Years later, I still struggle with what to do when people come to me with their problems. I’m eager to help, but like anyone, I don’t have any magic wand to wave over situations, and just because I have the title of pastor doesn’t mean I got a secret codebook with what to say when people are hurting.

But- over the years, I’ve learned a few things about trying to help people when they are hurting. Here they are.

First, as the Hippocratic oath wisely suggests, do no harm. I think this is the essential message of the book of Job. Constantly err toward not saying anything. Constantly err toward just listening. Constantly resist giving advice. Constantly resist, above all, pat answers. It does not help suffering people to tell them that things will be better in heaven, or that God has a plan, or that things will work out, or that other people have it harder, or that we grow through suffering. Just be really quiet.

Second, you are not a therapist. Unless you are. There is a learned skill of processing people’s lives week after week, delving into their past, analyzing how they can change. It can be done well or poorly. But I think it’s important to recognize that therapy is something different from ordinary, everyday comfort. If we pretend that we are trained and skilled in ways that we aren’t, we are setting people up for disappointment.

Third, there are no simplistic answers. And, in some ways, I would even say this applies to point one above. Listening and not saying stupid things is job one, but you can’t just stay mute. At some point, you have to say something. And it’s hard. You’ll feel like it might be the wrong thing. And it very well might be. And even if it is the right thing, they might not receive it right. One way to be pretty sure you are saying the wrong thing is that it ties everything up nice and neat with a bow. Sympathy helps. It is not cliche to shake your head and simply affirm “This is so hard.” Affirmation can help. “You are doing a good job. I think you are handling this well.”

There is, I think, one time when it can be helpful to disagree with someone in pain. Sometimes, they themselves try to tie the thing up nice with a bow. I’ve often been talking to someone who is grieving, and suddenly they seem to cut themselves off and say something like, “But it could be worse. God has a plan.” Now, sometimes, this is just fine. At some point we do have to pull ourselves out of our grief. But sometimes, people need a little permission to be honest. Sometimes, at that point, I will interject. “Maybe it could be worse, but this is really hard. And God does have a plan, but it feels awfully confusing right now, doesn’t it?” It can be loving to give someone space to hurt.

One other quirky tip I’ve picked up is to pay attention to details. Things like money, food, and transportation. Do you have a ride to work? Is someone picking up the kids?  Do you need a meal? Who is taking care of paying the bills? Is there a will? Will you need a lawyer? Even if you don’t have resources to help with these kinds of things, sometimes people in grief find they are confused enough that having someone help them think this stuff through is loving.

Have you learned anything along these lines? Made big mistakes? Has someone be especially helpful to you?

There is more joy in heaven over one lost sinner who repents and returns to God than over ninety-nine others who are righteous and haven’t strayed away!

Why would a repenting sinner garner more rejoicing than 99 righteous? Because the 99 are actually self-righteous and not truly righteous? Maybe, but let’s think a little more.

Most people try to be righteous and do a decent job most of the time. Even people who might largely be regarded as “bad” typically have a take on why they aren’t as bad as they might be perceived. (Say, the pot dealer who says at least he doesn’t sell crack outside schools. And he might have a point.)

Most people don’t think they are perfect. We know we make mistakes. So what do we do about it? Perhaps we self-justify. Or we sink into shame and guilt. Or we just ignore our failures and hope they go away. Or whatever else. And sometimes, that might be harmless. But often, it causes a lot of trouble. How much suffering comes into the world because of evil ideologies built around self-justification, or child abuse that grows out of the unprocessed pain of the parents.

Maybe what Jesus is thinking is, “I know what you can do with your failures at being a good person. Bring them to me.”

And maybe this turning to Jesus is actually better for the world than sincere attempts at righteousness. Because the person who just repented and turn to Jesus doesn’t self-justify, doesn’t blame others, forgives easily, lives shame-free, feels free from guilt, doesn’t have unprocessed rage, and can wake up tomorrow doing their best to be the good person they want to be without worrying about the high stakes of failure.

Because maybe the only purposes of morality is a pathway to global joy. We’re all trying to find the path- and Jesus is quite willing to help- say, in the Sermon on the Mount. But the question is, what do we do when we find ourselves off the pathway to joy. Pretend we are on the right pathway? Try to sneak back on without anyone noticing? Start making a new pathway? Maybe Jesus’ favorite answer would be for us just to say “Hey Jesus! I’m stuck over here again!” And then he’d just like to help us right back on.

Would you rather have a friend who was almost always perfect? Or a friend who made some mistakes but always apologized and worked at fixing it? I’m not sure the answer, but I’ve got a hunch we could make some case for the second friend. I suppose of the first person could pull it off without being insufferably boring and cloying. But I think pretty only Jesus did that. So I’ll take Jesus first, but after that, I’d rather have friends who are repentant than friends who are righteous.

Is this how religion goes off the rails? It thinks job one is to help people do the right thing, and job two is what to do when they screw up? Maybe it’s the opposite. Maybe job one is to help people feel whole, forgiven, and healed in their brokenness, and then to point them on the way. Maybe every time I connect to God I should remember this. First, I need joy in him. Then he’ll help me figure out how to live. Otherwise, I become either an annoying pharisee, or a guilt-racked neurotic.

Am I on to something? Or am I just trying to make life too easy?

There are two kinds of science- observational and analytical. Science that just sees what is, and science that tries to explain why. We tend to think of science as analytical, but the observational side is critical.

That could be a metaphor for leadership. We’re always trying to figure out how to do things. We’re sometimes not looking at what is. What I like about the bike blog is how observational it is.

Some of the most helpful advice starts, “I”ve noticed that you…” Some of the least helpful advice starts “here’s what you should do.”

Anyway, maybe part of loving a city is getting on a bike and looking at it and asking people questions about it. Here’s to my little brother’s endeavors along those lines. Now, all I have to do is get a bike…

The conversation, from my point of view, was nothing but fruitful. I understood what he was saying, clarified some things, asked some questions, offered some rebuttals. I came away from the conversation having decided I didn’t disagree with him at all. And that I hadn’t changed my mind at all. And that I hadn’t misunderstood him at all.

And- for a few sermons after that, I found some of what I preached was powerfully shaped by that conversation. And those sermons were reportedly some of the most powerful I’ve preached this year. I have to believe that conversation had something to do with it.

And this is turning into something of a worldview for me. If I actually find I can understand another person, I find I almost never disagree with them. I find that my heart towards them is only charitable, and only grateful. Sometimes I find myself leaving changed in my thinking, or in my acting, and sometimes I don’t.

I can anticipate an objection. What if I am talking to a person who is clearly misguided? Let’s just throw some out- what if I have a conversation with Fred Phelps about how his approach of hatred is really the best way to minister the gospel of Jesus? Wouldn’t I have to say that he was wrong? Or if I was having a conversation with Joseph Stalin, wouldn’t I have to conclude that slaughtering millions of people might fall into the category of “things you shouldn’t do”?

There was one of those comical quad preachers at the University I went to. We called him Mad Max. He spent many of his days on the quad yelling at anyone who would listen that God was judging them and they needed to repent today. Time after time some well meaning Christian would try to stand up and oppose his message, and he was experienced enough to shout them down fairly quickly. More entertainingly, many improv comedy troupes would use his sermons for rehearsal.

But one day, I saw Mad Max sitting under a tree. I went to talk to him. He was initially defensive, so I did my best to not come off as angry toward him. I just asked him why he did what he did, what it felt like to experience such rejection, and what he thought about all the Christians who found him to be so counter-productive. I walked away from the conversation with a different point of view. Would I do what he did? No. Do I think it’s helpful? I tend to think not. But I never thought about the man the same again. What does it take to troop out to that quad day after day and take that kind of hate? Insanity? Maybe. But I have to tell you, it’s a special kind of insanity.

Of course I can’t end without saying that clearly Phelps and Stalin have done a lot of bad things. But, for the record, so have I. And I have to be honest, I’d still like to try to have a conversation with them.

I’m not trying to express a morality or epistemology here. What I am wondering if that conversations have something powerful in them that morality and epistemology, for all their necessity, don’t have.

So- who would you like to have a conversation with? Right now, John Piper tops my list, for a lot of conflicted reasons.

The more leadership I take on, the more true this seems. You cannot please everyone. And if you are going to be a healthy leader, it means setting priorities. But every priority you set is not just towards one thing, it’s always away from something else. And that is going to upset someone. And again, it’s legitimate. They have a real priority for something. And they are going to blame you for not sharing it. And the truth is- you aren’t sharing their priority.

It’s easy to write off people’s anger as simply misunderstanding of you, or not fully grasping why you have made a decision. I want to say there’s often more than that going on. Often they really do understand the decisions you have made, and they are angry at you precisely because of those decisions. This hurts to realize.

So, how do we deal with this as leaders? I think it takes a lifetime, and I don’t think there are easy answers. But I have a few thoughts.

First, allow other people to be angry at you. Don’t try to talk them out of it. Don’t twist yourself around trying to avoid it. Just let it be. They don’t like a decision you made. They may be right or wrong, but it’s not your responsibility how they feel. Don’t be defensive. Don’t try to pretend it doesn’t hurt a little. It does hurt a little. You’re pretty much just going to have to face that pain. It’s not the end of the world. But it is hard.

Second, accept that they may very well be right. Being right, at the end of the day, isn’t a very big deal. Being faithful to God, trusting him, taking risks, these are the staples of spiritual leadership. And sometimes you’re going to get it wrong. And maybe that’s going to be hurtful to someone. Being humble and simply accepting this goes a long way.

Third, accept your response. This sounds strange. Maybe it’s unique to me. I don’t want to admit I’m hurt. I don’t want to admit I’m angry. I’d like to think I can always respond with grace and magnanimity. But I can’t. Sometimes I get mad back. Sometimes I want to preach a whole sermon secretly designed to make that person look bad (I never have, and God willing, never will). But I can’t just stuff the feelings. I have to process them somewhere, I need a safe person who will let me process and help me not accept the poison of judgment.

So, do you have any tips on this? I think it’s pretty difficult.

Kings are the institutional leaders, the ones with vision and daring. Obviously, in one sense, Jesus is the king of the church. But he does give leadership to people- think of Peter and the apostles in the New Testament. Priests are the religious leaders- the one s who teach the Bible and lead people to worship. And prophets are the outside voices, the ones who call the church back to God when it strays.

My take on the church in America at the moment is that it has too many (in practice if not in word) prophets, and not enough priests and kings. Too many people assessing the problems, raging at failures, criticizing leaders, and not enough starting new churches, shepherding old ones, developing new strategies.

You want a formula to write an evangelical book that will sell?

First, choose some biblical ideal. Something God clearly wants the church to have. Say, holiness, or outreach, or community, or care for the poor, or worship.

Second, think of lots of ways that churches are not doing this ideal perfectly. It will be very easy.

Third, use a thesaurus to come up with as many insulting adjectives that you can use to describe churches who are failing to live up to your ideal. Many of them can end with the suffix “-less”. Spineless, passionless, godless, uncaring, secularized, missionless, coldhearted, compromised, irrelevant, gospel-ignoring, compassionless, isolated, disconnected, fearful, and so one. This will compromise the majority of your first chapter.

Fourth, come up with a solution. Make it as ridiculous as you can. Make sure that if anyone actually implemented your solution, it would be sure to cause havoc in their congregation.

Fifth, don’t actually try implementing your solution. You’ll be too busy writing blog posts and giving seminars at conferences sponsored by the megachurches you spent your first chapter excoriating.

We have tons of these books. They’re not helping. Here’s a better idea: start a small group. Spend lots of time and energy and prayer making it as healthy as you can. Then, whatever your idea is, see if you can get the small group to do it. Then train a leader to lead another similar small group. And let him train another leader. It’s been working for 2000 years so far.

And whatever church you find yourself in, love it to pieces. Bless the pastor. Engage in the worship. And think about helping someone plant a new church. Love that church. Give yourself to it. The small percentage of people who actually do this- the priests and kings, generally have more impact than most prophets.

Of course we need the prophets. I suppose this post is actually along prophetic lines. But I can’t help but wonder how many are more self-proclaimed than God-driven.

On Facebook this morning, my friend Libby posted this

Hey Mercy Folks! It seems like pain and suffering is running amock in our community right now. I thought this blog was helpful this morning.

The blog was one which most of you will know, and to which I’m a frequent contributor, Dave Schmelzer’s “Not the Religious Type“. The post Dave put up was a response to this comment from Peter Bierma:

I’d be interested to hear from any church leaders out there (Dave? Jeff?) how you’ve handled any “crises of faith”. Or if there hasn’t been a crisis, would a more moderate term be “ebb and flow”? Times when it seems like God hasn’t been there?

So, I thought, since I’m a pastor and all, and apparently my church is going through a lot of suffering, perhaps I ought to say something as well.

First off, is it true that suffering is running amok through our community? This one  is actually a bit tricky. We certainly have a large and growing community. And in any large and growing community, if you ask the question “is there suffering going on right now?” the answer would tend to be yes. Confirmation bias is a real thing, and if you are looking for pain you’re going to tend to find it.

That said, the recession has been taking it’s toll on our church for the first time, really, since it started. It’s rough for people to find jobs, and while the church budget is mostly looking OK, I can’t say there isn’t a bit more stress along those lines than usual. And there has been a seeming streak of rough health and marriage issues among church leaders for the past year or so, at least more than in the previous years. (As an aside, if you read Dave’s post, he’s got 35 people on his intercession team. So, MVCers, who is going to start ours? )

So, all that said, how do I deal with times of doubt or discouragement? Are there times I wonder if God is even real? Are there times I’m discouraged enough with life to want to give up?

For the most part, no. There probably were in my early 20s a few times, but I would chalk that up mostly to immaturity and inexperience. Discouragement and doubt do make the occasional foray into my life, and while not pleasant in the least, they don’t feel particularly threatening to faith or ministry.

To some degree I would echo Dave’s thoughts about prayer, and praise, and hearing from God, and talking with others (Q the most, with Barnabas running a distant but valued second.)

I would add that doubt and discouragement can be tools for change. When there is some element of belief, or some deeply held practice that seems to not be working, or seems confusing, often that is a red flag to me that maybe there is something that needs to change. I don’t think belief needs to be static, I think it is often dynamic.

This isn’t to say that there aren’t certain bedrock truths that we stick to. I’m not into questioning the trinity, the Bible, Jesus, or the love of God anytime soon. But I’m all for questioning how I relate to those things, how I approach and think about them, and how my life can more clearly reflect the good things I believe God has for me.

Thinking historically helps me too. I’m not the first person trying to follow Jesus. I’m not the first person whose seven year old daughter’s friend has brain cancer. I’m not the first person to read the first couple chapters of Job and find myself pretty confused about what’s going on. And a lot of those people have made it. This is different than saying “it could be worse”, which is profoundly UNhelpful. Instead, I guess it’s more like saying “I’m not alone.”

Which strikes as significant when I think about Libby’s initial post. On one hand, there is certainly difficulty in life. But isn’t there also something wonderful about the fact that those things can happen IN community? And particularly, in a community that actually has the resources of a living God to help and encourage us? Because, I suppose the only thing that’s worse than community that’s having trouble is a bunch of isolated individuals, all dealing with their pain alone.

But that said, there is still a loneliness to any doubt or discouragement. And there is some loneliness that a pastor feels, just as anyone else does. There are things I have to face, that others don’t have to (just as there are things they have to face that I don’t.) I’m not sure I’d want to publicly air those, as it smacks a bit of self-pity. But I certainly bring them up with a trusted few (especially people I know will pray for me, and about that intercession team…)

How about I end with a strangely helpful exercise. If you have an email account you’ve been using for a while, go back three years. Look at some of the emails. Think about all the things you were worried, stressed, discouraged, and in crisis about then. How many of them still matter? A little perspective…

And there are two realities to be balanced. First, it’s the job of the leader to bless and encourage those ideas to grow, to empower people to fill out their part of the dream. But the other reality is that often people think that their part of the vision is the MAIN part of the vision. That’s totally understandable- God has put that passion in their heart. But the job of the leader is to keep the church healthy and balanced.

Depending on who I’m talking too, our church service is too long or not long enough. The sermons are too intellectual or too practical. We do too much or not enough social justice, outreach, prophesying, praying, eating, connecting, and on and on.

The temptation is always to become detached. When a person comes with a new, passionate idea, the inner alarm bells can say “Here we go again, someone else with all the answers for church.” But this must be guarded against. Because it is the God of the universe that deposit these dreams in people’s hearts. Detachment and cynicism are poison.

How do stay balanced but not detached?

That’s when I realized I couldn’t do everything, and that no one really expected me to. But this never seemed to be mentioned or talked about- and I found the same to be true when I transitioned from college ministry to church ministry. It seemed like I was supposed to read my Bible, pray, have a mentor, be mentored, go to classes, listen to tapes, be in an accountability group, go to retreats, launch a new ministry, support missionaries, fast, meditate, be a small group leader, volunteer in the nursery, share my faith, pray for healing, pray for revival, feed the poor, oppose racism, and bring my faith into the workplace all at the same time.

And again, nobody really expected me to do all these things. But nobody seemed to talk about the fact that this was actually the case. Now, on one hand, trying to do all these things and stay super-busy wasn’t bad. I actually think that seasons of crazy busy-ness can be healthy. It’s how you learn things about yourself. But, those seasons have to end.

So, if we can’t do everything, how do we figure out what to do? I have a few thoughts, and would be curious as to how you navigate this.

First, do a lot of what you like. I suppose this seems obvious, but maybe it’s worth saying. Jesus said he came to give us life to the full.

Second, do a few things that challenge you. You can’t grow without being stretched a bit, so this is always an important part of it.

Third, stay focused outwardly. Care about people who don’t go to church. Care about the poor. Care about your neighbors. Don’t just focus on the people who are already “in”. Otherwise you get sick.

How do you go about not doing everything?

Dan said:

“God uses broken vessels. I think it gives Him more glory. There were no perfect people in the Bible, but there were a lot of flawed ones, who had faith and hope.”

So, if what I was trying to say about inner healing in any way seemed contrary to this sentiment, let me emphasize that I didn’t mean it that way. I constantly return to the hope giving reality that God loves me with all my flaws and brokenness.

What I am trying to say about inner healing is that it is a helpful stop on the journey, but not the journey itself. And yet there is something about what people find in inner healing that they want to carry with them- a deep sense of dependence on and love from God.

But that dependence and love is not exclusively available in our woundedness. What I’m looking for is a path where my everyday life is shot through with that dependence and love. Because if we focus exclusively on woundedness, we miss the crucial point Brent made on Facebook:

“I think Mysticism done right is not inner exploration. It is about relating the inner to the outer. It’s about letting yourself interact in some way with things that are too big to fit into your mind and your heart.”

Yes. I am not seeking mysticism as an escape, quite the opposite. I want to live so boldly, so fearlessly in the world, but I need deep inner resources for that. My forays into inner healing and mysticism have been precisely driven by the increasing pressures and responsibilities that leadership and family life bring. How do I learn to thrive in the really-difficult real world?

The main answer I can find, is learn to pray. But learning to pray is something we do in community, with thousands of years of help from psalmists, monks, priests, pastors, and friends.

That said, here’s what I’m into lately. Mysticism. By which I basically mean, ways to talk about prayer and spiritual growth that go a little further than “read your Bible, pray, and go to small group”. Not that I’m against RYBPAGTSG, it’s just that it wasn’t enough for me.

Let me try it from a different angle. For years I had a tortured relationship with inner healing people. On one hand, they had something I wanted. There are hurts in me I want dealt with. At the same time, I had (have) a bone to pick with them. They never get better. And they seemed to wear that fact as a badge of pride. “We are all broken, and the deeper we get in, the more brokenness we find, and the more healing from God we can experience.”

Well, I mean, I suppose that’s true, but I’m not sure it’s accurate to call it inner healing if you never actually get better. Maybe we should just call it inner exploration. And there it is. Maybe we should. But maybe we all could use a little guided inner exploration.

Is this just narcissism? I mean, is this really what our over-therapized culture really needs? More reasons to sit around and focus on our feelings? Well, maybe, kind of. Maybe the reason we’re so over-therapized is that urbanization really has messed us up. And I love me some big cities, but seriously- people need place, connection, community, sacred place, history, tradition. And we tore it all down to build a mall.

And maybe what we need is some guidance, some wisdom, some direction. And not just free form Rorshach dots, but real, rooted, spiritual wisdom. Wisdom that says yes AND no, that says this AND not this. And yet that isn’t legalistic, isn’t rules, It’s just a shape for a life. Contours for being truly human.

In any case, that’s the mysticism I’m looking for. I’m reading a book on Centering Prayer by Cynthia Bourgeault. And what surprises me is how much space she spends on what Centering Prayer isn’t. But that’s so helpful. On one hand, I am helped by “just try praying”. But I am also very helped by “try praying this way”, which incorporates “when this comes up, do this, but don’t do this.”

So that’s what I got today. Sporadic Blogger out.

-Seek first to understand rather than be understood. I’ve found it SO helpful to ask open ended questions such as “why do you like that idea?” or “what are the benefits of that?” I’ve had situations where the person has come into the discussion with entirely different experiences (or data, as you said Jeff) than I have. Neither my experiences (and hence my opinion) nor the other person’s experiences (hence their opinion) were “wrong”, they were just two pieces of a larger more complicated picture.

-Demonstrate that I’ve listened and validate the other person’s point of view. When tempers start to flare, this is AMAZINGLY helpful to defuse the emotion. I’ll repeat what the person said, maybe in some of my own words. They might correct me and we might have to go back and forth to make sure I understand properly. There is something about being heard and understood that transcends agreement. I can walk away from a situation where I don’t agree with the decision, but if I feel like the other people understood me, that goes really far towards me be okay with it.

I’ve also been in situations where this hasn’t happened at all, and we just continued bringing up the same statements with increasingly more emotion. And I think that was because we didn’t feel heard by the other person and therefore just repeated the same statements and couldn’t get past them.

-Say what I agree with first, before saying what I disagree with. Sometimes I have to scrape to find something I agree with, but this goes back to validating. Finding common ground first just seems to set a good tone for the discussion.

-When I express my idea or opinion, I try to include why I like the idea and/or how I came to that opinion. I offer up my past experiences as the basis for my idea or opinion, especially if they are different from my colleagues. I find the ‘why’ is often as important as ‘what’ I’m expressing.

Regarding your suggestion #2 Jeff – never argue if someone is strongly dug into a decision – I do find it’s important to choose wisely. If the person is strongly dug in, and it’s a minor decision, there’s little value in me spending a lot of effort. However, on more major decisions, sometimes I don’t have the option (and still do my job) not to engage in discussion with someone who is strongly dug in to a decision that I don’t agree with. In other words, the weight of the topic (and/or my conscience) may compel me to engage, no matter how strongly dug in the other person may be. But, I always have the option not to argue with them – discuss yes – argue no.

And point #3 about being willing to believe that “I could be wrong” is very helpful in my experience. The intent is to make a good decision, or chose the best idea, for the situation. Sometimes that means putting aside my ego, because a better idea came from someplace else or there were other factors that I didn’t know about. It’s not about me, or about winning, or about feeling better about myself, but about making the best decision. I try value what is greater than me and best for the situation. And most of the time, that it is much easier said, than done.

What if they do X and it goes badly? You might feel like you failed them. But what if you oppose X and they do it and it goes well? Then you’ll feel dumb. But what if you oppose X, and X is neutral, but they feel judged by you and your relationship goes south?

To dig a little deeper, what if you are working on a team, and someone suggests X, which seems to you like a terrible idea? As the team works, it seems like X is getting more and more play and might end up being the strategy. You can’t decide- should I go against the flow and fight against X? What if everyone ends up hating me?

And, in so many cases, it isn’t even this clear cut. We just think something might be a bad idea, or we like one part of an idea but not another. And, if we are honest, maybe we just have some self-interest in opposing X, but even still, we are trying to figure out if it’s still worth speaking out against.

Three thoughts:

1. Offer data not opinions.

If there is actual information, you can share it in the least slanted way possible. I recently sent someone an email that just said “Hey, I know you are doing X, and some of my friends have had a bad experience with X. How much have you looked into it?” And the reply was that she was aware of the potential downside, and had some reason to think she could avoid it. And she thanked me for the note. There you go- data not opinions.

2. Never argue if someone is strongly dug into a decision.

If someone is dug in on something, never argue. Even if the thing goes badly, at least you will still have relationship. If you have a big argument, you will have injected shame into the conversation, and if it goes badly, it is less likely you will be able to help on the other side.

3. You could be wrong.

You can say to someone as many times as you want “I could be wrong.” But if you don’t believe that you could be wrong, they’ll be able to tell. And you will probably offer more argument than data. Can you internally own your fallibility? This might be one of the most important skills to have in this situation.

Have you responded well to someone else’s potentially bad decision?

Yadda yadda yadda.

Of course it’s all true and profound. And probably more important than anything I have to say. All I really want to note here is that failure sucks. It hurts inside, and sometimes it even hurts other people. It can make us question our own significance and worth, it leaves us disoriented and unsuree of the next move.

I will leave it to our wiser sages to teach us how to learn from failure. Here, I’d like to help you survive it. Because if failure overwhelms us, beats us, takes us out of the game altogether, we don’t have a chance to learn anything from it. I’ve said before that one of the central lessons for young leaders is simply, “don’t quit.”

So how do we survive failure? A few thoughts.

First, learn when to declare it. You can declare failure too early out of tiredness and discouragement. You can declare failure too late, and beat a dead horse for months.

Second, articulate clearly how you failed. This often helps us relativize what happened. Say you planned to teach a class for four weeks. You hoped 20 people would show up. But in reality, 6 showed up the first week, and that number decreased each week. How did you fail? Well, you taught a class. Some people came. But not as many as you hoped, and they didn’t stick. Simply articulating that helps you get perspective. You didn’t fail at everything. You simply didn’t get as many epeople as you wanted.

Third, don’t try to feel better, try to do better. The right question to ask about the previous example is “why didn’t many people come?” and ” why didn’t they stay. Could be failure of publicizing, could be lack of interest in the topic, could be that it was a bad time, could be that you’re just a boring teacher. Work on fixing that stuff. Way to much energy gets spent rationalizing and justifying our failure instead of simply trying to do better.

And then, you know learn from your failure, cuz, huh, you know, failure is the best teacher. And stuff.

That’s what struck me this year. That basically, there was a time when this was really an important public function. Of course, on one hand, it is- it gives Minnesotans a sense of place, identity, and cohesion. But in a practical sense, it’s 90% just for fun and sentiment. It isn’t really a place where significant public discourse takes place, or where people find out the latest happenings from around the state. But it seems that at one point it actually was.

I just can’t get over the rate of change in our culture. I posted about it a few days ago, and it keeps rolling around in my head. Think about it- 100 years ago there was no TV, few phones, no internet, few cars. Churches that now seem either quaint or outdated were in their heyday- a heyday that would last for a while. The Pentecostal movement was barely germinating, and radio was just getting off the ground. Hot issues in the church might have included card playing, mixed bathing, public dancing, and theater attendance. There was no such thing as a debate over women in ministry, the megachurch movement, or gay marriage. 10 years ago Yahoo was the hottest thing on the internet and 5 years ago taking out sketchy mortgages seemed like a really good idea.

How should the rate of social change influence how we think about ministry and leadership? Gosh darn it if I know. I was at a conference recently and spoke to a long-time mentor of mine who is in her 60s now. Much of the conference had revolved around responding to rapid change. When I asked her what she thought of the conference, she just said two words, “I’m scared.” She didn’t mean it in a bad way, she was just being honest. Sometimes it seems we have to rewrite the game plan of leadership every six months.

I think of three helpful responses, but heck, maybe they’ll change in six months.

First, never hold on to the past. Hold on to truth, hold on to God, hold on to people, but not the past. It can’t help you. It’s already over.

Second, always learn from the past. It’s not there to be preserved, it’s there to be understood. I was a history major, and I still find studying history one of the most helpful practices for understanding the present and the future.

Third, figure out what your knee jerk response to change is. Are you stodgy? Are you an early adopter, or a late adopter? Do you throw yourself into change quickly- maybe too quickly? Understanding our instinctive response can help us make more critical assessment of how to move forward.

What do you think? How do you respond to change?

All that said, I often find that if I can connect to God outside of preaching and worship music, it can be super-helpful. I think that because this is my life work, at times, I can feel like “I’ve gotten as far as preaching will take me at the moment, I need something fresh.”

I have found a lot of help in non-worship music. I know its cliched, but Bono has been my companion for many years. Lauryn Hill, Beethoven and Nickel Creek have been there too.

I also, strangely, have really enjoyed studying business models. Not just as ways to strategize about church. I actually find it fascinating how people reflect God’s creative image in the creativity and daring of powerful corporations. This summer I’ve been obsessed with baseball, and especially with Henry Aaron. His life is so tragic, and yet heroic. There is a lot to learn from him.

I know a lot of people are into movies- I’m not so much. But some TV shows have been helpful metaphors- Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The West Wing, and a few others. I’m not much of a fiction reader, but I know that helps a lot of people. I also really enjoy wandering around neighborhoods looking at houses and talking to God about my life.

I’d love to know strange ways you connect to God?

That kind of reality exists now only in monastic settings (which, not surprisingly, are making a bit of a comeback). But for churches (or other organizations) in the modern world, change is an everpresent reality. There are statistics like “30% of a congregation in a large city turns over every years”. This is certainly true for us at Mercy, moreso given our younger population.

Whatever system or strategies we put in place must take this into account. On one hand, I have friends that I hope stay in this church with me until one of us dies. But in reality, most of the people closest to me will move on. They might move, or their needs might change such that they end up in another congregation (get over it, pastors, people are going to leave you and it doesn’t make them bad or you a failure.)

If we make plans with the idea that the same people will stay around year after year, we will almost immediately start declining in both attendance and effectiveness. We must plan for the reality that our church will look completely different in 5 years, in ways we probably can’t even imagine.

Let alone the turnover in people, consider the effect of technology. I literally cannot conceive of how to do ministry without cell phones, web sites, email, and facebook. But what new technologies will be present in five years that I’ll have to catch up with? And for the record, I’m not a techno-geek. I’m a late adopter on almost all technology. I didn’t set this blog up- my friends did, then sent me a link and said “type in the box.” But I know if I fall too far behind, I’m dead.

What stays the same? Jesus. Love. Hope. But Jesus is an incarnate God, you hear me-incarnate. That means he enters into the world, into reality. Which means, in the 21st century west, Jesus embraces constant change.

I’m known for being blunt and offensive on this topic and I feel no real need to change that, so here are six realities of dating in Christian leadership circles.

First, there are way more girls than guys in Christian leadership circles. Church in general is female-biased, and the closer you get into leadership, the more we see this. Oddly, I have a regular experience of Christian girls being almost irrationally picky about guys. Speaking by the odds, I’m not sure that’s the best approach. Of course, it’s understandable, because guys tend to mature slower than women. So guys, if you are a guy Christian leadership type, if you can learn how to get a job and comb your hair, you’ve got a pretty good shot. And girls, most guys will eventually grow up. I once found in my wife’s diary from the summer we met the question ‘Am I willing to wait for him to grow up?’ I’m glad she was.

Second, don’t have sex before you get married.

Third, don’t make out with people you aren’t actually dating.

(I find myself utterly annoyed that I had to make the previous two points. Particularly when it comes to leaders. For average churchgoers, sure, I understand it’s rough. But I think step one of leadership is sort of like, have character and obey God. Seems pretty objective to me.)

Fourth, try to be impressive. There is a weird Christian myth that we are supposed to fall in love only with somebody’s spiritual life. As if, you can be a total slob but if you pray four hours a day, you are great dating material. Get a job, go to the gym, build an awesome ministry, make a huge difference in the world, read lots, be well-spoken. Now look- I know your accomplishments don’t define your worth. I know Jesus loves you- crazy loves you, if you are the most unimpressive person in the world. But he made the world for us to live in and told us to go into it and be fruitful. So- based on a firm foundation of the love and acceptance of Jesus, on the secondary foundation of the love and acceptance of your friends and brothers and sisters in Christ- try to be impressive.

(Caveat: you can definitely try too hard in this direction. Any good dating advice knows there is such a thing as overkill. Romantic comedies are fiction. Part of being impressive is learning to be subtle.)

Fifth, consider how potential dating prospects will influence your leadership. Don’t marry a needy diva if you want to work long hours some weeks. Arguably, dating is the single most important activity for young adults. Little else will effect the rest of your life as much as your approach to dating. This is precisely because dating is directly connected to marriage, and marriage is the single most life-changing human relationship you will ever have (if you do, indeed, get married).

Sixth, get outside input. I often say I wish we did pre-engagement counseling instead of premarital counseling. Choosing the right person in the right way makes all the difference in the world.

This has a negative side, in a strange way. And actually, I think in a way that translates to a lot of other leaders. I have a tendency towards impulsive decision making. I can get excited about an idea, or get negative toward something, and without thinking it through, make a large, life-changing or institution-changing decision.

In church planting circles, we call it “don’t be an idiot.” We often tell people that they can make it in church planting as long as they don’t do one of two things- quit, and be an idiot.

“Being an idiot” can consist of just about anything. Sudden changes- firing a leader unnecessarily, making a huge change in Sunday services, putting a new person in charge of something they aren’t ready for. It often comes when a planter feels discouraged or tired and thinks they just found the silver bullet that will make church planting easy or risk-free.

So- next time you are tempted to make a snap decision but some inner voice wonders if you should think it through a bit more- consider listening to the inner voice. Now- I fully recognize there is an opposite danger. Depending on your personality, being frozen by fear might be more dangerous than impulsivity. But- I have even seen people be impulsive based on fear- because thinking through options brings up so much anxiety, they try to avoid the anxiety by just choosing suddenly and randomly.

One other note on this. Once you have made an impulsive decision and it’s having negative consequences- get advice fast from someone outside the situation. You started digging yourself into a hole of trouble and its likely you can’t see clearly enough how to get yourself out. Sometimes the impulsive response to an initially bad impulsive decision multiplies the damage even more.