Do you seek refinement from community?
This is so key to what I was trying to say last week. I think we all want to think of ourselves as honest persons but the reality of the matter is that it is likely that we deceive ourselves. The problem is, once recognized, how does this play itself out in real life in our communities?
This excerpt comes from a short book called Let Your Life Speak, by Parker Palmer (San Francisco: John Wiley & Sons, 2000) and although I don't agree with everything he says in it, this section is profound. And I do recommend the book. I hope this is a concrete example of some of the theories we've been throwing around these past few weeks.
"...I was offered the opportunity to become the president of a small educational institution. I had visited the campus; spoken with trustees, administrators, faculty, and students; and had been told that if I wanted it, the job was mine.
"Vexed as I was about vocation, I was quite certain that this was the job for me. So as is the custom in the Quaker community, I called on half a dozen trusted friends to help me discern my vocation by means of a 'clearness committee,' a process in which the group refrains from giving you advice but spends three hours asking you honest, open questions to help you discover your own inner truth. Looking back, of course, it is clear that my real intent in convening this group was not to discern anything but to brag about being offered a job I had already decided to accept.
"For a while, the questions were easy, at least for a dreamer like me: what is your vision for this institution? What is the mission in the larger society? How would you change the curriculum? How would you handle decision making? What about dealing with conflict?
"Halfway into the process, someone asked a question that sounded easier yet turned out to be very hard: 'What would you like most about being a president?'
"The simplicity of the question loosed me from my head and lowered me into my heart. I remember pondering for at least a full minute before I could respond. Then, very softly and tentatively, I started to speak: 'Well, I would not like having to give up my writing and teaching....I would not like the politics of the presidency , never knowing who your real friends are....I would not like having to glad-hand people I do not respect simply because they have money....I would not like...'
"Gently but firmly, the person who had posed the question interrupted me: 'May I remind you that I asked what you would most like?'
"I responded impatiently, 'Yes, yes, I'm working my way toward an answer." Then I resumed my sullen but honest litany: 'I would not like having to give up my summer vacations....I would not like having to wear a suit and tie all the time....I would not like...
"Once again the questioner called me back to the original question. But this time I felt compelled to give the only honest answer I possessed, an answer that came from the very bottom of my barrel, an answer that appalled even me as I spoke it.
"'Well,' said I, in the smallest voice I possess, 'I guess what I'd like most is getting my picture in the paper with the word President under it.'
"They did not laugh at all but went into a long and serious silence - a silence in which I could only sweat and inwardly groan.
"Finally my questioner broke the silence with a question that cracked all of us up - and cracked me open: 'Parker,' he said, 'can you think of an easier way to get your picture in the paper?'
"By then it was obvious, even to me, that my desire to be president had much more to do with my ego than with the ecology of my life - so obvious that when the clearness committee ended, I called the school and withdrew my name from consideration. Had I taken that job, it would have very bad for me and a disaster for the school.
"The ecological theory of life, the theory of limits, works wonderfully well with situations like this: my nature makes me unfit to be president of anything, and therefore - if I stay true to what i know about myself - I will die having avoided a fate that for me would be worse than death.
"...If I try to be or do something noble that has nothing to do with who I am, I may look good to others and to myself for a while. But [it] will eventually have consequences. I will distort myself, the other, and our relationship - and may end up doing more damage than if I had never set out to do this particular 'good.'"
Some reflections as I read this:
1) He gathered a group of people whom he trusted to ask him honest and open questions. No criticizing or judging, just simple questions. When was the last time I made myself vulnerable like that with people who loved me?
2) He was mature enough to know that it needed to be done and didn't make a major decision without consulting the community. Granted, it is a part of his theological tradition, but can I make this a regular part of my life--asking my community of believers to join me in making decisions? What are some other decisions besides a new job?
3) In the end the truth set him free. He admits that if he had taken the job he would have been in it for the wrong reasons and both parties (himself and the school) would have been worse off because of it. That admittance was probably a hard conclusion to come to but he is now able to go forward in hope and with freedom that he can make wiser decisions--that is, decisions more in line with God's will for the world.
Last week we talked about seeking refinement of our hearts from Scripture, but what about community? Do you have a group of guys you can sit down with and talk about your heart, your motivations? Will you let other guys be painfully honest with you? Why not?