Here’s a link to Rebecca Maccini’s blog article which expresses more fully the ideas I just posted.

Yesterday’s teleconference with Rebecca Maccini on the question, “Do you know your church’s story?” has got me thinking. I’ve particularly been thinking about her comments on the role a pastor can play in helping the church itself learn and understand its own story better.

She talked about the concept of a cohesive life narrative, that people who can remember their life narrative and put some kind of meeting to it generally do better. She suggested that there may be a corollary for churches. She also wondered whether a church that holds secrets may have a hard time having a clear view of themselves in the present.

In her own ministry, Rebecca has often shared the stories she has learned about the churches she has served in sermons or in meetings. As stories or issues comes up, she asks a lot of questions, and ask people to tell her what that means to them. She said, “I certainly think that one of my jobs is to help the congregation to expand their story about themselves.”

The recording of the teleconference is available. E-mail me at Margaret@margaretmarcuson.com, and I’ll send you the link.

Join me next Thursday, March 26, at 9 Pacific/10 Mountain/11 Central/noon Eastern Time for a one hour conference call conversation with Rev. Rebecca Maccini on the topic, “Do You Know Your Church’s Story?” Rebecca is an ordained United Church of Christ pastor, currently serving the Congregational Church of Henniker, NH. She’s an adoptive mom, an occupational therapist, and has been studying leadership in Bowen Family Systems thinking for 10 years.

E-mail me at Margaret@margaretmarcuson.com with your interest, and I’ll send you call-in information. If you can’t make the call, a recording will be available.

This is the third of a series of conversations with leaders on the subject of my new book, Leaders Who Last: Sustaining Yourself and Your Ministry, from Seabury (now available on Amazon).

Poet and philosopher George Santayana said, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” We can be tripped up by past dynamics that we know nothing about, and sometimes even by those we are aware of. For example, churches that began as the result of a church split are likely to have a residue of anxiety. Likewise, the distinctions present before a merger may never completely go away. As a child I was part of church which struggled for many years, until they received a large legacy which enabled them to build both a beautiful building and new programs, and attract many new people. In some ways they operated like a large successful church, yet the mentality of struggle still cropped up from time to time.

Our body cells renew themselves regularly, and yet our form stays essentially the same. Likewise, institutions cycle through people, and yet many of the patterns remain the same. Edwin Friedman used to say that instead of looking to fill a position you should just say, “We’ve got an opening for a passive-aggressive this year!” It’s surprising how often these dynamics repeat themselves. One minister led her church through reorganization, and discovered that the new group responsible for church finances acted just like the old recalcitrant trustees. New people, new structure – same behavior.

Learning the history takes time. Pay attention as you lead – notice the stories that people tell about the past, and ask questions to increase your own knowledge. Many groups have some kind of written summary of their history. Read it carefully, looking for ways the patterns of the past may be present now. Look for strengths as well as pitfalls. When the leader stays curious about both the past and the present, he or she is better able to tap into the resources that are already present. We can make the best use of our own gifts and resources when we see ourselves as joining the ongoing life of the group, a life that began before we came and will continue after we leave.

Here are some questions that can help you as you learn more about the story you are part of. Sometimes it’s worth asking them explicitly, at other times it’s good to keep them in the back of your mind as you talk with people and read the information that comes your way.

What obstacles have been overcome, and how?
Are there programs, departments or positions that have historically gone smoothly or been problematic?
What is the length of tenure of leaders, and the circumstances of their departure?
Do you discover surprises along the way? Are there secrets that have been kept, and by whom?
What was the vision of the founder or founders?

In my quest for enjoyable bedtime reading during my Lenten fast from genre fiction, I came across The Year of Living Biblically, by A.J. Jacobs. Jacobs is a secular Jew who decides to spend a year following the Bible as literally as possible. It’s hilarious, and also both touching and thought-provoking.

Jacobs attempts to practice prayer daily even though he doesn’t believe in God. A Lutheran pastor, the father of a friend of his, gave him the mnemonic ACTS (Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, Supplication). He likes thanksgiving best. While eating a hummus lunch, he gives thanks to God for the land, the farmer who grew the chickpeas, the workers who picked them, the truckers who drove them, and the old Italian lady from the deli who sold him the hummus.

“The prayers are helpful. They remind me that the food didn’t spontaneously generate in my fridge. They make me feel more connected, more grateful, more grounded, more aware of my place in this complicated hummus cycle. They remind me to taste the hummus instead of shoveling it into my maw like it’s a nutrition pill. And they remind me that I’m lucky to have food at all. Basically, they help me get outside of my self-obsessed cranium.”

That sounds like a good Lenten practice to me.

I came across this quote recently. I wrote it down when I read All I Did Was Ask, by Terry Gross, and it makes me think every time I read it. It’s from an interview with actor Michael Caine in 1992:

“Well, I was rehearsing a play, and there was a scene that went on before me, then I had to come in the door. They rehearsed the scene, and one of the actors had thrown a chair at the other one. It landed right in front of the door where I came in. I opened the door and then rather lamely, I said to the producer who was sitting out in the stalls, “Well, look, I can’t get in. There’s a chair in my way.” He said, “Well, use the difficulty.” So I said, what do you mean, use the difficulty?” He said, “Well, if it’s a drama, pick it up and smash it. If it’s a comedy, fall over it.” This was a line for me for life: Always use the difficulty.”

Is there a relationship between age and flexibility? What do you notice about the older people in your congregation and how you relate to them?

I’ve been watching more movies this Lent since I gave up genre fiction for the season (rather than reading more non-fiction as I had hoped…). One documentary I highly recommend is Young at Heart. It’s the story of a chorus of people in their 70s, 80s and 90s who perform songs from James Brown to the Talking Heads to Coldplay. The movie is inspiring without being sentimental. My husband, Karl (who hates sentiment), told me, “No, I don’t think I’m interested.” Lured into the living room by one of the songs he overheard, he sat down and watched straight through to the end.

The director, Bob Cilman, is in his 50s. He’s terrific at encouraging the group to try new songs and to persevere when things are difficult. One of the members describes the way they used to sing songs like “Yes, We Have No Bananas,” and over time he has led the group in some radically new directions. Some of the members prefer opera, and yet they are singing songs they themselves would never listen to.

No doubt some dropped out of the group when Cilman began to lead in some new directions. The movie doesn’t address that question. But his calm presence and ability to challenge people to do more than they thought possible is instructive. I wondered what leaders of churches filled with mostly older people might learn.

Here’s a prayer that articulates beautifully keeping the long view in ministry. Sometimes attributed to martyred Archbishop Oscar Romero of El Salvador, it was evidently written by Bishop Ken Untener of Saginaw. (See here.)

It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,
it is even beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction
of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying
that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the church’s mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.
It may be incomplete,
but it is a beginning, a step along the way,
an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest.
We may never see the end results, but that is the difference
between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own.
This is what we are about.
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted,
knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation
in realizing that. This enables us to do something,
and to do it very well.

Amen.

How do you assess the risks you are taking, in ministry and in life?

A few weeks ago I wrote about Laird Hamilton, the big-wave surfer. When I used him as an example in a sermon, someone recommended to me the movie Riding Giants, a documentary about big-wave surfers, including Hamilton. It’s a remarkable movie, and amazing to see the kind of risks these surfers take, truly risking their lives for their sport. Is it brave or is it foolhardy? They achieve amazing feats. And occasionally, one of them dies.

One physician interviewed, who surfs the big waves off the shore of Half Moon Bay in Northern California, says he works with cancer patients. He sees the way cancer enables them to get greater clarity about what is important to them and discard what is unnecessary. He sees surfing as doing the same thing for him.

Ministry without risk may be no ministry at all. But it’s always possible to risk everything and lose. How far we push ourselves in this direction probably has something to do with our position in our families. I suspect older children (a majority of clergy) are more inclined to play it safe.

What are your thoughts on taking risks in ministry?