leadership

In the wake of the horrifying shooting spree that took place outside a Tucson supermarket last weekend, the airwaves have been clogged with talk that mostly centers around two things: the details of what actually happened and who we should blame.

While those are both pressing and important concerns (especially the details that help us to celebrate the lives of those who were killed or wounded), we would be remiss if we did not take some time to think about what we’ve learned since Saturday morning. As a society, we’ve got a bit of a problem when it comes to difficult and/or catastrophic events: we rarely take time to truly process, grieve, learn. We jump straight from calamity to blame to action, and rarely look back (until, of course, it is too late and our reactionary measures have helped to cause another catastrophe).

So, let’s take some time to practice together. What are we learning in the wake of the Tucson shooting?

My learnings include the following:

Words matter. It’s not about blaming one person for an event. It’s not even about blaming an entire movement or group of people for an event. It’s about acknowledging that words have both creative and destructive power and should be used in thought-full and care-full ways (something that most all of us seem to have forgotten). If we Church folk really do believe that God’s creative power is/was exercised through Word, if we really take seriously the belief that Jesus is the Divine Word, the Logos, then we have to be more intentional with our use of language – and be willing to be held accountable when the words we choose are destructive.

Guns still kill people. Yes, you’ve got to have someone deranged or serious or desperate or enraged enough to pull the trigger… but guns still make it a heck of a lot easier to do so. Does this mean we should ditch those 2nd amendment rights? I don’t know. But I do know that our love affair with guns is wedded to our love affair with violence. Eventually, if we truly yearn for peace, we’re going to have to start talking about that with honesty and transparency.

Mental health care is crucial. You’d think that this would be obvious by now (what with suicides on the rise amongst both military personnel and civilians alike, depression rates climbing, etc.) and yet so many people who need help never receive it – even when their words or behavior cry out for it. In a society where mental illness is considered weakness, it is little wonder that people don’t get help… We must do better than this – and church folk can begin by talking openly about mental illness. We’ve helped to create the stigma by propagating ideas like “depression is just a lack of faith”, so now we must repent of that petty judgment and fearfulness by working for the wholeness of those with mental illness. If one is wounded, so is the whole Body.

Good leadership requires humility. So, when we leaders make mistakes, we need to own up to them. It can be difficult and painful to do this, and sometimes we need to set boundaries as we are held accountable (for example, while some politicians are absolutely guilty of using violent rhetoric they should not be held personally accountable for the shooting in Tucson), but we DO need to own up to our errors in judgment or intention. If we don’t, we are poor leaders. And if we try to shift the blame onto others or make the situation about us instead of those who are hurt, we are abusing the power others have entrusted to us. Period.

I’m hoping that this will become a conversation of sorts and that, together, we might begin to shift the dialogue taking place towards mutual learning and relationship. So, tell me, what have YOU learned this week?

Usually when I think about flocks, I think of sheep. Wooly, bleating, earth-bound sheep.

And with all the time I’ve spent steeping in religious literature and imagery, when I think of sheep, my thoughts quickly turn to the Shepherd.

The Shepherd was/is definitely not a sheep.

I mean, if we stick with the sheep/shepherd metaphor, where sheep are the people (us) and the Shepherd is Jesus… well, I can’t help but notice that the Shepherd is not merely a sheep with leadership responsibilities. The Shepherd is an entirely different species. On his two legs, the Shepherd leads – and the sheep, on four, follow. The Shepherd discerns and the sheep trust. And, most importantly, the sheep don’t aspire to be like the Shepherd. After all, how could they? No matter how good they are, they will always just be sheep.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I think that there are plenty of ways that the traditional “Good Shepherd” image of Jesus works well. Knowing how frequently I have been lost in the darkness of my own doubts, sins and self-loathing, I find it both heartwarming and astounding to think that the Good Shepherd loves me enough to search for me and bring me back into the light. When I am worn out and scraped up from the brambles and thickets that pepper a day’s journey, it is a relief to know that I can look to the Shepherd for direction. And if I lived in an agrarian culture, I’m sure I might find more useful insights via the metaphor.

But I don’t. I live in a city. And as a pastor (a title that has its roots in a more agrarian time and place), I need to know that Jesus thinks I really can be more like him – that I am more than just a sheep.

I guess, what I’m trying to say is that I need a new metaphor – and this winter I may have found it.

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This is my first winter in Kansas City, and it has been very different from those Texas and Arkansas winters I had come to know. It is colder. We’ve had a ton of snow. Everything feels grayer and the air has a salty bite to it (as a result of some complex equation involving wind and road salt). But the biggest difference – at least the one that has struck me the most – is the geese.

I was aware of geese before moving to KC. I’d seen an occasional flock pass high overhead in Fayetteville, and I touched a few at petting zoos in my childhood. But those experiences pale in comparison with the blustery goose-filled wonderland that is a Kansas City winter.

They are simply everywhere. For the past three or four months, a day has not passed that didn’t contain the majestic, fluid “v” of a flock in flight. And the sounds! Oh, the sounds! Harmonious honking precedes each “v” – building in volume until the formation finally comes into view through the trees. And then, there they are! Soaring as they honk, one to another – keeping every member of the flock informed of progress and direction, encouraging and checking in, and, periodically, calling a new leader to the front of the ‘v”.

If there is a goose in the flock that leads more than the others, that leader is still a goose. That leader keeps the flock safe and focused with the sound of its voice, while also teaching and encouraging the others to communicate. That leader periodically moves to a different position in the “v” – and trusts one of the followers to lead for a while. And the flock soars!

The more I watch the geese, the more I wonder if Jesus is better described like a goose – rather than a Shepherd…

…Jesus in the flock instead of Jesus separate from it.

…Jesus honking out encouragement and direction when we need it.

…Jesus equipping and trusting us to soar!

This week, at least, that metaphor works for me.