Many Meetings
Sometimes I am asked what I do.
I pause, considering many sarcastic retorts. In the pastorate, I worked 20 minutes a week, done with the sermon; now? shoot, I'm done in five and out running for the rest of the day...
But before I engage the mouth, I reconsider.
What do I do?
My task has come into sharper focus as I get deeper into my work with the presbytery. Sometimes, I'm a pastor in every way--listening to someone struggling to figure out what God is doing with them, or, more painfully, seeming to have forgotten them... Sometimes, I'm a policy wonk, explaining the jots and dashes of Presbyterian rules for engagement. Other times, I'm trying to help someone find clarity in the morass of the human work called "church." But most of the time, my job is deceptively simple--get the right people to the right table to have the right conversation.
That sounds so basic, doesn't it? But anyone dealing with human beings realizes that "basic" usually means "hard to get there" simply because of the human beings involved in whatever is being done. We tend to complicate things. We don't mean to, but as soon as something is undertaken, we suddenly find a lot of who we are tied up in it. That means that things that actually are so very impersonal become personal. I think there is a little bit of Narcissus in every one of us--no matter how we protest, what others see in us, value in us, and how they treat us is really important, namely because as we look in the mirror, we are not always that sure of the face looking back. We see blemishes no one notices. We know foibles no one sees. We regret mistakes no one else knows about. But all of them are there--in spades. So, work becomes complicated as each person brings baggage to the table that will be unpacked whether we want to or not.
My job is to be sure everyone gets the chance to unpack some of their bags--not all, mind you--without dumping all over someone else's bags.
I have great sympathy for TSA agents. You would think we would instinctively know by now what to pack and what to leave out, but we don't, and suddenly an already too long line grinds to a halt as a TSA rep patiently explains to someone that a 32 ounce bottle of shampoo can't go as a carry on, even as the passenger complains, fumes, and whines that they cannot possibly live without it. You would think churchfolk would be the first and foremost to know about grace, mercy, compassion, and compromise as the means to the kingdom, but all of us--and I definitely am naming myself as first among the malcontents--seem to miss that understanding, especially when someone else refuses to see the beauty, wonder, and joy of our personal dogmatics, even as those very dogmatics have little to do with God, and a lot about what scares us, makes us uncomfortable, and threatens our hard-won stability. We won't let go, and things get complicated.
Once the bags are unpacked, then comes the work of doing what needs to be done.
This is the right conversation piece. I find that what most people want most of the time above all else is to know that someone listened. We want to be heard. No matter what the topic or task may be, if everyone at the table feels listened to, the chances for success rise exponentially. That means sometimes I have to interrupt. It means I may need to intercede. Of course, it means I get to interpret. It is amazing how a table surrounded by people all speaking English becomes an incomprehensible babble. Mix in some of our beautiful people for whom English is only second or third in the stream, and it gets really interesting--ever tried to explain a legalese section of the Book of Order to someone who speaks Sumatran as their primary language? You begin to see that one of the darkest passages of scripture is Genesis 11:1-9 (rueful smile...). Still, when suddenly a meeting becomes a place where you see faces relax, bodies settle more comfortably into their seats, and even smiles blossom, you realize that God is good and grace abounds in all places--someone got heard! Now something can be done...
That's what my work is about--creating more spaces for smiles to blossom.
I like that.
I pause, considering many sarcastic retorts. In the pastorate, I worked 20 minutes a week, done with the sermon; now? shoot, I'm done in five and out running for the rest of the day...
But before I engage the mouth, I reconsider.
What do I do?
My task has come into sharper focus as I get deeper into my work with the presbytery. Sometimes, I'm a pastor in every way--listening to someone struggling to figure out what God is doing with them, or, more painfully, seeming to have forgotten them... Sometimes, I'm a policy wonk, explaining the jots and dashes of Presbyterian rules for engagement. Other times, I'm trying to help someone find clarity in the morass of the human work called "church." But most of the time, my job is deceptively simple--get the right people to the right table to have the right conversation.
That sounds so basic, doesn't it? But anyone dealing with human beings realizes that "basic" usually means "hard to get there" simply because of the human beings involved in whatever is being done. We tend to complicate things. We don't mean to, but as soon as something is undertaken, we suddenly find a lot of who we are tied up in it. That means that things that actually are so very impersonal become personal. I think there is a little bit of Narcissus in every one of us--no matter how we protest, what others see in us, value in us, and how they treat us is really important, namely because as we look in the mirror, we are not always that sure of the face looking back. We see blemishes no one notices. We know foibles no one sees. We regret mistakes no one else knows about. But all of them are there--in spades. So, work becomes complicated as each person brings baggage to the table that will be unpacked whether we want to or not.
My job is to be sure everyone gets the chance to unpack some of their bags--not all, mind you--without dumping all over someone else's bags.
I have great sympathy for TSA agents. You would think we would instinctively know by now what to pack and what to leave out, but we don't, and suddenly an already too long line grinds to a halt as a TSA rep patiently explains to someone that a 32 ounce bottle of shampoo can't go as a carry on, even as the passenger complains, fumes, and whines that they cannot possibly live without it. You would think churchfolk would be the first and foremost to know about grace, mercy, compassion, and compromise as the means to the kingdom, but all of us--and I definitely am naming myself as first among the malcontents--seem to miss that understanding, especially when someone else refuses to see the beauty, wonder, and joy of our personal dogmatics, even as those very dogmatics have little to do with God, and a lot about what scares us, makes us uncomfortable, and threatens our hard-won stability. We won't let go, and things get complicated.
Once the bags are unpacked, then comes the work of doing what needs to be done.
This is the right conversation piece. I find that what most people want most of the time above all else is to know that someone listened. We want to be heard. No matter what the topic or task may be, if everyone at the table feels listened to, the chances for success rise exponentially. That means sometimes I have to interrupt. It means I may need to intercede. Of course, it means I get to interpret. It is amazing how a table surrounded by people all speaking English becomes an incomprehensible babble. Mix in some of our beautiful people for whom English is only second or third in the stream, and it gets really interesting--ever tried to explain a legalese section of the Book of Order to someone who speaks Sumatran as their primary language? You begin to see that one of the darkest passages of scripture is Genesis 11:1-9 (rueful smile...). Still, when suddenly a meeting becomes a place where you see faces relax, bodies settle more comfortably into their seats, and even smiles blossom, you realize that God is good and grace abounds in all places--someone got heard! Now something can be done...
That's what my work is about--creating more spaces for smiles to blossom.
I like that.
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