No Going Back

 I originally posted this on Facebook on October 5, 2020. 

I keep seeing posts about "getting back" to something that supposedly was "better." Back to an America that was "better." Back to an economy that was "better." Back to a discourse that was "better." Back to .....

The reality is that there is nothing worth going back to. The longing for a return to something that was familiar and that we enjoyed is nostalgia; it doesn't mean it was "better."

The God I serve is a God who calls for a continual unfolding. Things will not ultimately be "better" until God makes it so. And the fact that it has yet to be made so means that nothing that was before is the type of "better" that I want to return to, or am called to return to, or believe in returning to. It doesn't mean it wasn't good; it's just not the ultimate good.

In the meantime, what we must aspire to is a new future in which humanity both intrinsically and extrinsically demonstrates that we recognize the uniquely powerful responsibility that we've been given for one another and for the world which we inhabit.

So far we've done a pretty lousy job with that responsibility. Neither democrat nor republican is the savior we seek. We each must take action toward a more responsible future. We must care for one another and care for our environment. Our care will never be perfect, but we can do better, so much better. We need leaders, too, who care and will empower us to care.

We can start by centering not on ourselves, but on the other.

What will improve the lives of those around me?

What can I do to make life better for someone else?

What is needed from me to care for God's whole creation?

What habits, attitudes, prejudices, insecurities, and fears do I hold that I must confront and repent of in order to serve the well-being of those around me?

Pursue these things. Then perhaps we'll experience those better days that we so long for, not by returning to some nostalgic past but rather by living into our responsible, hopeful future, together.

On Vocation, Gifts, and Calling: Part 1

Recently I've been thinking a lot about vocation, the deepest invitation to participate in God's mission in the world in meaningful and faithful ways.

The pursuit of vocational clarity has actually been lifelong. From the first inklings of a call to ministry while portraying the prodigal son in a fourth grade musical through a change in college major to more recent retooling for nonprofit and nursing home administration, I've sought to align my employment with God's blessing of who I am (vocation). 

Vocation still remains somewhat elusive, and I was compelled to explore the question further during the recent five year ordination renewal process in our denomination. Ordination in our tradition is understood as vocation tied to employment; to be ordained one must be personally called by God, affirmed by the church, and have a functional position through which to live out that call.

For some ministers the requirement to link vocation with employment can prove distressing. At this point in my life, my call to ministry is inherent in my work, but not explicitly linked to ordination. As a development and fundraising officer in a Christian retirement community, my work is about raising money. As a minister, that same work is about tending people's soul journey. It always is. 

The need to once again affirm my calling to ministry, show my continuing education, demonstrate vocation linked to employment, and renew the covenants which I originally made with the church over 27 years ago might have seemed like a no-brainer to many. In fact, many pastors and ministers treat the renewal process as just one more hoop to jump through in order to maintain their status. I know, because in the past I have, too.

This renewal period, however, led to harder discernment on my part. What is my vocation? How is God calling me to be of use in this world? What are the deeper passions of my life? Where might I best live out my faith, and under what circumstances?

In addition to those somewhat esoteric questions, I also was confronted with some more specific, contextual dilemmas. Is the Church of the Brethren as it's currently focused a tradition that I can continue to align with? Given my experiences in and treatment by leadership in the church, is this a body that I can safely continue to be accountable to? Have I failed God and the church in ways which would preclude the continuation of my leadership?

These questions, coupled with ongoing efforts to expand my skill set and employability, compelled me to reflect intensely on the ordination review process. The unsettledness in my spirit needed to be addressed before responding to the rote inquiries of the renewal process. It would have been easier to simply check the boxes, but it wouldn't have been faithful.

After a long period of procrastination and discernment, I did complete the required documents. I also included an unsolicited letter detailing some of my wrestling. Over the next few blog posts, I will share the essence of that letter and further explore questions of vocation, gifts, and calling. 

Faith for me is about surrender and alignment. I surrender to the will of God and seek, to the best of my ability, to align my life with that will. Sometimes I fail completely, or fall short in part. Sometimes those shortcomings are a result of sin. Sometimes those shortcomings are a lack of adequate discernment. Sometimes those shortcomings are simply the hidden mysteries of God, into which I move even without absolute clarity, so not shortcomings as much as faithful stumbles. 

In the end, however, I constantly strive to know the call of God on my life, to recognize and cultivate the gifts God has blessed me with, and to pursue meaningful activities of work and ministry. Whether I can see clearly or not, God remains constant and clear. And so God gives me the faith, courage, and hope to carry on.

It Has Been Far Too Long

JUNETEENTH

It has been far too long

since our soul's been at rest,

since we had peace built on the truth that our God makes us one.

Long the days since we've known

that our lives are entwined,

joined by our breath, fused in our blood, oh, yes, it's been far too long.

There's a pain to share

and a sorrow to carry;

a trust to build

and a love to grow.

How long? How long? How long?

It has been far too long for us all.

~~~~~~~~~~

It has been far too long

since the dignity held deep in our hearts for one another

loosed unafraid;

when our courage would match

the injustice we see,

changing our world, dreaming a dream, oh, yes, it's been far too long.

There's a pain to share

and a sorrow to carry;

a trust to build

and a love to grow.

Too long. Too long. Too long.

It has been far too long...

It has been far too long...

It has been far too long for us all.

The Rush to Adapt

I don't write on this blog very often these days. More precisely, I should say I don't publish on the blog. I often use it to write out my thoughts and then self-edit from going public. There's enough muck on the interwebs.

Yesterday, however, I posed a question on my Facebook page for which I received many thoughtful responses. It seems only fair that I wrestle with the questions myself and share a bit of the internal turmoil which led to the asking. Here's the post I shared:

With the closures of public gatherings due to Covid 19, I'm just curious about the rush by churches to put things online. 

Have any churches considered taking this time as sabbath rest? What are the psychological forces that are driving this urgency to broadcast services, especially for churches that have never done it? What is within this impulse to "keep going"? What, if anything, does it reveal about our spiritual lives? What, if anything, does it imply about the vitality of the church? 

These are earnest questions; I'm not being critical of the effort, but I am wondering....

First, some truth in disclosure. I work from home probably 90 percent of the time. My public and social patterns basically consist of going to an office once a week, church choir practice and weekly worship (sometimes 2x on Sunday), a regular breakfast with a mentor/friend, an occasional date night with my wife, and errands. Largely this pattern is due to the fact that I am the primary daytime support/caregiver for our 24 year old son with Williams Syndrome. Where I go, he goes, and where he goes I go, with some exceptions. This includes doctor visits, Special Olympics sporting events, and other related activities. So at a very basic level, Covid-19 social distancing simply feels like an extension of my daily life. I image it does for others as well.

Another thing to know before reading on is that I'm an ordained minister and have worked in the church in some capacity for nearly my entire life. I'm a "company man" as it may be. I have a love/hate relationship with the church; I've experienced both the best and the worst. I've also contributed to both the best and the worst, which is a humbling reality.

Currently I am active in two local congregations. I admire, love, and respect the pastors of each congregation. I work closely with both pastors, especially in the area of worship, and have been a support and colleague for the one that's a church plant since its inception. I implicitly trust the leadership and faithfulness of each of these Godly women. In fact, I trust all the leadership in both these congregations. Those in leadership are wise and thoughtful, prayerful and devoted, kind and generous, courageous and just.

Each of these congregations has, necessarily and with intentionality, joined the myriad of churches and other social/civic/religious organizations who are voluntarily suspending group meetings in response to Covid-19. Each has said that some church functions, including worship, will continue online. Neither has regular practices of sharing online worship, although both use videoconferencing on some occasions for church meetings.

So, please understand that my questions are not critical. They are, however, nagging. Here's my list:

1. Is poor-to-moderate use of technology better than taking a few weeks off? 
2. Have we thought about how privilege and online church are related? What about those without internet, or computers, or smart phones, or knowledge of how to use these things? (Shout out to Oakland CoB and Pastor John Sgro where I understand they will be going to members and teaching them how to participate online!)
3. How will people who are always isolated feel when the church mobilizes so many resources to make sure that the never/rarely-isolated don't have to enter that space? What could we who are more able learn by entering the space of those less able for at least a little while?
4. Are we so dependent on the church for our weekly fix that we don't have personal resources for sustainable faith? Has our church gathering become more about each other than about God?
5. Does the institutional church always need to be organizing the Church in order for the Church to fulfill its mission? 
6. Have pastors examined their need to be in front of the "flock," to be interpreting the Word, to be seen? Like I said, I've been a pastor; I know the ego struggle.
7. Since people will be confined more, it's likely that they'll be staring at screens more; should the church also ask them to stare at a screen?
8. If people don't show up to the online sessions, what kind of censuring will there be? You know someone will be counting heads. How will the church respond to those people? If someone doesn't want to join in, how will the church make them feel?  
9. Is the church actually capable of offering the kinds of emotional, spiritual, and physical support that it seeks to provide through this medium? I'm not sure we're ready, although I'm confident God is.

Alternatively, I celebrate many of the things that I know from my two local congregations. Lest you think I'm only a skeptic, here are some of those things:

1. Our local church leaders are acting with the best intentions under extremely stressful and unusual circumstances. They are doing this prayerfully and thoughtfully.
2. God is pleased with the depth of our concern and the earnestness of our efforts, and where our efforts run short, God will make up the difference.
3. We all will have a chance to examine the core of our motivations, strength, humility, and faith.
4. Relatedly to #3, we have a wonderful opportunity to learn and grow spiritually through this time.
5. Churches which have wanted to better utilize video technology will have a reason to try it and refine it, and skeptics won't really be in a position to oppose it (for a few weeks).
6. The church will perhaps be reminded of the depth of isolation that already exists in our culture, and emerge recommitted to acting to address the reality.
7. Our interconnectedness will be reinforced, our need for one another and our desire to be in community will be rekindled, and our actions will be provoked toward openness and embrace.
8. We will continue to care for one another under trying conditions. We will show that God's love cannot be defeated, isolated, or consumed by a virus.

Those are some of my thoughts. I probably also should say that I'm an introvert by nature, so the prospect of being alone is welcome, not frightening. Additionally, this period of social distancing doesn't mean I get any time off work; I work from home most of the time anyway, remember?! And finally, I have three of my five immediate family members who interact with a wider public on a daily basis - my wife works in a daycare and my two youngest kids work in consumer goods retail (Meijer and Dollar Tree - it's been a crazy couple of days! And, no, they don't have any toilet paper and I don't know when the truck is arriving). So any good word and prayer you'd like to lift would be appreciated. 

This was a long post. Thanks for reading. Take care of one another. Comments are welcome; please use your name.

Heart holes

Two weeks ago I found out that I have a hole in my heart. It's just a tiny hole, or at least the doctor thinks so. Tomorrow's test will be more conclusive. There's no reason that I should have known earlier, although it's been there since shortly after I was born, when the foramen ovale didn't close as expected.

One out of four people have this PFO, although only some know it's there. Mine was discovered when I went to the emergency room to explore symptoms resembling a heart attack and stroke. Blessedly there was no heart attack and no evidence of a significant stroke, but an echocardiogram done with bubbles revealed this heart defect.

When a PFO is present, there is a risk of stroke. Clots can travel through and to areas of the heart and brain that otherwise would not be allowed. These clots can obviously cause problems. 

I am glad that the problem was discovered prior to a major episode. Now it can be monitored and/or repaired as required. 

Not everyone is so lucky with their ailments. I'm thinking of my niece Marica. I'm thinking of my Aunt Joyce. I'm thinking of former colleague and friend Mary Jo. I'm thinking of Uncle Dick and Evy. And Dudley. And Mark. And so many others who had some type of "hole" that wasn't diagnosed or couldn't be treated effectively enough.

Actually, this is the second time I've discovered a hole in my heart. A few years back, without knowing what it was, I experienced heart-hole symptoms. Unfortunately there was no e.r. to go to for that particular hole. It wasn't treatable with an aspirin a day, and there was no "button" or "umbrella" procedure to close it permanently. 

My attempts to self-medicate weren't sufficient, either. In fact, they were harmful. 

In her book "Hallelujah Anyway: Rediscovering Mercy," Anne Lamott talks about how we "fold" ourselves in order to show achievement, to protect those around us, and to shield ourselves. "We got creased in those places such a long time ago that it seems hopeless to begin the great unfolding now. Our integrity got broken. ... Big parts of us got broken, parts of our hearts, minds, and beings." (pp. 46-47)

When I read these words this week, I was reminded of the hole in my heart which had been forming for many years of my life, and which only around 2012 began to show through my folds. It emerged as an existential crisis, an identity crisis, a professional crisis, a spiritual crisis and a marriage crisis. Some might categorize it as a mid-life crisis. The process was painful and rough for me and many others around me. I definitely didn't handle it all well, but perhaps that's exactly what uncreasing the folds reveals: that anyone can have a hole that isn't easily closed. 

"I want to unfold. I don't want to stay folded anywhere, because where I am folded, there I am a lie." These words from Rainer Marie Rilke, which Lamott quotes, resonate deeply with me now. Much of my life had been a lie, not in the willful, agnostic sense, but rather in the obedient, suffering sense. In the end, however, I found what I needed for the resulting hole to heal. And I learned that life without folds leaves one vulnerable, and some may take advantage of that vulnerability, but in the end it's the only way to live.

Hearts and holes are on my mind this week as my Church of the Brethren sisters and brothers gather in Grand Rapids, MI for the Annual Conference. This ecclesial body had a lot to do with my first hole. I went to many conferences with my heart hole hidden away in a fold.

I think there are a lot of heart holes converging on the convention center and Amway Grand Hotel this week. Some folks are well aware of their holes, where they originated, how they've been (mis)treated. Other folks are living with so many folds that they have no idea whether or not there's a hole, or how big it might be. Some might suspect a hole, but don't really want to know.

Collectively, I sense a big hole in the heart of the body right now. Again, some see it clearly, others not at all, and some simply ignore it. 

There are two approaches to heart holes (trust me, I've experienced them both!). One approach, ignoring it and concealing it, made it much worse. If it had been a biological hole, it would have killed me. Since it was an emotional and spiritual hole, when it finally showed up there were no physically fatal consequences, although there were some incredibly agonizing and difficult steps toward healing. 

The second approach, like with my PFO, shows that when we know something's not quite right, good pursuit of symptoms can lead to significant discoveries. Those discoveries then lead to a thorough exploration, and the information gathered from the exploration will determine active steps to live better with or correct the problem.

Something is not right with us Brethren. There is dis-ease among us. No matter our theological ideology or our political -ism, we feel it. There is a hole in our heart, and has been for quite a long time now. We've tried covering it up. We've tried folding it in. We've tried any number of "treatments." And yet it's still there. 

I wish I knew what the solution was. If it were as easy as writing the 'correct' position paper on any number of topics, I suspect it would be cured by now. But it's not. If energetic blended worship could fix it, we'd be all better. If an adequate amount of ice cream and toppings were all it takes, our consumption would have cured us. But none of this has happened.

The symptoms are still prevalent. Leader attrition. Pastoral burnout. Fighting. Mission abandonment. Distracting folds. Non-essential activity. Judgement. Fear. Self-righteousness. Division. Power play. 

The cure for a broken heart is pretty elusive. The pain from a broken heart is incredibly hard to share, both to offer and to receive. The fix for a degenerating condition perpetuated by poor habits and years of folding is terribly uncomfortable to confront. 

There is a liturgical element that might help us here. Confession may be the most powerful healing practice we have. (and the most under valued one) Confession is the act of unfolding, of exposing the heart holes, and facing our lies. In the openness between us and God, in the fullness of Christ's community, the healing begins. 

If we Brethren have a hole in our heart, as I suspect we do, it's time to acknowledge the symptoms, press out the folds, and begin healing. What would happen if in place of new statements or stronger speeches or better insight sessions or substituting leaders or more lively worship we would enter a season of confession? Not just a few minutes, or even a few hours, but a season. Days. Months. Years even? Of course the Annual Conference program and agenda are already determined for this week, but what if.....???

Tonight I am praying for heart holes and their healing. For my own heart holes, both of them. For the heart holes of friends I know well. For your heart holes, even though I may not know you personally. For the Church of the Brethren's heart hole, as elusive and hidden as it may be. 

My prayers resound with confession, that precious act of faith which declares that there is hope in the face of the unfolding. Hope is known by many names: Grace. Mercy. Forgiveness. 

Mostly, though, we know it as Love, the kind of love that heals heart holes. 

I would be weeping

Today, for the second day of a three day party marathon, we celebrated our son Ben's 22nd birthday. As an adult with Williams Syndrome, a genetic deletion that makes many aspects of daily living a challenge, Ben can at times stretch his father's patience and stamina.

But Ben is a beautiful human being. He is the friendliest guy you'll ever meet. His smile is amazing. His empathy is deep. His ability to remember you is nearly unmatched. He sees you as a friend, instantly and forever. He is a lover of people. 

I am so proud of Ben: all he has accomplished in his 22 years, the hearts he has softened, what he has learned, how he has grown, the dreams he has for his life.


As I've scrolled through headlines today, I have been struck by a pretty simple question: How do the parents of our current political leaders see their children, these white men in power, making decisions to further disenfranchise the poor, to obscure the rights of so many people, to dictate life choices for women and LGBTQ friends, to recklessly destroy our environment, to pursue wealth at the expense of others, to threaten our world through state-sanctioned bullying, and to disregard the health needs of millions of Americans.

If these were my sons, I would be weeping.

As a father I am humbled to have an eldest son (and two other kids as well) that understands the most important aspects of life: to love, to share, to look out for one another, to smile, to remember, to befriend, to care.

I would be weeping; but when I see my child, all I can do is smile.

I AM AFRAID

You know, I really have almost no fear about terrorists from foreign countries. I know the stats on the likelihood of being a victim, and my odds are very slim. For those whose lives have been affected, I know there is a different perspective. When any of us has our life changed by an event, it heightens our awareness of those types of things. And when they hurt we want to protect ourselves and others from them happening again. So I get why some people feel that way about terrorists, but I frankly don't share that fear.

What I fear far more are the hundreds of ways we are terrorizing each other here in the U.S. As the parent of a young adult with special needs, I am far more concerned with the hatred that our POTUS and cronies are fertilizing in my neighbor's heart and home, and when I'm honest and stop being self-vigilant for too long, the hatred being tempted in my own heart, hatred directed at the vulnerable of this world, and toward the powerful, too.

The tone of voice, the combative posture, the self-righteousness disregard of history, law, and reality, and the impulsively repulsive carnage being imposed into real people's lives is unconscionable. The lack of regard for basic human decency and contempt for those things which are beyond their own experience or far-too-limited capacity to comprehend is vile.

I don't actually hold very high expectations for government in general. I have never believed that our politicians are responsible for granting us the kind of life that, as a Jesus follower, I long for and work for. But there are certain standards of decency, postures of humility, perspectives of compassion, and a respect for humanity that I do believe serve as the hallmark for "successful" government.

Here in the U.S. I have always thought that what gave us our place of privilege in the world should be, and to a large extent has been, these things: decency, humility, compassion, humanity. Clearly we've not been perfect, for the conundrums of politics and nations frequently mean our officials are working in muddy waters. Republican administrations and democratic administration alike, I've felt for the most part that we've at least given it the 'ole college try.

I don't feel that way right now. I feel that our most powerful leaders, and many of us ordinary Americans, are instead more interested in proving self-righteousness, exercising unfettered power, satisfying greed, and perpetuating division.

Like many of you, I AM AFRAID, but what I am most afraid of is what we, of what I, am in danger of becoming. As I see it, the danger is not out there; it's in here - in my heart, and my hands, and my voice, and my actions.

Like each of you who've read this far, I love my family: my wife, our three kids, my parents, sister, cousins, you know, the whole deal. A special needs child has a unique place in the heart of a parent, and our son Ben in ours. But I am afraid for him, not because some terrorist hell-bent on destruction will come for us, but because YOU, yes YOU, my friend and neighbor and sister and brother, may fall prey to a heart of hatred.

It was Peter, one of his closest disciples, that denied Jesus three times. So before you say, "Not me," I implore you to stop, take a deep breath, and examine what is being birthed within you. Resistance is one thing; hatred is quite another.

The policies of our government will come and go. From my p.o.v. it's not primarily the policies that are the problem; it's the hardened hearts that are fashioning them, and the hearts, like yours and mine that are being shaped by them. We cannot give in. We. Cannot. Give. In. - to the hateful and dehumanizing forces that are wrestling for control.

I will start by examining what is within me. I will work, so that love will win. And, with God's help, I will not be afraid.

Oh, Say. Can you see?!?

Yesterday I was standing in a gym surrounded by amazing, brave, and loving athletes and their families, ready for a day of basketball.

As we focused our attention on our nation's flag and anthem, I could not ignore the painful irony that this week we will inaugurate a president who shows willful disdain for the very folks who are the best of what these symbols represent.

Also recited in that gym,

the Special Olympics pledge is 

"let me win, 

but if I cannot win let me be brave in the attempt." 

I would love for our son to look at the flag and hear the anthem which calls forth this courageous and honorable endeavor and know that we actually mean it, but instead, what I see and hear is a depraved PEOTUS making fun of the people I love the most, and a cadre of defendants rising in heartbreaking defense.

In spite of all this, we will not surrender hope. 

The love and bravery that filled that gym yesterday will remain undaunted. 

It is love and courage like Jesus - 

big love, 

unconditional acceptance, 

courageous inclusion, 

self-sacrifice, 

quiet power, 

all accompanied by enormous smiles.

There is no coercion. 

There are no threats. 

Bullying is wholly absent. 

Self-aggrandizement is nowhere to be seen. 

Indignant self-righteousness is mute. 

Personal preservation yields to the whole.

Teachers, coaches, volunteers, parents, friends and athletes: 

these are what is good about our world today. 

It is this good which will prevail. 

We are not going away. 

We will not be dismissed. 

We will persevere, with or in spite of or in the face of those who hold structural power.

We will win, and if we cannot win, 

we will be brave. 

Which means in the end we cannot lose the things that really matter.

Oh, say. Can you see? You will.

(originally published as a facebook post on January 15, 2017)

Into the Webbed World

Today I sent a piece of me into the webbed world.

An email, a message, a text, a chat, a tweet;

I can’t remember which.

It really doesn’t matter.

Into the webbed world it went,

Rich with wisdom,

Full of expectation,

Bare with honesty.

Into the webbed world it went

In search of a reply;

Anything would do.

“Thanks.”

“Hello.”

“Like.”
"Maybe."

"Yes."

“No.”

Into the webbed world it went,

This byte-sized piece of

Thought synapse,

Probing inquiry,

Smart observation,

Information request.

Into the webbed world it went.

Audience known:

You.

Friend.

Consumer.

Audience unknown:

You.

Friend.

Consumer.

Into the webbed world it went:

Truth.

Opinion.

Perspective.

Into the webbed world it went,

Testing,

Probing,

Challenging.

Into the webbed world it went.

My dreaming.

What I imagine.

How I hope.

Into the webbed world it went.

But who knows

Where it arrived?

If it was heard?

Will it be kept?

Does it really matter?

I can’t remember which:

An email, a message, a text, a chat, a tweet.

Today I sent a piece of me into the webbed world.

Stepping Out: Unexpected Thoughts on Being an Entrepreneur

When I resigned from my job in April, I assumed that I would find another job within an organization. I immediately began exploring possibilities where I could use my years of organizational experience and a newly minted certificate in nonprofit management in an executive management position.

I was excited about the changes, and nervous about how to translate my church-based experience into other fields of leadership, but I was confident that my work background, skill set, personal profile, education and references would open opportunities for me. And although job searches in today's work environment are arduous and largely impersonal, there has been some progress. No job, but what feels like progress.

One day along the journey I had a person suggest to me that I start my own business. My laughter could be heard down the hallway! But that laughter turned into consideration, and the consideration led to imagination, and imagination led to consultation, and consultation led to articulation, and articulation is being converted into action. I am starting my own business. Are you laughing now?!?

Since some of you might also be in transition, I thought I'd offer some of my thought process. Maybe it will help you. If you'd like, I'd be glad to talk with you more directly. Drop me a line.

Here are some of the thoughts that I've wrestled with along the way. I'm pretty sure my wrestling is not done.

Point: I don't have much to offer. Even though I have rich and varied leadership experience, there is a nagging sense that such experience is not really experience. I've had great staff members to cover my backside. It's hard to point to the specific skill sets that distinguish me.

Counterpoint: My experience and education are unique and profound. I am frequently surprised when practices and concepts about leadership and organizations that for me are intuitive are heard as new (and helpful) ideas by others.

Point: I am not an entrepreneur. I've always worked in organizations with a set job description and lots of bosses. I don't know anything about starting something from scratch.

Counterpoint: My whole life has been entrepreneurial. Within the context of my jobs, I have always been a creator, initiator and developer. Each of my jobs required major changes, and it was an entrepreneurial spirit which helped me thrive in those situations.

Point: I am at the wrong point in my life to risk self-employment. While my wife and I share the income burden, I have always been the primary wage-earner. Insurance, retirement savings, paid vacation and the like are all part of the work culture that we count on.

Counterpoint: There will never be a better or right time to take the risk. This is my mid-life. Well designed and astutely managed self-employment will be different, but it is not impossible. We will learn to adapt to a different financial flow to our lives.

Point: I am a team player and this is an individual sport. It will depend wholly on me, and I work better in teams and as a leader of groups.

Counterpoint: Already I see that I will not be alone. There are several wise advisers walking with me. There are potential partnerships emerging. I will able to use my passion for working collaboratively to bring people together.

Point: I don't have my act together. I am a flawed and limited human. I have weaknesses and vulnerabilities. I am unsure at times. My brain doesn't always work the way I want it to when I want it to.

Counterpoint: I don't have my act together. I, like the people and organizations I work with, am a flawed and limited human. I, like those I serve, have weaknesses and vulnerabilities. I, like those I would encourage, am unsure at times. Amazingly, my brain still works, and in mysterious, unique and wonderful ways.

There are, of course, other points of concern. Where will the business come from, especially that first contract or two? How will I respond when things don't go as planned? Will I be able to focus? Will the work become too consuming?

But the possibilities are too great to ignore, the calling too strong to shrug off. I love helping others perform at their best. I have a passion for healthy organizations and a deep understanding of how leadership fosters that health. I like questions, big, hard, complex questions alongside simple obvious ones. I have a unique view of how artistry impacts leadership, a perspective cultivated as a musician and bureaucrat.

So here I am at a crossroads in life I never anticipated. How I got here is still a bit of a blur, and where it ends up is definitely hidden around the corner. The current vantage point, however, holds a clear vision. It is a vision for how artistry leads and how blessed I'll be to help others find that synergy. 

Rattle the bones

On Sunday our family attended the 150th anniversary celebration worship service of the Second Baptist Church in Elgin, IL. This prominent African-American congregation was started in 1866 by a group of 125 slaves who escaped from Alabama and arrived in Elgin in a boxcar. It's a necessary story; read it here.

Our mostly white congregation, the Highland Avenue Church of the Brethren, and Second Baptist have been sharing the fourth Sunday of January for over 15 years, exchanging choirs and pastors in a cross-town effort at understanding and solidarity. It's not much, but it's a little bit of something that means I already felt mostly at home walking into their sanctuary.

The service was magnificent, a rich celebration of the history of a people and a church, a strong and hopeful declaration of significance in today's world, and an anticipatory expression of a future of faith and civic leadership.


One moment that washed over me and stirred the deepest parts of my soul was a powerful dance presentation by Divine Movement,  a group of young women of the church. Their dance recounted the pain of the slave experience with a tangible rhythm of suppression, suffering, and dehumanization. It ended with a forceful declaration of liberation, healing, and the strength of human dignity. It moved with faith and freedom.

I, a middle-aged white male who has enjoyed every privilege that my birth has afforded me, really have no idea what that dance meant to most people in that room. As I watched, the young women communicated in no uncertain terms the depth of their African-American experience, and those around me in the congregation responded with knowing.


The part of the dance routine that told the story of slave bondage, however, disturbed my soul. My body felt the wrenching of the restraints, the beatings, and the struggle. Or at least I felt what might have been some small sample of that experience. I began to feel the oppressive power, and the will to resist. My body was uncomfortable. Tears were present. My soul was straining to access this narrative even while it was begging to escape it.

So many emotions accompanied those moments, and have lingered with me in the early days of this week. I know they will eventually dissipate for me, and I will be left to conjure them through memory. And this need to recall is one key aspect of what I, a person of privilege, have learned from this experience: For me, the dance imposed itself into my emotions and thoughts, challenging my experience and bringing to light my complicity. It made me uncomfortable. It caused me to think and feel things that I have not thought of or felt before. It challenged, at least in a small way, who I am and what I know to be true in the world. But it is not part of me.

For those young women dancers and the African-American faith community of Second Baptist, however, that dance released some of the deepest parts of their soul and experience as humans. It was more than a reflection on history; it was the lifeflow, the heartbeat of a people, a rare and raw moment in which the flood of this dehumanizing scourge of slavery was released for everyone who was in that room to feel, and claim, and wrestle with. Perhaps the connection is strong because the horrifying narrative continues to be written today.

The statistics are awful for non-dominant culture folks in our country. Mass incarceration, murder by authorities, institutional patterns of exclusion, prejudice, and fear still limit the life possibilities of too many non-white people, and African-Americans in particular. We are racist and perpetuate structured racism.

I know these realities intellectually. I've heard the hard stories of my African-American sisters and brothers. I've looked at the data. I've visited museums and historical sites. I've done some work along the way to be a better steward of my privilege. And I continue to do these things.

But in that dance, in that dance, that dance.......

There are really no words to describe it. I don't get it. I never will.

But I could feel it. It was full of power. It was raw. It heated the marrow and rattled the bones. It was fully human and fully divine. It was heartbreaking and hopeful. It was long in suffering and strong in overcoming. It was resigned to humanity's failed condition and insistent on God's sovereign plan.

There is no room for bigotry, hatred, superiority, racial divisiveness, fear, and murderous ways in Jesus-land. What I felt challenges me to examine my own privilege yet again and to put into action more things that make for justice and healing. I need to do my part. You need to do yours. Together we need to do ours.

Sitting in the sanctuary of Second Baptist Church on that 150th Anniversary Celebration day was a blessing. I am humbly grateful that I could be present, and that I was a part of the congregation which received such powerful truth through Divine Movement.

May the Holy Spirit rattle these middle-aged white male bones some more, and inspire all of us to dance our way to a world of justice and peace.