one, bless his/her heart, grumbled to me Sunday whilst leaving worship that if I were a part of the older generation I’d change my tune about what is broken and what needs to change in the church.

You only think things should change because you’re young.

Young people always want to change things.

He/she said.

Cue wag of the finger: But if you were older…

I honestly considered the possibility. Really, I did. Sans snark.

And then decided, no, I’d still be pushing the same view. Because it’s not a ‘young person’s view.’ It’s naming reality. Reality with a ticking expiration date on it.

And to prove this, I offer this snippet from Bishop Will Willimon, who will be preaching and lecturing at Aldersgate next Lent.

Willimon, as you can see by his pic, is old, put out to pasture by the mandatory retirement age. His membership in the AARP, however, does not determine what he says about his membership in the Body of Christ.

He also says exactly the same things I say:

Being bishop gave me a front row seat to observe ministry in the Protestant mainline that is being rapidly sidelined.

Pastoral leadership of a mainline congregation is no picnic.  My admiration is unbounded for clergy who persist in proclaiming the gospel in the face of the resistance that the world throws at them.  Now, as a seminary professor, I’m eager to do my bit in the classroom to prepare new clergy for the most demanding of vocations.

From what I saw, too many contemporary clergy limit themselves to ministries of congregational care-giving – soothing the fears of the anxiously affluent.

One of my pastors led a self-study of her congregation.  Eighty percent responded that their chief expectation of their pastor was, “Care for me and my family.”

I left seminary in the heady Sixties, eager to be on the front line in the struggle for a renaissance of the church as countercultural work of God.  By a happy confluence of events, the church was again being given the opportunity to be salt and light to the world rather than sweet syrup to enable the world’s solutions to go down easier.

Four decades later as bishop I saw too many of my fellow clergy allow congregational-caregiving and maintenance to trump other more important acts of ministry like truth-telling and mission leadership.  Lacking the theological resources to resist the relentless cloying of self-centered congregations, these tired pastors breathlessly dashed about offering their parishioners undisciplined compassion rather than sharp biblical truth.

North American parishes are in a bad neighborhood for care-giving.  Most of our people (at least those we are willing to include in mainline churches) solve biblically legitimate need (food, clothing, housing) with their check books.

Now, in the little free time they have for religion, they seek a purpose-driven life, deeper spirituality, reason to get out of bed in the morning, or inner well-being – matters of unconcern to Jesus.  In this narcissistic environment, the gospel is presented as a technique, a vaguely spiritual response to free-floating, ill-defined omnivorous human desire.

A consumptive society perverts the church’s ministry into another commodity which the clergy dole out to self-centered consumers who enlist us in their attempt to cure their emptiness.

Exclusively therapeutic ministry is the result.

I saw fatigue and depression among many clergy whom I served as bishop.

Debilitation is predictable for a cleros with no higher purpose for ministry than servitude to the voracious personal needs of the laos. 

The 12 million dollar Duke Clergy Health study implies that our biggest challenge is to drop a few pounds and take a day off.  If you can’t be faithful, be healthy and happy.

I believe that our toughest task is to love the Truth who is Jesus Christ more than we love our people who are so skillful in conning us into their idolatries.

Yet I must say that by comparison, the poor old demoralized mainline church, for all its faults, is a good deal more self-critical and boldly innovative than the seminary.  Our most effective clergy are finding creative ways to critique the practice of ministry, to start new communities of faith, to reach out to underserved and unwelcomed constituencies, and to engage the laity in something more important than themselves.  Alas, seminaries have changed less in the past one hundred years than the worship, preaching, and life of vibrant congregations have changed in the last two decades.

As bishop I served as chair of our denomination’s Theological Schools Commission. Most of our seminaries are clueless, or at least unresponsive, to the huge transformation that is sweeping through mainline Protestantism.  We have so many seminaries for one reason: the church has given seminaries a monopoly on training our clergy with no accountability for the clergy they produce.  Increasing numbers of our most vital congregations say that seminary fails to give them the leadership they now require.  Oblivious to our current crisis, seminaries continue to produce pastors for congregational care-giving and institutional preservation.

The result is another generation of pastors who know only how to be chaplains for the status quo and managers of decline rather than leaders of a movement in transformational faith.

As a fellow bishop said, “Seminaries are still cranking out pastors to serve healthy congregations, giving us new pastors who are ill equipped to serve two-thirds of my churches.”

In just a decade, United Methodists, various Presbyterians, Lutherans, and Episcopalians will have half of our strength and resources – judgment upon our unfaithful limitation of ministry to a demographic (mine) that is rapidly exiting.

After decades of study, finger-pointing and blaming, we now know that a major factor in our rapid decline is our unwillingness to go where the people are and to plant new churches.  Yet few traditionalist mainline seminaries teach future pastors how to start new communities of faith.

My new pastors repeatedly told me: “We got out of seminary with lots of good ideas but without the ability to lead people from here to there.”  “I’ve learned enough to know that something is bad wrong with the current church but I don’t know where to begin to fix it.”

You can read the full article here.

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Clergy Robes and Anonymous Notes in Church

Jason Micheli —  May 14, 2013 — 23 Comments

3.19.PastorsDoAnonymousLetters_855603649When I was a student at Princeton, I got the chance to hear a lecture delivered by Stanley Hauerwas, a theologian whose work I knew only from the snarky comments I heard whispered by certain professors as I waited on their tables during faculty lunches.

Hauerwas was a like a breath of fresh air: robustly Barthian, absolutely not a Calvinist, and he had a mouth dirtier than my own.faith4

During the lecture, which was on discipleship, Hauerwas shot from the hip and offered what has continued to be a guiding maxim of the pastorate for me:

“Ministry is like being nibbled to death by ducks.

It’s just a nibble here and a nibble there but before you know it you’re missing a leg.”

I’m grateful for those auspicious words and have never forgotten them.

I once again recalled them when this morning this little gem found its way to my desk:

photo

Context:

In December I preached a sermon in which I used folding chairs to illustrate my point. In the first service, the cincture of my robe kept getting caught in the chairs so I took it off for the following services.

I wasn’t making a statement.

I wasn’t trying to ‘go contemporary.’

I wasn’t trying offend traditional sensibilities.

I wasn’t trying to do anything but avoid breaking my leg on the altar steps.

Not wearing my robe that Sunday elicited such bad behavior, in the form of anonymous notes left in my box, under my door, in the pew pads, and on the pulpit, as well as gossip being brought to me fourth-hand (‘so and so is concerned..’), that I decided not to encourage such behavior by putting it back on.

To date, in over four months, only 1 actual living, breathing human has approached me face-to-face to tell me how they feel about the robe. The ratio of anonymous complaint to face-to-face encounter is about 1/300.

Before proceeding, I probably don’t need to, but I will do so anyway and point out that 98% of my congregation are wonderfully sincere Christians who are supportive, encouraging and want nothing but to partner in furthering God’s mission in the world. I love working with those 98% and I think (fingers crossed) they appreciate me, warts and all.
Back to this week’s latest note.

I could point out that leaving an anonymous complaint in the offering plate- the plate that gets prayed over and dedicated to the Lord’s reconciling work in the world- suggests something far more disturbing than my lack of vestments.

I mean- would you ever stick a cranky post-it note on the communion bread?

That’s bible bad.

I could point out how anonymous notes by their very nature are antithetical to Christian practice for they represent a refusal to be in relationship with another. They make the other an object and thus deny our mutual in-Christ-ness. This is exactly what Jesus was commanding us away from in Matthew 18 when he insists we confront those we’re upset with face-to-face.

And yet time and again we blithely dismiss congregants’ disrespect and gossip as ‘that’s how churches are.’

Meanwhile, most people my age want nothing to do with church exactly because ‘that’s how churches are.’

I could point to what’s missing in this note. Like appreciation. For example, I spent roughly 20 hours- outside the normal work day- writing the sermon I then had to deliver 4 times after also writing a funeral sermon for a tragic death. It wasn’t the best sermon in the world but it was faithfully prepared and preached. And that was just my contribution to the service. This doesn’t even include the hours the other music staff and volunteers put in to making it a meaningful service. To notice only clothing is trivial to the extreme.

I could point out that Methodists only started wearing robes in the 1940’s and 50’s when we ceased being a frontier church and aspired to be a downtown church like the Episcopalians and Presbyterians. *Interestingly, the advent of the robe in Methodist worship coincides with our inability to make new Christians.

And don’t even get me started about tattling to get the other pastor to make me do something that anonymous complaints have heretofore not solved.

The observation I do want to make, however, is about the irony within this note, suggesting that a clerical robe is a sign of my respect for said anonymous complainer rather than the robe being a sign of the respect due me by virtue of my ordination.

The note is correct. It is about respect. Towards me. My office.

And on this point I lay blame not on the anonymous individual but on the United Methodist Church. 

I spent countless summers working as a lifeguard at a country club. I know what it feels like to work at a country club, sporting the emblazoned, obligatory uniform. Sure, the uniform served a helpful function. I was the guy who could help save people.

The uniform did something else too.

It identified me as ‘labor’ and everyone else as ‘ownership.’

I would argue that same dynamic, dichotomy, marks many a Methodist church.

The downside of the United Methodist Church having never fully claimed the Reformation mandate of the ‘priesthood of all believers’ is that in most congregations the ministry is owned by the pastors and staff.

We do ministry for the members not with them; consequently, the constituency becomes the congregation rather than the community.

A delineation between clergy and laity grows until it becomes ingrained.

What was once anathema to the early church becomes ‘how we do church.’

The clergy robe marks us in many minds not as a vicar of Christ, not as someone who might help people get saved, but as ‘labor.’

And as I know from working at a country club, owners can treat labor however they please.

The difference between a church and a country club is that I don’t care who pays the bills (though I’m grateful they do) it doesn’t change the fact that the church belongs to Jesus Christ. And I report to him not the authors of anonymous notes.

When it comes to churches, unlike country clubs, membership has no benefits.

Other than taking up a cross.

 But as I said I blame this on the UMC not on the individual. 

The United Methodist Church gives a lot of lip service to laity sharing in the ministry of Christ but the denomination places such requirements upon the local church (mandatory committees and admin positions) that ‘sharing in the ministry of Christ’ most often gets realized in the form of serving on committees.

Having raised their hand to vote, most lay people don’t have the time to do anything else in their church.

And then we wonder why lay people can’t even pray out loud without blushing and deferring to the pastor.

It gets worse on the flip- side.

The polity of the UMC tacitly encourages this division of ‘labor’ and ‘owners.’

The Book of Discipline of the United Methodist Church lays all the responsibility of the local church upon the pastor- you should Google the Discipline’s summary of the expectations of a pastor, it’s endless.

At the same time, the Book of Discipline gives those same held-responsible-pastors virtually no official leadership authority. As a pastor, I’ve no real role (nor do any staff) at a church council meeting, for example.

To make us even more impotent, itinerancy moves preachers at such a frequency that most pastors are kept from serving in one place long enough to ever cultivate organic leadership authority.

The only solace I derive from this is that our bishops are similarly neutered into irrelevance at General Conference.

Since this note was anonymous I can’t (in biblically mandated Jesus fashion) confront the person face-to-face. Instead I I thought I could pass the note on to my true source of frustration, the denomination. I could forward the note to my bishop with my thoughts on the real problem behind it all:

‘the priesthood of pastors and the ownership of members.’

But then, that would be a waste of time.

The bishop too is powerless to do anything about it.

 

 

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The Cancer of Optimism

Jason Micheli —  May 7, 2013 — 2 Comments

05OPTIMISM-articleLargeOne thing pastors get good at over time is assessing what doctors tell their patients. Sitting next to congregants’ bedsides I often glean more than they or their families do from what the round-making doctor has said about their condition, about the next steps, about what they can expect hope for next.

Very often, patients and their families don’t learn what they ought from their doctors because they don’t know what questions to ask. And how could they? For many in that situation it’s their first time in that situation.

Another thing pastors get good at over time is noticing how often spouses and children and family realize that their loved one is about to die, how seldom doctors come out with it and tell their patients ‘there’s nothing we can do, anything else we try will only prolong the inevitable (and the suffering), there’s no hope.’

And I don’t mean by this to beat up on doctors.

By and large, I think doctors have better bedside skills than most clergy.

Nevertheless, over time as a minister I’ve noticed that many doctors are simply not good at helping their patients to die.

And again, I’m not blaming doctors.

I think their reluctance owes to the fact that we don’t want them to help us die.

We want them to help us live- at all costs- because when you get down to the bitter truth, we don’t really believe there’s any living to be done after we’re dead.

The eternal optimism patients crave is but a symptom of our pessimism regarding eternal life.

Optimism is almost by definition not the same thing as faith.

I bring this up having read HAIDER JAVED WARRAICH’s piece in the NY Times, The Cancer of Optimism. Here’s the heart of the reflection:

I have come to believe that I was a victim of irrational optimism, a condition running rampant in both doctors and patients, particularly in end-of-life care.

Physicians are thought to be the harbingers of bad tidings, the people who use cold words like “prognosis.” But studies show that they are just as capable of emotions as their patients are. According to a study published in 2000 in the British medical journal BMJ, about two-thirds of doctors overestimate the survival of terminally ill patients.

This optimism is far from harmless. It drives doctors to endorse treatments that most likely won’t save patients’ lives, but may cause them unnecessary suffering and inch their families toward medical bankruptcy.

One source of this optimism is pop culture, which frequently depicts heroic recoveries from seemingly life-threatening situations. Another is the medical school experience. What motivates weary medical students is the hope that one day interventions they perform will save lives, heal families and enact cosmic good.

Later, our judgment becomes clouded as we build relationships with patients, share their fears and anxieties, cherish their small victories and celebrations and hope that there may still be a way, however unlikely, they can make it to their grandson’s bar mitzvah.

And yet studies have shown that patients almost universally prefer to be told the truth.

The article called to mind one particular death I was privileged to be a part of years ago.

I was present with a family as they stood vigil at the passing of a loved one. The dying man was elderly and at the end of a long, difficult decline.

The family knew they were at the point where the faithful thing to do was to let go of life. He was joined in the room by his wife, his sons, his two daughters-in-law, and grand-daughter. The man’s grand-son was present, too, through a cell phone connection.

As the man’s death approached, at the request of the family, we read scripture and then shared together in the sacrament of the eucharist. After praying as a group, the family took turns telling the man how thankful they were for his life, expressing gratitude for what his life had meant to and contributed to their own.

He died while we worshipped in this way. And when the family realized his passing, they all kissed him and embraced one another and concluded by singing the doxology: “Praise God from whom all blessings flow, praise Him all creatures here below…” 

That such a ‘good’ death has been rare in my ministry is unfortunate.

That so much of our cultural expectation of medicine makes that rarity a reality is tragic.

 

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If God Had Tryouts and Cuts

Jason Micheli —  May 6, 2013 — 2 Comments

photo-300x300This is from Elaine Woods, our Director of Children’s Ministry so if you feel the following indicts you in any way, blame her.

Soccer, Lacrosse or Church?

A mom approached me the other morning explaining why her child couldn’t attend Sunday school or worship on Sunday mornings.  Her son has early soccer games followed by Lacrosse practice.

I smiled and said,

“I understand; it’s a tough balance.  I remember when my kids had conflicts.”

She added,

“The whole team will be let down if he isn’t there to do his part and help out,”

and

“If he doesn’t show up for practice, he won’t be allowed to play in future games.”

My first reaction to these comments was “exactly!”  These same reasons apply to attending church.  How is your child supposed to be part of the church family if they never show up?  How is your child supposed to know God’s Word and apply it to his life if he hasn’t learned it?

I guess what bothers me the most is the intensity that parents feel about their children’s extra-curricular activities.  It’s a “must” event fueled by competition and the need to have our children excel at everything.  Go big or go home.

I wish I could see this same drive when it comes to their children’s faith walk.  Attending church becomes something to do after sport games, family time, and sleepovers.

Attending worship or Sunday school on a regular basis not only teaches children Biblical lessons, it develops a routine that is easier to enforce.  Children rely on structure and repetition.

I understand this is a challenge for parents and for the church body as a whole in today’s society.  We have so many choices competing for our time.  Long gone is the “closed on Sunday” attitude.  Sunday becomes another day to fill up with activities.

As a church, we need to continue to come up with worship options for our diverse congregation’s schedules.

As parents, we need to keep our children’s faith development even more important than their extra-curricular activities.

How that is done varies from family to family.  Attending church on Saturday, Bible Studies during the week, family prayer time in the evening, or simply listening to Christian music are examples of how parents can keep Christ a priority in their child’s life; however, don’t neglect the importance of attending worship.

Here are some good reasons for children to attend worship from GenOn Ministries:

1. Children learn to pray, to speak to God from their heart, by being with adults who model prayer.
2. Children can experience a time to be silent and present to God; a time to talk to God and to listen to God.
3. Children can hear & feel the power of our love for God as they listen to the words and music of worship.
4. Children learn and experience God’s love in the fellowship within a faith community.
5. Children are introduced to music and dance that expresses the longings of our hearts, the laments of our lives, our praises to God.
6. Children hear the stories of God’s people, and begin to understand that those stories belong to them, too.

What do you think? What would you add to this list?

We are called to be faithful.  The rest is up to God.

 

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Would You Call The Shoemaker Reverend?

Jason Micheli —  May 4, 2013 — Leave a comment

reverend_in_rhythmYesterday I posted a semi-rant about how I don’t like to be called Rev. The rant was rooted in my belief that everyday Christians need to rediscover the ‘priesthood of all believers.’ That is, we’re all called and commissioned at our baptism to embody Christ’s grace in the everyday things we do.

One need not be a minister to minister.

Every Christian has a vocation, something to which they’re called.

Discovering that vocation is the adventure of Christianity.

Here’s proof:

 

 

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Top Ten Things About Old Pastors

Jason Micheli —  May 3, 2013 — 1 Comment

Spotlight-On-Bill-Perry-pictureSo, I’ve taken some hits for my post about the Texas United Methodist Church considering discouraging people 45 and older from entering the ordination process.

According to some, I ‘just don’t like old people.’

To prove that indictment is far from the truth, I thought it would be appropriate to laud the benefits of older pastors.

Like Jane Goodall trudging into the mist to learn about gorillas, I’ve gotten this directly from a legitimate, genuine old pastor, Chaplain Bill Perry, who began his illustrious career ministering to the spiritual needs of troops in the Spanish-American War.

Proving age may dull memory, reflexes and libido but not humor, Bill offers this list:

10-inability to remember guarantees not revealing secrets told in counseling

9-incontinence means no lengthy sermons

8-no need for long range planning

7-sermon creditability gained by sentences such as “As St. Parsimonious once told me….”

6-doesn’t jog, can’t jog

5-blogs ‘what my great grandsons taught me about God

4-blog set up by great grandson

3-remembers the good ol’ days as ‘these trying times’

2-require long, slow hymns for processional

1-has time to write ‘The value of being an old pastor”

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Don’t Call Me Reverend

Jason Micheli —  May 3, 2013 — 3 Comments

reverend_in_rhythmIt happens a few times a week, an exchange, a greeting or goodbye, meeting a stranger or a parent introducing me to a small child. They call me ‘Reverend’ and casually I try to insist they call me ‘Jason.’

I hate putting the ‘Rev’ before my name.

And though I prefer Jason because, you know, that’s my name, I’m willing to accept the term  ’pastor’ or even ‘minister.’

At least those terms refer to my function, to what I do- shepherd in the case of pastor or serve in the case of minister.

Those titles can be verbs and when used as verbs I’m the doing the doing.

‘Reverend’ on the other hand is just a title. An honorific.

It dates to the Medieval European Church, a period in the Church’s ecclesial life that has little to commend to us. It’s a gerund of the latin verb meaning ‘to revere.’ And that verb doesn’t refer to me doing the revering. It refers to you doing the revering. As in, you should revere me. You should think of me as (more) honorable (than you).

It creates an unhelpful dichotomy, I think, at a time when far too many church goers think it’s the clergy’s role to do Christianity for them.

The use of the title ‘Rev’ gets in the way of us realizing the priesthood of all believers as the unfunded mandate of the Reformation.

I bring this up not because I woke today feeling cranky, quite the opposite. I mention it because the NY Times has a great interview with the CEO and Founder of Liquidnet.

This is another example, I think, of a business company getting ‘church’ better than most churches do, at least in the sense of the church being a creative, cooperative community where responsibility is shared by all. Here’s the money quote in the entire article and, God, I wish all churches got this insight:

“If you see something that we’re not doing right and you don’t say something, then it’s on you.

If you think that everyone on the leadership team is taking into account everything that could possibly go wrong, you’re wrong.

It’s everybody’s responsibility to help us run this company better than we can do it by ourselves.”

At Liquidnet, they’ve done away with all titles. Period. Take a read and wherever you see the word ‘company’ mentally replace it with ‘church.’

Q. Tell me about some of the values of your culture.

A. One is personal responsibility. I tell this to our new people during orientation, but if you see something that we’re not doing right and you don’t say something, then it’s on you. If you think that everyone on the leadership team is taking into account everything that could possibly go wrong, you’re wrong. It’s everybody’s responsibility to help us run this company better than we can do it by ourselves.

One of our philosophies is that I would much rather have everyone assume that everything we do here is wrong and that it’s your responsibility to help us fix it. That eliminates all the ego, or it should eliminate all the ego. Since we’re trying to constantly improve ourselves, you’re helping us by giving us some suggestions about what we can do better.

Q. Some people must be a bit skeptical at first. It’s one of those policies that sounds good in theory, but how do they know you mean it?

A. Well, first of all, we don’t have any titles. And the reason is that I do not want a junior vice president to be at a meeting and not say anything because they have a senior vice president in the room, which I believe happens quite often. Having no titles is symbolic, but it really works. Just to give you one example: we had an intern, 19 years old, and there were a bunch of us in a meeting. I was giving everyone my latest and greatest idea and he took me on and he disagreed with me. It turned out he was right, and I told him he was right at the meeting. So we have to practice it at the top.

Q. And what made you decide to do away with titles?

A. We eliminated them early on because we started getting all this title creep. Someone came to me once and said we had 15 titles or something, and I said: “That’s it. We’re done. No more.” I don’t want people to aspire to get a higher title. I want people to aspire to take on more responsibility. More responsibility gets them more recognition.

Q. How did people react when you told them you were eliminating titles?

A. It was very divided. A lot of people felt that it would be very difficult to attract people if we couldn’t give them a title, because that’s what goes on their résumé. Quite frankly, that really was not my concern. We found it turned out to be a good differentiator for us, and it helps us attract the right people. If somebody wants to come here but is determined to have a managing director title, then go to a place that has a managing director title.

Another thing I did from Day 1 was to set a no-suits-and-no-ties mandate. That, too, is a measure of informality. When we’re sitting around in jeans, or whatever people want to wear, that’s the kind of interaction I want. I want to have a casual interaction. I want to be able to say whatever I want to say and have them do the same.

Q. But you must have some hierarchy.

A. Everyone has managers, but the elimination of titles means that everyone has a right to state their opinion. We define levels by the responsibility you have in the company. So I am a “shape.” Most of the folks on the leadership team are shapes. We help shape the direction of the company. The people next level down are “guides.” The level below that are “drives,” and below that are “solves” and then there are “creates.” A working group came up with those levels. I just think they nailed it.

Q. What else about your culture?

A. We have something that I call a very efficient organ-rejection mechanism. If somebody comes in and just does not fit the culture, we reject them. Firing is a very big and an important part of who we are, as well. I think firing is much harder than hiring but it’s every bit as important. If you make a mistake, try to fix the mistake as quickly as you possibly can.

Q. Where did you get these specific ideas about culture? Were there experiences early in your career that affected your thinking?

A. I hated one of my bosses when I was in my early 20s. He was just nasty. There was nothing that anyone in the firm could do right. If you came up with a new idea, he would just beat it out of you.

Q. What are some things you do to spur innovation at your company?

A. We have a “skunk works.” Once every six months, we ask everyone to come up with ideas. It could be anything — a new app, a new process, whatever. And we have a committee that vets them and reduces them down to a specific few, and then we give people some time and resources to go and develop them.

Q. What advice do you give aspiring entrepreneurs?

A. First, find something you’re passionate about. Don’t do some kind of “furniture.com” business just because the furniture industry is big. Pick something you’re passionate about and define a very large problem. And if I were you, I’d define a very large problem that people know is a problem.

So take on a large problem, and see what you can do to fix it. Most people have not spent the time to figure out what is going to be their company’s value proposition. How do you win? If you don’t, it’s like going into a marriage knowing that there are problems but hoping that somehow, some way, it’s going to resolve itself. That doesn’t happen. So if you don’t spend the time to figure it out, why would you spend your money doing it, or somebody else’s?

I think that’s a common pitfall. Somebody creates a new app and puts it out there on a wing and a prayer. The true personality of an entrepreneur is not of a gambler. It’s somebody who goes for a sure thing. You have to figure there’s going to be a whole bunch of things that are going to come at you that you never expected. You’ve got to try to control as much as you possibly can control by anticipating that stuff up front. Those are the basics I leave people with.

 

 

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Even Drug Cartels Fear God

Jason Micheli —  April 22, 2013 — 1 Comment

21Mag-priest-slide-VRM7-articleLargePaul writes in Romans that “There is no distinction; all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” Paul’s point, I think, is that because all of us fall short of God’s glory, its incumbent upon us to offer grace to all.

Damien Cave has a beautiful essay in Sunday’s NY Times Magazine about Father Robert Coogan, a Brooklyn-born Catholic priest who has served as the chaplain of a Mexican prison in Saltillo for the past decade. Coogan’s ministry is a wonderful testimony to what it means to offer grace to others, without distinction. In the Saltillo prison, Coogan ministers primarily to members of the Zetas, a dangerous Mexican cartel gang.

Coogan is the sort of priest that makes it just a little bit harder to feel jaded about the Church; he’s the sort of priest who makes me proud to share his vocation- the sort of priest you’d expect to find in the pages of Graham Greene.

Here are two great excerpts. I encourage you to take the time to click over and read the entire essay. It’s worth it. Here’s the link.

“To the extent that Father Coogan has influence within the prison, it is in part because he grasps their motivations. He not only comes to the aid of those being victimized by the gang, but he also offers the Zetas what no cop or judge ever would — an open mind. While Mexican officials describe the gang members as coldblooded killers, Coogan prefers to see them, as he sees everyone else in the prison, as vulnerable, flawed and capable of change. “These guys who enter the Zetas become part of a system where they find their dignity,” he said.

“It’s a terrible way to do it, but I respect them for doing what the church should be doing: giving meaning to people’s lives.”

“It’s true that for all their infamous cruelty ­­­­ — beheadings, kidnappings, the mass murder of 72 Central and South American migrants in 2010 ­ — the Zetas are also known for their respect of the Catholic Church. After I wrote in 2011 about a chapel that Lazcano, one of the cartel’s founders, built in his hometown, word trickled back to Saltillo’s Zetas, who insisted on doing something similar for Coogan. “What color would you like the chapel painted?” one of the leaders asked him. Coogan said he liked it the way it was and told them not to bother because the roof leaked. “Two hours later they had people on the roof,” he said. “There was nothing you could do about it. They made a decision.”

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Top Ten Things My Kids Have Taught Me About God: #10

Jason Micheli —  April 17, 2013 — 2 Comments

61600_4795486567304_650823820_nSomeone leaving church Easter Sunday asked about my boys, musing ‘I bet you’ve learned all kinds of things about God from them.’

And that got me thinking.

Which got me writing: Top Ten Things My Kids Have Taught Me About God

#10: Hesed

A week or two ago I was late picking up my youngest son, Gabriel, from school. On my way to my car, I got waylaid by a tear-stained church member who proceeded needed to dump about 3 decades worth of marital anguish on me.

It was the kind of encounter that, even when you don’t actually enter the conversation, it’s tricky to make a clean exit:

‘I’m sorry you’re in the midst of an emotional and spiritual crisis, but, my, look at the time! I’ve got to run. Call my secretary and have her put you on my calendar for a more convenient time. In the meantime, I’ll pray for you. Bye!’ 

In truth, I was only a few minutes late. The crossing guard had just left his post. Teachers cars still filled the parking lot. A few parents lingered on the playground chatting.

I wasn’t that late. It was just a few minutes.

But to Gabriel those few minutes were everything.

Because up until that day he’d always been able to rely on me being exactly where he expected me: By the tree, next to the flag pole.

Before that day I’d always been steadfast.

And- I know I’m projecting now- but, seeing the scared, lonely expression on his face when I finally came for him, it reminded me of the first day we spent with him. It reminded me of our ‘Gotcha Day’ (which for him, at the time, was experienced as ‘Leftcha Day’) the Easter afternoon when baby Gabriel looked around for his foster mother only to discover she’d left while he was playing with these two strangers on the floor of the hotel lobby.

Here’s one of the things my kids have taught me.

You won’t read this in a What to Expect When You’re Expecting book. I doubt it’s been a featured theme on Super Nanny.

And, I admit, it sounds minimalist but I daresay any child of divorce- including this one- would beg to differ with you.

Here it goes:

80% of parenting is just showing up.

Being there.

Being there when they expect you.

Being there when they need you.

And being there even when they don’t think they need you.

Believe it or not, Hebrew has a word for this ‘I’ll meet you by the tree, next to the flag pole every day’ kind of love.

It’s called hesed.

It’s a love based in a covenantal relationship, hesed is a steadfast, rock-solid, I’ll-be-there-no-matter-what faithfulness that endures:

“Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love (hesed) for you will not be shaken” Isaiah 54:10.

Hesed is the kind of love that persists beyond any sin or betrayal to mend brokenness and graciously extend forgiveness:

“No one is cast off by the Lord forever. Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love (hesed).” (Lamentations 3:31-32)

Hesed, as any first semester Hebrew Bible student knows, is how God loves.

Like other Hebrew words, hesed is not simply a feeling. It’s an action. It intervenes on behalf of loved ones and comes to their rescue. It’s often translated as “mercy” or “loving-kindness.”

Those translations mask how hesed is meant to convey an unswerving, reliable loyalty in every instance.

Not just in the dramatic Exodus, Burning Bush moments.

Every moment. 

Hesed is love that can be counted on, day after day and year after year. It’s not about the thrill of romance, but the security of faithfulness. Hesed is the promise that

‘God’s steadfast love endures forever.’

Hesed is Jesus’ promise:

‘Behold I am with you always…’

I first learned the word hesed in college. I learned to decline the Hebrew in seminary.

But it wasn’t until I had kids that I really discovered what hesed means.

Before I had kids I worried that parenting meant always having the right answer, always knowing exactly what to do or say, constantly doing everything according to the books so that I would rear healthy, loving, secure, gifted children.

Now I know that not only was that naive, it was unnecessary.

Because if hesed means that God’s love clings to us steadfastly through every moment of every day, then that means no moment of every day is without grace.

There is no moment of any day, in other words, that isn’t made sacred.

Just by God showing up and being there.

With us.

And if that’s how God’s love works for us, then ditto for how our love works with our kids.

Something as mundane as meeting my boy by the tree next to the flagpole is as holy as Moses by the Burning Bush.

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