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Thinking Out Loud
  • Thomas Merton's Resolution

    by Michael Jinkins | Dec 29, 2014

    Merton's ResolutionMy chief care should not be to find pleasure or success, health or life or money or rest or even things like virtue and wisdom - still less their opposites, pain, failure, sickness, death. But in all that happens, my one desire and my one joy should be to know: 'Here is the thing that God has willed for me. In this (God's) love is found, and in accepting this I can give back (God's) love to (God) and give myself with it to (God).1

    So wrote Thomas Merton in New Seeds of Contemplation over fifty years ago.

    For Merton, the exercise of self-surrender is not merely an acquiescence to a nameless, faceless fate, nor is it the self-righteous act of the sour-faced saints of whom St. Teresa of Avila rightly complained. The ultimate goal of our surrender to God's will, according to Merton, is nothing less than full participation in the love of God, which is the life for which we were created. Our "consenting" to God's will "with joy" means that we share in our hearts the same love that is essential to God. When our hearts are filled with the love of God, we are set on the path of becoming like the God who is love.

    This year we will observe the centennial of Thomas Merton, who was born on January 31, 1915. Doubtless there will be many publications, many pilgrimages and many, many conferences planned to celebrate the large, round number of 100. As we begin what some have called “The Year of Merton,” however, I suggest we do something much simpler. I suggest that we allow Merton to act as our Novice Master. Beginning with the first days of 2015, I suggest that, rather than making the usual New Year's resolutions to lose weight or exercise regularly, we resolve to share Merton's resolution.

    This resolution begins with the discovery that our surrender to God's will opens the door to joy and peace, love and life. Merton never assumed that this surrender is easy, nor that God's will is obvious. Merton, himself, struggled with questions of God's will and his own vocation, recognizing that questions of vocation are closely related to choosing between our real and our false selves. As he wrote, again in New Seeds of Contemplation:

    We are at liberty to be real, or to be unreal. We may be true or false, the choice is ours, We may wear now one mask and now another, and never, if we so desire, appear with our true face. … Our vocation is not simply to be, but to work together with God in the creation of our own life, our own identity, our own destiny.2

    In one of his most famous works, Thoughts in Solitude, Merton confesses: "I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. … And the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing."3 The humility of Merton's prayer, including its renunciation of his own ability even to know when and whether God is leading him at any particular moment, speaks to the core of faith, one's trust in God.

    Possibly the simplest and most difficult of the lessons Merton taught, and the one which is most helpful as we pray for God to direct our steps, to know God's will, and respond to God's calling of us, concerns distinguishing between "our real and false selves." It is only the "real self" that discovers real humility. Robert Inchausti, editor of The Pocket Thomas Merton, (a singularly wonderful little resource) explains:

    At the heart of Merton's spirituality is his distinction between our real and false selves. Our false selves are the identities we cultivate in order to function in society with pride and self-possession; our real selves are a deep religious mystery, known entirely only to God. The world cultivates the false self, ignores the real one, and therein lies the great irony of human existence: the more we make of ourselves, the less we actually exist.4

    The world around us is ready to judge our lives on its ruthless scales of success and failure, but Merton calls even the categories of success and failure into question. In one of his most remarkable (and humorous) reflections, Love and Living, he says:

    A few years ago a man who was compiling a book entitled 'Success' wrote me to contribute a statement on how I got to be a success. I replied indignantly that I was not able to consider myself a success in any terms that had a meaning to me. I swore I had spent my life strenuously avoiding success. If it so happened that I had once written a best seller, this was a pure accident, due to inattention and naïveté, and I would take very good care never to do the same again. If I had a message to my contemporaries, I said, it was surely this: Be anything you like, be madmen, drunks, and bastards of every shape and form, but at all costs avoid one thing: success. I heard no more from him, and I am not aware that my reply was published with the other testimonials.5

    Not only does the false self submit itself to the relentless judgment of the world, it engages in the judgment of others. The urge to correct, chastise, rank and judge others is a compulsion of the false self, an expression of the spirit of the Pharisee or the Puritan, though sometimes writ small in its petty pursuit of one-upmanship, but no less corrosive to the soul for its smallness. It is none other than Jesus who calls into question the world's standards of success and even righteousness. As Merton writes:

    In dying on the Cross, Christ manifested the holiness of God in apparent contradiction with itself. But in reality this manifestation was the complete denial and rejection of all human ideas of holiness and perfection. The wisdom of God became the folly of men, (God's) power manifested itself as weakness! And (God's) holiness was, in their eyes, unholy.6

    Merton's resolution asks for trust in God that takes the form of "self-emptying" in place of self-assertion, even when that self-assertion is dressed up in the language of justice, righteousness and rights. Merton repeatedly speaks of "the world" which God created in love and for which Christ gave his life, but he also speaks of "the world" in an altogether different sense, warning of its false claims and false judgment and its subtle enticements of the self. "The world (in this latter sense) is the unquiet city of those who live for themselves and are therefore divided against one another in a struggle that cannot end, for it will go on eternally in hell." The person in society who is a captive to "the unquiet city" will divide every community according to his or her own lusts for self and selfish interests, whether these interests are allowed to be seen in their ruthless nakedness or are dressed in the white robes of the saint. But we cannot, Merton says, escape that city merely by fleeing into solitude, because the unquiet city will follow us into a hermit's cave. The person "who locks himself up in private with his own selfishness has put himself into a position where the evil within him will either possess him like a devil or drive him out of his head."7

    Were we to make Merton's resolution our own, we might find something better than success, wealth or good health to celebrate in this New Year. We might rediscover sanctity and sanity.

    1Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation. Introduction by Sue Monk Kidd (New York: New Directions Publishing, 2007, originally published 1961), 17-18.
    2Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation, 32.
    3Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude (New York: 1999, originally published 1956).
    4Robert Inchausti, editor, The Pocket Thomas Merton (Boston: New Seeds, 2005), 1.
    5Thomas Merton, Love and Living. Edited by Naomi Burton Stone and Patrick Hart (New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1979), 10.
    6Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation, 62.
    7Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation, 78-79.

  • Christmas Again

    by Michael Jinkins | Dec 22, 2014

    Christmas AgainPlane loads, car loads, bus and train loads, people groan toward Christmas. Madonna-like, whole nations, vast families of people, make their way toward improvised crèches, toward trees illuminated and festooned with tinsel, toward whatever praises the unimaginable possibility that lies beyond all human imagination, yet always seems just beyond our grasp.

    Stuck behind the steering wheel or stacked like cordwood in economy class, my mind at this time of year drifts gossamer shrouded with the Ghost of Christmas Past.

    Cedar trees in a childhood long past, cut down on Grandmother Fenley's farm and decorated with precious homemade ornaments dating from the hardscrabble holidays of the Great Depression.

    Bells hung around our children's doorknobs upstairs alerting us that they were up on Christmas morning and making for the tree.

    The session clerk of our old Scottish Kirk reading St. Luke's account of the birth of Jesus in Scots dialect every Christmas Eve; the congregation gathered in from the ceilidh in the parish hall, all of us still sweating from dancing reels and, of course, drinking the punch, straining to hear his lilting phrases.

    That moment when the whole congregation at St. David's Cathedral knelt and sang by candlelight, "O Holy Night," that midnight moment like no other when even the most cynical, like Thomas Hardy's rough countrymen, rushed to the manger, "hoping it might be true."

    Gathered around Christmas dinner tables past, faces we see in memory that we will miss in the flesh this year, and may have missed for a very long time.

    Christmas again, and we hope not just once more. Nostalgia is potent this time of year.

    Sometimes I get the feeling that we hide nostalgia behind the Christian pulpit, a bit ashamed and more than a bit embarrassed of eyes welling up watching White Christmas, A Christmas Carol or The Bishop's Wife on the late show, the kids dozing, piled-up on the couch. Religious people of a particular sort - the sort who are Presbyterians, for example - seem to regard a knowing rejection of nostalgia and its adjacent sentimentality as a badge of our spiritual sophistication, as if to say, "Yes, we believe in God, but we are much too intelligent to be subject to emotions." But, our nostalgia doesn't mean that we have forgotten "the reason for the season," reminded as we are by the signs on innumerable churches each year. Nor does our nostalgia mean we take the brain less seriously than the heart.

    What brings us together, we know, is the miracle that never ceases to be a miracle however many department store bags are stacked in the spare room. And that miracle is attended by feelings and memories that evoke feelings. The season is many things, but it is also wistful, as rich in simple emotions as any wedding - or any funeral. And this is not a pagan thing, or a foolish thing, just a human one. And doesn't that make sense?

    Christmas is, after all, the festival of the incarnation, the stubborn reminder that God is more dedicated to the flesh than any hedonist. God risked everything to become human. God still does. And, so, we celebrate Christmas again. And, again, we risk remembering, and feeling, and being as human as God.

    Merry Christmas to you, your family, loved-ones and congregation from all of us at Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary!

  • Leadership Notebook 8: Some Positive Functions of Conflict

    by Michael Jinkins | Dec 18, 2014

    Editor’s note: Periodically throughout the 2014-2015 academic year, “Thinking Out Loud” readers will receive blog posts that address the idea of leadership. Best practices, challenges, rewards and lessons learned from different models of leadership are the focus of these special blog posts. We’d love to hear what you have written in your “leadership notebook.” E-mail us!

    Leadership 8Perhaps this has happened to you.

    You experience a moment, either in a conversation with another person or while reading something, when suddenly the tumblers fall into place. You can almost physically feel it happening. Not only does something puzzling suddenly make sense, but evermore after you remember that moment of insight.

    I was reading Lewis Coser’s book, The Functions of Social Conflict early one morning on a train from Oxford to London when such a moment occurred. I might as well have heard angels singing and seen shafts of heavenly light descending in the carriage. It was just one of those moments, and I often look back warmly on it. Since then, Coser’s theoretical model has provided for me a way to better understand the social dimensions of organizational life and leadership. When I look through the lens he provides, so many things come into sharper focus.

    While many people view conflict as inherently and inevitably negative, and understand it as diametrically opposed to cooperation and good leadership, Coser sees conflict as often potentially positive and constructive. He agrees with those sociologists before him (and he was a social scientist) who understood conflict and cooperation as existing in a kind of complementary rhythm as phases in a single integrated “process which always involves something of both.” (L. Coser, Functions of Social Conflict, New York: Free Press, 1956, 18.)

    Coser explores the functions of social conflict especially in conversation with the pioneering work of Georg Simmel. Along with Simmel, Coser notes the ways in which conflict “serves to establish and maintain the identity and boundary lines of societies and groups.” (Coser, 38)

    Conflict does things for a society that nothing else can do. Conflict is neither inevitably a social stressor to be avoided, nor merely a necessary evil to be endured. Rather, conflict represents those ordinary dimensions of social engagement by which individuals and groups, through varying modes of negotiation (implicit and explicit) and through dissent and disagreement, come to an understanding of who they are, what they care most about, and what they should do in relation to others who may or may not agree with them. Conflict defines boundaries.

    Conflict also defines identities and clarifies values. It plays a crucial role in what Coser calls “group binding.” He explains: “It seems to be generally accepted by sociologists that the distinction between ‘ourselves, the we-group, or in-group, and everybody else, or the others-groups, out groups’ is established in and through conflict.” Groups of people, in other words, express who they are and what they care about (identity and values), in part, by saying who they are not and what they will not accept. As Coser observes, this process of self-understanding is neither necessarily negative nor hostile, though he does not deny that conflict can at times be negative, hostile and very destructive. (Coser, 35-36)

    Far from being inevitably dysfunctional and damaging to social interaction, according to Coser “conflict is often necessary to maintain relationship” because when members of a group express their dissension and greet the conflict as an opportunity to take seriously their disagreement, their adherence to the group may actually be strengthened. If group members do not have ways appropriately to channel their disagreement and dissent, by contrast, their ownership in the group can be diminished, and they may simply withdraw from it. This is why Coser sees danger in a group’s or a leader’s habitual suppression of conflicts, ignoring complaints and disagreements. An organization is wise to provide “specific institutions which serve to drain off hostile and aggressive sentiments.” (Coser, 47-48) Those in leadership are wise who support such institutionalized means of catharsis that can act as safety valves to reduce the more extreme disruptive effects of conflict while allowing differences to be expressed in the normal course of events.

    It is at this point in his study, however, that Coser reflects on one of Georg Simmel’s most useful ideas: the distinction between what he called “realistic” and “nonrealistic” conflict. Coser explains that realistic conflicts “occasioned by clashes of interests or clashes of personalities contain an element of limitation insofar as the struggle is only a means toward an end.” Should parties in such a conflict find that their interests can be met and their goals be achieved through some means other than conflict, there is no reason why they cannot and will not pursue those alternatives. However, “where the conflict arises exclusively from aggressive impulses which seek expression no matter what the object, where in the conflict the choice of object is purely accidental,” there is no real limit of the conflict because “it is not the attainment of a result, but rather the acting out of aggressive energies which occasions the outbreak.” (Coser, 48-49) In the case of nonrealistic conflict, the conflict becomes an end in itself, and may become an end with no end in sight.

    Nonrealistic conflicts fall into the realm of broken relationships, perceived slights, resentments that are inherited from one generation to another that smolder and break-out in anger repeatedly with little or no prompting. Leadership requires discernment on many levels, and nowhere more than in assessing whether a conflict is realistic (and, therefore, represents a problem that can be solved) or is nonrealistic (and, thus, represents a predicament that must be endured with as little social damage as possible).

    The intensity of conflict follows an ironic calculus familiar to anyone who has tried to negotiate a Middle Eastern peace treaty [see, for example, Lawrence Wright’s excellent recent account Thirteen Days in September (New York: Knopf Doubleday, 2014) of the Camp David negotiations hosted by President Jimmy Carter between Prime Minister Begin of Israel and President Sadat of Egypt] or who has ever been a marriage and family therapist. As Coser says: “The closer the relationship, the more intense the conflict.” (Coser, 67)

    Furthermore, conflict is only exacerbated in those groups that make a greater or more comprehensive claim on the “total personality” of group members (i.e. members of a church who understand their belonging to the congregation as a comprehensive matter of personal loyalties and ultimate values). Hostility and resentment, long pent-up, deep and infectious, sometimes seeking no end but to hurt others, can lash out in such conflicts, the more violently the longer they have been held back, suppressed and subverted into passive aggression, the more viciously the better the opponents know one another and their mutual weaknesses. (Coser, 69)

    Understanding the nature of nonrealistic conflict is crucial, because dealing with it as leaders requires a different approach from the way we deal with realistic conflicts. While with the realistic conflict the social structures exist to facilitate the emergence and expression of diverse perspectives that can help the group to gain a broader understanding and to negotiate (and re-negotiate) its values and ends, when it comes to nonrealistic conflict, it is important to limit damage by providing social structures that channel the flow of emotion in the least destructive manner possible. In both cases, it is essential for leaders not to take conflict personally because doing so actually undermines one’s effectiveness and the group’s capacity to respond to the conflict itself. Of course, this is easier said than done.

    Coser, always the social scientist, is clear-eyed in his assessment of those conflicts that contribute to the health and unity of a group and those conflicts that merely function to tear groups apart. He recalls J.S. Mill’s argument that “it is possible to pass through turbulent times without permanent weakening of the political structures only if: 'However important the interest about which [people] fall out, the conflict did not affect the fundamental principles of the system of social union.' ” (Coser, 74). This maxim, of course, implies conversely that the fabric of groups, in fact, can be weakened if those conflicts do call into question “the fundamental principles of the system of social union.” This is worth remembering in a church, a school or an entire nation.

    Of the many positive functions conflict can serve for groups, three more are worth noting. Conflict, Coser reminds us, can act as a sort of stimulus to encourage us to establish new processes, standards of behavior, norms and institutions, while also leading us to reevaluate and perhaps reaffirm norms that we have long taken for granted. Conflict can also encourage us to reformulate “power relations,” even helping us redistribute power structures in creative new ways which may help our groups adapt in new environments. Finally, conflict can break-up hardened patterns of social behavior making important and necessary changes possible. Alliances across previously unbreachable boundaries can pave the way for new, lasting relationships as people discover unimagined commonalities and develop an understanding of contrasting perspectives, interests and needs. Conflict, then, can actually lead to the development of greater trust among members of a group. (Coser, 128, 137, 148-149)

    Among the most important insights in Coser’s analysis of the functions of conflict is this: Groups that manage their conflicts well tend to be more lively, more dynamic, more interesting and more open to diversity, and (at least potentially) more resilient to change than groups that manage only to suppress their differences. This alone is an insight worth remembering.

  • "Christmas Eve and Twelve of the Clock"

    by Michael Jinkins | Dec 15, 2014

    TOLImage 121614The headline of the British newspaper, The Telegraph, on November 20, 2012, read: "Nativity donkeys and cattle are a myth, says Pope." The headline referred to something then Pope Benedict XVI had written in a recent book. The former pontiff, a formidable scholar, was simply stating the historical facts as he understood them. But his comments drew a firestorm, and the Internet went nuts.

    Or, maybe not nuts at all.

    Among the responses I read to Pope Benedict's comments (and I have only read a fraction of them), there was a reminder that there must at least have been a donkey around (i.e., the one that conveyed Mary to the manger in the first place). Not nuts.

    There were several reflections on the first known living Nativity scene, which was staged by St. Francis of Assisi in 1222 near the village of Greccio, Italy, in a grotto complete with an ox and a donkey. I'm not calling St. Francis nuts, and you can't make me!

    There was an exceptionally insightful theological reflection by The Catholic Register (November 28, 2013), which explained that the reason animals are pictured at the birth of Jesus is to proclaim the fact that Christ is Lord of all creation. "The world was present" at Jesus' birth, and all creation bowed in worship and adoration at the manger. Theologically speaking, this is sensible indeed.

    C.S. Lewis, in a well-known poem “The Nativity,” used the presence of animals at the nativity (adding sheep, since the shepherds also made their way to the manger according to the gospel story) to reflect on our human struggles to respond to Christ in faith. Each animal, for Lewis, personifies something in us, and each stanza of the poem begins a devotional reflection, as follows:

    Among the Oxen (like an ox I'm slow) …

    Among the asses (stubborn I as they) ...

    Among the sheep (I like a sheep have strayed) …

    Though Lewis doesn't allude to it himself, there is a legend which also says that at the stroke of midnight on Christmas Eve all of the animals are granted the power of speech. A French Christmas carol of the twelfth century draws on this legend, concluding with the verses:

    Thus every beast by some glad spell,
    In the stable dark was glad to tell
    Of the gift he gave Emmanuel,
    The gift he gave Emmanuel.

    ("The Friendly Beasts," translated into a English in 1934 by Robert Davis)

    There is biblical warrant for the theological view that all creation praises God for its redemption, as The Catholic Register commentary reminded us. And there are few ways we can better illustrate this theological conviction than by placing words of praise in the mouths of the lowliest animals standing round the infant in the manger. Thus, the wisdom of the ancient legend.

    The most recent, and one of the most poignant, renderings of this theological wisdom is Lee Bennett Hopkins' new children's book, Manger, lavishly illustrated by Helen Cann. Hopkins selected poems by a variety of poets allowing a horse, a cat, a mouse, a dog, a cow, a wren, an owl, a fish and a spider each to praise the infant Jesus. Among the most wonderful of the short poems in this beautiful picture book for small children (and, of course, the adults who love them) are "The Mousesong" and "The Spider's Gift."*

    There's something really significant and profoundly resonant about the idea of animals attending the birth of Christ, something that reaches deep inside of us, perhaps touching the child in us who longs for wonder. This is why the Internet lit up when Pope Benedict called the presence of animals at the Nativity into question. The idea that animals bear witness to Jesus' birth even affected the romantic old agnostic poet and novelist Thomas Hardy.

    Hardy's poem, “The Oxen,” which begins,

    Christmas Eve and twelve of the clock.
    “Now they are all on their knees,”
    An elder said as we sat in a flock
    By the embers in hearthside ease

    takes us deep into a legend that would not die, even in the heart of the poet who also penned the fiercely elegiac "God's Funeral." In the minds of rugged shepherds beside a fire in rural western England, Hardy pictures a vision of animals gathered together to worship and praise God.

    The poet expresses the incredulity of his time, the modern era, and expresses doubt poured equally and liberally on superstition, legend and faith alike. But he continues on to say:

    So fair a fancy few would weave,
    In these years! Yet, I feel,
    If someone said, on Christmas Eve,
    “Come; see the oxen kneel

    "In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
    Our childhood used to know,”
    I should go with him in the gloom,
    Hoping it might be so.

    And so would I. No matter who says it's dubious. "Hoping it might be so."

    *Lee Bennett Hopkins and Helen Cann, Manger, (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans Books for Young Readers, 2014).

  • Great Books for Christmas

    by Michael Jinkins | Dec 09, 2014

    Recently my friend and a former chair of Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary’s Board of Trustees, Bob Reed, wrote me to ask why I haven't shared any new books lately. Well, Bob, this one is for you. And just in time for Christmas.

    Three excellent new books have recently come my way, the first two as recommendations from friends.

    EuphoriaFirst: Lily King’s Euphoria (New York: Atlantic Monthly Press, 2014) is maybe the best novel I've read in the last few years. This novel was inspired by the career of anthropologist Margaret Mead, and is set in the 1930s along the Sepik River in the Territory of New Guinea. Anita Eerdmans recommended the book to me when she was in town for Louisville Seminary’s fall Board of Trustees meeting, and she did so with the warning, "you won't want it to end." In fact, I found myself deliberately drawing out the last few chapters. Truly, this book was so good I did not want the experience of reading it to end. Captivating from the first page to the last, Euphoria explores the meaning of humanity and the mystery of inquiring into the humanity of others against a natural backdrop described with extremely beautiful prose.

    LexiconSecond: My friend Scott Black Johnston sent me a copy of Max Barry's new novel Lexicon (New York: Penguin Press, 2014) just prior to my departure on a long road trip this fall. Scott's note with the book read: "MJ, This is almost pure fun with some darn good paranoia thrown in for good measure." Set in the not-too-distant future, this story of a secret organization that controls other people through the power of words will startle you out of your skin. It is by turns disorienting, mesmerizing, terrifying and hilarious - a richly dark comedy, with some delightful twists and turns. (I recommend reading this novel while listening to Shakey Graves's new collection of songs, "And the War Came," though I'm told by my wife that I am twisted to recommend that others listen to Shakey - a musician so weird that Austin, Texas, has named a day honoring him!)

    LilyFinally (and I do mean “at long last” for her devoted readers, of whom I am one): Marilynne Robinson's Lila: A Novel (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2014). This is the third novel in Robinson's series which began with Gilead (New York: Picador, 2006) - the brilliant novel which won the prestigious Charles Grawemeyer Award in Religion from Louisville Seminary and the University of Louisville in addition to the Pulitzer Prize for fiction and the National Book Critics Circle Award). The second installment in this series was Home (New York: Picador, 2009). Each of the novels explores the interconnected lives of people in a small rural community in the Midwest. The theological themes are as rich as the humanity on display. In Gilead we were introduced to the Reverend John Ames, the pastor of the Congregational church in Gilead, Iowa; his wife Lila; their seven-year-old child; and Jack, the prodigal son of a close friend and neighbor of Ames, the Reverend Robert Boughton. In Home, Robinson took us deep into the lives of Boughton and his children, Glory and Jack, while in Lila we hear the story of the young woman who married the aged pastor, John Ames. A finalist for the National Book Award, Lila may just be the best of the series. Have no fear. No spoiler alert is necessary. I want you to enjoy Robinson's narrative genius entirely on your own.

    So, if you are longing for great books for those long winter evenings or some great books to give to people you love, these are the top three on my list this year.

  • Leadership Notebook 7: Leadership and Change (Part 2)

    by Michael Jinkins | Dec 03, 2014

    Editor’s note: Periodically throughout the 2014-2015 academic year, “Thinking Out Loud” readers will receive blog posts that address the idea of leadership. Best practices, challenges, rewards and lessons learned from different models of leadership are the focus of these special blog posts. We’d love to hear what you have written in your “leadership notebook.” E-mail us!

    Leadership Notebook 7In the last “Leadership Notebook” posting, I mentioned that the best theory I’ve come across to help leaders deal with change was developed by Paul Hersey and Kenneth Blanchard in 1972.1 Their model has proven useful in congregations and schools, as Debbie and I noted in our book on power, change and leadership.2 Today, I’d like to provide a very brief summary of the high points of their model.

    Hersey and Blanchard observed an interesting dynamic about leaders and change.

    Leaders can make things happen. But just because a leader can make something happen does not mean that his or her leadership is enhanced or that the group’s ability to adapt to future change is strengthened. In fact, a leader can be successful in changing something but may make the change in such a way that the leader is unlikely ever to get anything else accomplished in that organization. Thus, Hersey and Blanchard distinguish between effective and ineffective leadership and not just between successful and unsuccessful leadership.

    Their distinction is important. An effective leader leads the group through change in such a way that the group will trust the leader more - not less - after the change is made. By contrast, a leader who manipulates or forces a group into a change (though he is strictly speaking “successful” in making that specific change) undercuts relationships that will be needed in the long term.

    Hersey and Blanchard have their eye on the prize of long-term effective leadership. If a leader wants to be both successful and effective, her followers have to want the change to happen. They have to believe in the value of the change. They need to be willing to invest in the change. In effective leadership, followers discern that their goals and the leader’s goals are consistent.

    The challenge for a leader or a leadership team that wants to be both successful and effective is to lead others through a process that encourages the group itself to formulate change in the face of new challenges, rather than merely to own the changes the leader individually is convinced are crucial for the organization’s future. Hersey and Blanchard’s theory of change speaks directly to this leadership challenge. They understand clearly that change must be viewed from a perspective deeper than just external compliance or behavior. Effective change must involve people in four levels of change: (1) knowledge; (2) attitude; (3) individual behavior; (4) group or organizational behavior.

    At some levels, their theoretical model represents the best of common sense. But there is one particular aspect of their theory that may be a bit counter-intuitive.

    According to Hersey and Blanchard, an effective leader begins the process by addressing a group’s need to know and understand. The leader helps the group gain a deeper perspective and new insights, thus preparing the ground for possible change. But, as Hersey and Blanchard note, “Changes in knowledge are the easiest to make.” Those who have participated in an organization that prizes professional development, know the acquisition of knowledge can become both habit-forming and liberating to members of a group, strengthening the organization far beyond the immediate moment of decision, provided the leader is willing to enjoy the fruit of a more knowledgeable group. But those who have ever scratched their head over why people who know better keep doing the same counter-productive thing, understand that knowledge does not always lead to positive change, even among highly intelligent people. This is where Hersey and Blanchard are really helpful.

    The effective leader must also lead the group into an exploration of the emotional or attitudinal dimensions involved in the challenge facing the organization, having allowed them to digest new information and knowledge. Deeper knowledge may actually heighten anxiety and resistance in a group, at least at first. It is a wise leader who allows followers time and space to absorb emotionally the implications of the challenge facing them. We need to remember, even positive changes can evoke negative feelings, feelings of loss and latent anxiety. Many otherwise very bright leaders fail to understand that leadership is emotional, and the effectiveness of leaders is directly related to how well they handle the emotional dimensions of a group’s behavior (i.e., leaders must remain non-reactive and non-anxious while staying in relationship with the group members).

    Emotions are all the more powerful because they are so intangible. But if a leader hopes to see a change endure, she must be willing to listen and appropriately respond to the emotional reactions, feelings, concerns, fears and hopes of individuals in the group. This does not mean that a leader must become emotionally hooked by or stuck in the negative emotions that often emerge in times of change or conflict. However, a leader who hopes to take a group to new places must work to bring the individuals along.

    How a leader handles resistance and sabotage will largely define his or her leadership. Resistance is simply part of the change process, and effective leaders know that they need not take resistance personally.

    The move from knowledge through attitudes, we should remember, is never simply linear. It may be that the leader will need to allow the group to spend considerable time cycling round from knowledge to attitudes and back to knowledge acquisition again, because changes in attitude allow people to see things anew and to understand things to which they were previously blocked by their attitudes. A leader must not lose sight of the ends and goals of the group and cannot allow the group’s anxieties to prevent it from doing what is necessary to adapt to a changing environment or to meet an emerging challenge.

    As difficult as it is to help people change knowledge and attitudes, changes in individual behavior are even more difficult to make. You may remember Edwin Friedman’s observation that unmotivated people don’t change just because of insight. Hersey and Blanchard would say “Amen.” Changes in what Hersey and Blanchard describe as “patterned behavior” is what we are after; not just episodic changes, but habitual.

    Changes in patterned behavior are difficult to achieve and more difficult to sustain. It is here that the individual must finally own a particular change and determine that the intrinsic benefits of the change outweigh the benefits of not changing. If this does not happen, the change won’t stick. If it does happen, actual change of the group or organization becomes possible.

    The most difficult level of change is, of course, in the group’s own version of “patterned behavior,” the customs and traditions that represent a group’s deep habits of being and that give a group their identity. It is at this level, ultimately, that the group as a group either supports or will undermine the proposed change, because it is at this level that the group will either accept the change as its own (i.e., ultimately consistent with the group’s identity and character) or will reject it (as alien to the group’s identity). This is essential to remember.

    Harry Truman once said that there is no limit to what you can accomplish if you don’t need to take credit for it. A leader must from the very outset of the change process let go of the need to take credit for the change or to demand that the change be enacted precisely as she imagined. Almost any change that will really be owned by a group will have been somewhat altered in the process of the group’s making the change its own.

    It is true that this process requires a lot of time. And there are changes that simply must be made more quickly than the process allows. It is also true that this process of change (getting buy-in along the way) is only complicated (and sometimes impossible) in highly complex institutions which are made up of several constituencies and different types of stakeholders. In other words, real-world conditions are a lot different from laboratory conditions, and leadership rarely happens in laboratory conditions.

    The principles presented in Hersey and Blanchard’s theory of change, however, are sound, and a leader who ignores them does so at his or her own considerable peril. On the other hand, leaders who want to be both successful and effective will do well to aim at long-term effectiveness and not just immediate success.

    1Paul Hersey and Kenneth H. Blanchard, “The Management of Change,” in Henry L. Tosi and W. Clay Hamner, eds. Organizational Behavior and Management: A Contingency Approach (Chicago: St. Clair Press, rev. ed. 1977).
    2Michael Jinkins and Deborah Bradshaw Jinkins, Power and Change in Parish Ministry (Washington, D.C.: Alban Institute Press, 1991), 57-63.

  • Lenten Days BC

    by Michael Jinkins | Dec 01, 2014

    Lenten Days BCAdvent is Lenten Land. Days before God's rescue. Shadowland.


    We hardly see this Lent anymore. Not with Christmas aisles sprouting like rows of tinseled corn as soon as the Halloween candy disappears. Not with Christmas lights strung before we roast the Thanksgiving turkey.

    Yet Advent is another Lent. That's why the minister dons purple and the chancel guild decks out the church in Lent's gaudy glory.

    We do so love to rush to a kind of good news that denies the bad. When I was a child, we had only three holy days: Christmas, Easter and Mother's Day. So we skipped like rocks over the Lenten days of Advent - the long, long wait, the centuries-mimicking endurance run of faith, the dark-shuttered-shadowed days of "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" that culminate finally, at long last in candlelit "O Come All Ye Faithful."

    We argue that it is a shame not to get to sing Christmas carols longer. They are so bright, so cheerful, so soaked in childhood's sheltered view of the world (or so we hope). But there is wisdom in singing the dirge-like waiting songs of Advent for a long, long while before that night when we do at last break out "O Little Town of Bethlehem" and place the baby Jesus in his crèche.

    Advent prepares us for the life of faith in which we spend much more time waiting for God than basking in epiphanies. Four weeks on the trail to God knows where and twelve days of Christmas before we have to start hiding our babies from Herod. That's about right.

    Rush if we must for the sake of Macy's and Target and whatever other markets lure us into their shrines with tinsel and Bing Crosby. I won't play Scrooge to this. It is all such good fun. And if there's not a child in us whose heart leaps at Christmas's approach, then it is a tragedy. But let's withhold a part of ourselves from the mercantile fakeries, and let's also embrace the sacredness of the wait, the long wait, the painfully long wait, that prepares us to wait some more for a deliverance long-promised and worth waiting for.

  • Humanity 101

    by Michael Jinkins | Nov 24, 2014

    Thank You GodIf there’s a class somewhere that teaches us what it means to be human, the centerpiece of the curriculum surely is the study of gratitude. Learning to be thankful is basic to being a person. It’s “Humanity 101.” Thankfulness is the natural impulse of the healthy heart. It is the appropriate reciprocal response of the person who is fully alive. We are never too young to enter this course of study.

    In his new book for children, Dr. Brad Wigger, the Second Presbyterian Church Professor of Christian Education here at Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary, teaches this course. And, along with Jago, the illustrator of this wonderful book, Brad teaches the course, not from the sometimes isolating heights of a lecturer’s desk, but sitting on the floor surrounded by children. Thank You, God (Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2014) ushers us into the sanity and wisdom of being grateful for all of life. There could hardly be a better preparation for Thanksgiving.

    “Thank you, God,” we read, while our eyes are dazzled with visions of sun, space, earth and stars. “Thank you, God, for the sun smiling on our earth to wake up the day, for the light opening my eyes to see all you have made.”

    “Thank you, God, for family and friends, … for home, … for meals together.” Thank you, God, for learning, and stories, and singing, and love, for all that lies outside and in, for activities and rest, and everything in between.

    There have been a lot of debates over the years about what makes humans human. Even the Psalmist feels compelled to ask of God, “What are human beings that you are mindful of them?” (Psalm 8:4) Many answers to this question are really pretty reductionistic. While Shakespeare’s response in Hamlet soars (“What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form, in moving, how express and admirable! in action, how like an angel! In apprehension, how like a god!”), other answers to the question veer to the ridiculous. One college textbook, tongue in cheek, describes the human being as “an ingenious assembly of portable plumbing.”

    I would venture to say, however, that beyond the tool-making and ability to speak and reason, that which makes us truly human is our capacity for gratitude. Thankfulness flows from a right understanding of our indebtedness to God for breath, and love, and life itself. Thankfulness is evidence of a human being fully aware of his or her dependence on another (an Other). In other words, thankfulness is a concrete demonstration of genuine humility, and humility is the essence of humanness.

    This week I hope we will all go “back to school” and enroll with children of all ages in “Humanity 101,” and with Brad learn to say, “Thank you, God … for this day, for life, for your love holding us together. Amen.”

  • Leadership Notebook 6: Leadership and Change (Part 1)

    by Michael Jinkins | Nov 20, 2014

    Leadership and ChangeSeveral years ago, in a now classic essay in the Harvard Business Review, Charles F. Knight, then chairman and CEO of the Emerson Electric Company in St. Louis, Missouri, discussed the primary reason most business ventures fail. His comments, written specifically for a business audience, are worth hearing in the churchly and academic worlds. Knight writes: “We … believe that companies fail primarily for nonanalytical reasons: management knows what to do but, for some reason, doesn’t do it.”1

    If we were to boil down the principles that Knight elaborates in this essay, they’d go something like the following:

    • Do the best analysis of your data that you can do.
    • Devote significant time to planning, planning and more planning.
    • Think strategically for the long term while paying attention to your short-term results.
    • Don’t fail to act; i.e., do what you know you need to do.
    • Repeat the cycle, making necessary changes based on new data.

    Sounds simple, doesn’t it? But there’s a lot to think about and a lot to understand between the bullets when and where change occurs or doesn’t occur. There’s just no getting away from the fact that change is at the heart of the leader’s distinctive role in an organization.

    Why is that?

    Because leaders and leadership teams are responsible not only for the smooth operation of an organization in the present, but for the organization’s future ability to meet new sometimes unprecedented and unpredictable emerging challenges and demands in the surrounding environment. To put it in a slightly different way: leadership is future-oriented or it isn’t leadership; it’s just management. And as important as good management is, it cannot substitute for leadership. Inevitably management devolves into the sustaining of the status quo unless it is held in tension with the future-orientation of good leadership.

    I don’t remember where I first heard this story (and if someone out there comes across the source on it, I would be very grateful to know so I can give credit where credit is due), but the story goes that the head of a family-owned drill bit company died, leaving the leadership of his corporation to a son who had more of a reputation for good times than for hard work. When the son arrived at the first meeting of his leadership team, his reception was cold, to say the least.

    “What does this kid know about our business?” seemed to be the consensus attitude.

    Sitting down in his father’s chair, the young man started the meeting with his own question: “What do we make?”

    The chill in the room dropped a few degrees cooler.

    “We make drills,” someone said with a sneer, incredulous that the prodigal didn’t even know the company’s product.

    “No,” the young man said, “We make holes.”

    The short version of what was a long story is that this company emerged within just a few years as the industry leader in laser technology.

    Leadership leans into the future imaginatively. It has to do this because the leader or leadership team is responsible not only for the organization’s health in the present moment, but also for its thriving in the future.

    Obviously this means that leaders need to be good at reading tea leaves and cultures, within and beyond their organizations. They must be good at discerning the difference between a trend and a fad. And they must be good teachers and communicators who can help their organizations gain interpretive skills. But leaders also need to know what to do to position their organizations to make the necessary changes so they can continue to accomplish their missions in the future, even if their products change.

    Good strategic thinking often requires tactical shifts. Notice, for example, that the new CEO of the “drill” company didn’t say that they were abandoning their mission and were going to start manufacturing laptop computers. He knew his company’s mission. He recognized and blessed its mission. But he also had the imagination necessary to shift and redefine the company’s strategic vision, to translate that vision into a new vernacular. The only thing that changed, really, was the technology, but that change was crucial. The new product was a logical extension of the old products, and it engaged a potentially much larger market. In one sense nothing had changed. In another sense, everything changed.

    Leadership is about change, but we all know disastrous stories of leaders whose boats cracked up on the rocks of change, either by leading an organization in a direction that constituents could not or would not accept, or by leading a group into some sort of dead end or cul-de-sac from which it never again emerged, or by leading an organization in so many different directions (read here “mission creep”) that no one really knew which way to go or how to prioritize tasks.

    When I reflect on the leader’s role as a change agent, I often think of a great New Yorker cartoon. Two mathematicians are standing before a chalkboard on which a long complicated equation is written. On the left side of the equation there are mathematical symbols shooting in every direction; on the right side more mathematical symbols apparently resolving the problem; but in the middle of the blackboard, there are the words “then a miracle occurs.” Pointing at the middle of the equation, one mathematician says to the other, “I think you’re going to need to be more explicit here.”

    In our next blog, I plan to be a bit more explicit here about the leader’s role in change, drawing on a theoretical model first presented almost forty years ago in a paper in Training and Development Journal (1972) by two, then, relatively obscure researchers in organizational behavior: Paul Hersey and Kenneth H. Blanchard. It is the best model for understanding change and leadership I’ve ever found.

    1Charles F. Knight, “Emerson Electric: Consistent Profits, Consistently,” Harvard Business Review, January-February 1992, 57.

  • Radio-Reactive Correspondence

    by Michael Jinkins | Nov 17, 2014

    Thinking OUt Lous 111814One of the best pieces of advice I ever got as a young pastor was this:

    When something happens that causes you to blow your top and you feel that you just have to respond with an angry letter, write the letter. Next, put it in a drawer for a day or so. Then, after you’ve cooled down, throw it away.

    People don’t write many letters these days, but we really could use a “cooling off drawer” function on our computers for a lot of email. I hear the concern raised often by pastors, church members and the population at large.

    The ease with which people are able to blast the virtual community with their furiously unfiltered opinions is really a problem. Someone recently said to me, “You know, pressing the 'reply all' button on my email is an ethical decision.”

    It is also a decision fraught with implications for the sender’s reputation, especially when it comes to ministry and leadership.

    Among the key indicators of a person’s leadership readiness is a person’s level of reactivity. Whereas some letters that were dropped into mail slots a generation ago were referred to as “radioactive” in their fallout, the level of “radio-reactivity” in electronic correspondence is comparatively the difference between a stick of dynamite and a nuclear bomb. And the fallout can go on for years, especially if the sender makes a habit of launching missives.

    So, if we were to revise the advice some of us got back in the days when we wrought our damage with an ink pen or a typewriter so that the advice corresponds better to the way most of us communicate today via emails, texts and tweets:

    When something happens that causes you to blow your top and you feel that you just have to respond with an angry reply, write it, by all means. Then hit “delete.”

    It might just save your reputation.

  • The Triple Threat

    by Michael Jinkins | Nov 10, 2014

    Triple ThreatA recent report out of Russia brought to mind lessons about a dangerous mixture of politics, religion and nationalism. The story, which originally appeared in the Sunday edition of The New York Times (August 3, 2014) under the title "Putin Strives to Harness Energy of Russian Pilgrims for Political Profit," reports not only the cynical strategies of a political tyrant, but also (and perhaps more significantly) the capacity of the "faithful" of any nation to buttress their religious beliefs with what would otherwise be described as a craven, narrow, tribal, ethnic, racial and nationalistic ideology.

    The specific lessons this report brought to my mind were taught by Professor James Torrance in the Ph.D. seminars he once led on the history of Scottish theology and politics. Professor Torrance warned those of us in his seminars to be on the lookout for the toxic conjunction of romantic nationalism, racism and religion wherever they emerge.

    This triple threat, Torrance observed, has surfaced in various historical contexts, but always it manifests a self-confirming and self-serving identity that provides the justification of the most terrible violence in the name of God. He had personally witnessed the fierce and terrible face of this unholy triumvirate in the Troubles of Northern Ireland and in Apartheid-era South Africa. He had served courageously the causes of peace and justice in both contexts. Incidentally, the Belhar Confession which our church recently affirmed (of which Professor Torrance was an early and consistent champion) lends theological force in opposition to the powerful ideology linking religion with nationalistic and racist causes.

    It may surprise many Reformed Christians that our own faith has played into and provided support for certain versions of this triple threat, especially, but not only, in European history. The hyper-Calvinism that emerged in the generations after John Calvin's death held that God eternally hates the damned. The terrible logic of this theology proceeded: If the elect could just figure out who the damned are, they wouldn't have to love them either. It was only a short hop, skip and jump from this extension of the doctrine of predestination to the political situations that cursed Europe with unholy holy wars for generations, that continues to undercut Protestant and Catholic relationships in Northern Ireland, and that fuels all sorts of interfaith hatred.

    Sadly this is only one version of the triple threat. The twentieth century witnessed the emergence of others, arguably the most tragic of which was the Nazi coupling of race, nationalism and its own crypto-religious cult. But there were other outbreaks of such tribalism. It is important to add that the triple threat is not an exclusively Christian phenomenon. It infects other faiths as well with a particularly virulent form of religious chauvinism.

    Of course, it is always easiest to see the pernicious face of the triple threat in others (for example, in the recent stories reported from Putin's Russia), and seldom to notice it in the features looking back at us in the mirror. Jesus' admonition regarding specks in others' eyes and logs in our own applies here. But this particular threat is dangerous wherever it emerges, and we would do well to be on guard against it in ourselves.

  • Leadership Notebook 5: Organizational Archaeology

    by Michael Jinkins | Nov 06, 2014

    Editor’s note: Periodically throughout the 2014-2015 academic year, “Thinking Out Loud” readers will receive blog posts that address the idea of leadership. Best practices, challenges, rewards and lessons learned from different models of leadership are the focus of these special blog posts. We’d love to hear what you have written in your “leadership notebook.” E-mail us!

    Theoretical models help us understand our practices from a variety of angles. Edwin Friedman’s family systems theory helps us see the emotional processes at work within organizational systems, while Isaiah Berlin’s take on “incommensurable values” helps us understand that the negotiation of conflicts is not an evil to be avoided, but just a necessary aspect of lives rich in values. This week our theoretical model takes us deep into the inner life of the groups we inhabit.

    Leadership Notebook 5Many people have taken a stab at differentiating between leaders and managers. Edgar Schein, the MIT professor whose study, Organizational Culture and Leadership (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2nd edition, 1992) has become a classic in the field, says: “If one wishes to distinguish leadership from management or administration, one can argue that leaders create and change cultures, while managers and administrators live within them.”1

    While we would want to be careful drawing too stark a contrast between administrators or managers and leaders – after all, leaders do not live suspended above culture, and no leader has ever successfully effected long-term change in a culture without coming to some level of an insider’s appreciation for that culture – nevertheless there is considerable truth in Schein’s statement. Leaders serve organizations by mobilizing them to change in ways necessary to meet the challenges they face, a task that managers are not really called upon to make. And meeting the challenges of a changing environment almost inevitably means that leaders must also challenge and sometimes innovate changes in a culture’s values and goals, its mores and deep assumptions.

    Schein continues:

    “By defining leadership in this manner, I am not implying that culture is easy to create or change or that leaders are the only determiners of culture. On the contrary … culture refers to those elements of a group or organization that are most stable and least malleable. Culture is the result of a complex group learning process that is only partially influenced by leader behavior. But if the group’s survival is threatened because elements of its culture have become maladapted, it is ultimately the function of leadership to recognize and do something about the situation. It is in this sense that leadership and culture are conceptually intertwined.”2

    Another way to say this: Leadership is basically a matter of helping one’s organization adapt to its changing environment so that the organization can fulfill its purposes and achieve its mission. But, in order for a leader to do this work, the leader has to understand the organization at its deepest levels. “The leader,” as Garry Wills once observed, “needs to understand followers far more than they need to understand him.”3

    No one has done more to help leaders understand the culture of their organizations than Edgar Schein. A veritable Indiana Jones of organizational behavior, Schein teaches us to conduct archeology on living organizations, taking us deep through the various subterranean strata, layer by layer, so that we can see why a group values this and not that, why an organization clings to these beliefs but rejects those. He invites the leader to work with shovels and trowels and brushes carefully and lovingly excavating the human history that shapes a group’s self-understanding.

    Leaders who are dedicated to making sure their organizations thrive in the midst of a changing environment should be prepared to engage in this kind of work. And never has it been more necessary for leaders to help their organizations adapt and adapt quickly. But Schein warns, “The bottom line for leaders is that if they do not become conscious of the cultures in which they are embedded, those cultures will manage them.”4 Which means, in turn, that the leader will become subject to the same enervating inertia that afflicts those organizations that simply go with the flow until at last they cascade down the rapids and over the falls of oblivion and irrelevance.

    Obviously there’s no way we can glean the riches of Schein’s theoretical model in a single blog, but I can suggest the archeological movement of his approach.

    The leader begins on the surface, the level of “the very tangible overt manifestations that one can see and feel,” moving step by step toward “the deeply embedded, unconscious basic assumptions” that represent the very essence of a culture. “In between,” Schein explains, “we have the various espoused values, norms and rules of behavior that members of the culture use as a way of depicting the culture to themselves and others.”5 As the group engages in their rituals and conducts ordinary business, as they attempt to solve problems, make adjustments to various challenges, set goals, resolve conflicts, negotiate priorities, and so forth, the leader looks and listens for clues as to what guides the group members in their choices. It is at the deepest level of a culture that the leader must ultimately operate if changes are to be made that will help the organization adapt to meet new environment challenges.

    The three sub-strata through which the leader must dig are: artifacts, espoused values and basic assumptions. Perhaps the most interesting of the three are the espoused values. These are the values the group members say they hold dearest. But in virtually every organization the espoused values are not perfectly aligned with (and may actually contradict) the values that really guide their actions. Many leaders get distracted at the level of espoused values or take them at face value and do not come to an understanding of the real values and deep basic assumptions that actually do shape the behavior of the group. The leader who hopes to help his or her organization to adapt well, must get to the deepest, most crucial strata of the organization’s culture. But to get to this deepest level of basic assumptions, the leader sometimes may actually have to introduce a change that will cause the basic assumptions to surface (so that everyone can see what really makes the organization tick), even though the introduction of such a change will release “large quantities of basic anxiety.”6

    Schein’s theory probably needs a Surgeon General’s Warning Label: Delving into the layer of basic assumptions may be hazardous to your health. Indeed, a leader who finds it necessary to equip his or her organization to examine, challenge and change basic assumptions is in for a bumpy ride. Basic assumptions are where a culture’s deepest values reside, deeper than artifacts, deeper still than espoused norms, at a level of beliefs so deep that they are seldom even vocalized and never questioned. These deepest assumptions implicitly guide the decision-making of a group. But because they do exist beyond the level of frequent examination, if they are faulty they can represent the key barriers to a group adapting well to a rapidly changing environment. Even at great risk, leadership must help a group go to this deepest level to understand why they value what they value and why they make the choices they make. And leadership must also help the group find ways to articulate appropriate shifts in their basic assumptions that neither violate the group’s meaning nor keep it from adapting well.

    Schein spends a great deal of time explaining the tenacity and power of these basic “implicit, unconscious assumptions” that relate to the fundamental aspects of a group. “The most central issue for leaders,” he writes, “is how to get at the deeper levels of a culture, how to assess the functionality of the assumptions made at each level, and how to deal with the anxiety that is unleashed when those levels are challenged.”7 This is the leader’s unique work in the group: to equip and lead the organization to look deep into its meaning and purpose in order to guide the group members to fulfill their mission in a changing environment.

    What Schein examines from the perspective of organizational behavior, James Dittes explored from a pastoral perspective in his, When the People Say No: Conflict and the Call to Ministry (New York: Harper & Row, 1979), 2. Dittes’ lesson is worth remembering, especially for those who lead congregations and church-related groups. When the people say “no,” our real work as leaders is just beginning. Their “no” is pointing toward deep values and basic assumptions that are important to them. The minister, as Dittes says, “works through the grief” of the people to help them understand anew what God is calling them to be as God’s people in the world now. At that point, the archeologist of a congregation’s common life becomes something far more important, a pastor.

    1Edgar Schein, Organizational Culture and Leadership (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2nd edition, 1992), 5.
    2Ibid., 5.
    3Garry Wills, Certain Trumpets: The Nature of Leadership (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1994), 16.
    4Schein, 15.
    5Ibid., 16.
    6Ibid., 22.
    7Ibid., 27.

  • The Cost of Mediocrity

    by Michael Jinkins | Nov 04, 2014

    Cost of MediocrityRecently I wrote a blog on an idea introduced by Thomas Friedman who has said "average is over." His thesis is simply this: when excellence is only a keystroke away on our mobile devices, "average is over." The sources of excellent content are within reach of many people around the world now. This competition means that educators and many others cannot settle for average any more. We must capitalize on those things we can do better than anyone else, and we cannot afford to settle for “pretty good.”

    Some readers of this blog seemed to read in my comments that I was encouraging a form of elitism - that I was arguing that only the greatest pulpiteers in the tallest steeples and only the best known educators in the grandest ivory towers could now compete for the hearts and minds of people. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth.

    If anything, the digital revolution has actually leveled the playing field. On one hand, it makes it possible for virtually anyone with great ideas to find an audience. It means that even the most remote communities can, in effect, find the best spots on the digital highway.

    On the other hand, and perhaps more important, the digital offerings of excellent content also and unintentionally raise the value of face-to-face relationships, especially if we are mindful of the opportunity their competition represents. The online competitors can actually spur us on to ensure that the education we provide and the ministries we perform are the very best possible. There are lots of things only real flesh-and-blood face-to-face communities can provide than virtual experiences can only approximate. In many ways, the more intimate and direct the human relationships, the better and the more competitive.

    But there was another concern raised by a perceptive reader, a concern that the claim "average is over" biases against and somehow diminishes (even if only unintentionally) the work done by pastors and church leaders in smaller congregations. This concern deserves further reflection for one simple reason: "excellence" should never be thought of as code for "elitism." Excellence certainly should not be thought of as biased toward large ministry (or educational) settings. As noted above, there is a pragmatic argument to be made, but there is also a theological argument for the value of excellence in any and every place.

    There's a scene in Robert Bolt's play about the life of Sir Thomas More, A Man for all Seasons, in which More tries unsuccessfully to mentor an extremely ambitious and character-deficient young man to abandon his dreams of political prominence and to become a school master. The young man, charmed by the life that More himself leads that includes regular audiences with the King and being called out at all hours to speak with the Lord Chancellor, refuses to teach in the small school that More recommends. The young man, thirsting for fame and fortune and wide public acclaim, asks More who will ever know about him if he invests his life in teaching in a small school. More answers: "God will know. You will know. Your pupils will know. Not a bad public."

    We can confuse the quest for excellence with the quest for fame (and in our culture, the quest for fortune and the quest for a large public) to the point that we forget a fundamental fact of Christian thought. Because we belong to God and everything we do is done unto God, then every act is an act rendered to God's glory, and every act is imbued with eternal significance. There is not a single thing we do that should not be invested with excellence, whether our immediate audience as a preacher is four or four thousand, whether we are serving a large institution or a small one, whether our object of pastoral care and concern is a person of considerable wealth, a lonely elderly person or a small child numbered among "the least of these" in the estimation of the culture.

    Perhaps, instead of using Friedman's phrase, "average is over," though I think his message has merit, we might be well served, and more precisely accurate, to speak of the call to reject mediocrity.

    A few weeks back, Debbie and I were visiting in Columbus, Indiana. In addition to visiting with the wonderful Presbyterian congregation in Columbus, we also took a tour of the architectural wonders of that small city. And they are remarkable.

    This small Midwestern city has some of the greatest treasures of modern and contemporary architecture in the world. Even structures dedicated to the most humble purposes have been given great and careful attention because of the dedication to excellence that has become a tradition in the city. Public parks, elementary schools, churches, homes large and small, hospitals, even the city jail, reflect the quest of excellence and the rejection of mediocrity.

    Many people can claim some credit for the dedication to excellence in this small city, but arguably the greatest credit goes to the late J. Irwin Miller (philanthropist and business leader) who famously said, "Mediocrity is expensive." Miller's point was that cheap efforts cost more than excellence in the long run. Cutting corners and shabby workmanship, in whatever field of endeavor, ultimately cost more than doing the job well to begin with. And it costs far more than dollars!

    Miller's commitment to excellence sounds purely pragmatic, but it was much much more. Miller was translating his own deep Christian faith into the vernacular.

    Whatever we do should be done excellently, not only because excellence is cost-effective in the long run, but because our lives belong to God, and whatever we do is done to God's glory.

    If this conviction guides our efforts, then average really is over.

  • Thought Leadership

    by Michael Jinkins | Oct 27, 2014

    Thought LeadershipThe clipping from the newspaper hung on the ragged bulletin board outside my philosophy tutor's room in our college. I don't recall the precise wording or the British newspaper from which the story had been torn, but the headline reported bemused shock: "Thinking Well May Aid Businesses." This was late in the 1980s in Britain when philosophy departments around the country were being gutted because they were unprofitable units, unnecessary and financially draining on the universities. My own tutor, with whom I studied Søren Kierkegaard and Ludwig Wittgenstein among others, was a casualty of this era. The article reported the "surprising finding" that many of the most respected leaders in the U.K. credited their business acumen to the study of philosophy.

    Fast forward twenty years and to the hallowed pages of a recent issue of The Economist, and we find an essay titled, "Philosopher Kings: Business Leaders Would Benefit from Studying Great Writers." It touts the benefit to business leaders of studying serious thinkers rather than chasing the latest consultant-fanned fad. Rather than investing in yet another outward-bound adventure brimming with trust games and kayaking, one would do well, says the author, to sign up for an inward-bound adventure like learning to think more deeply, critically and with greater care.

    The world of leadership, and this applies to far more than business leadership, has become the dominion of superficiality and reactivity - the anxious suspicion that the magic elixir of success lies in the next book or the newly advertised leadership conference. An inch deep and a mile wide, what passes for thinking is often little more than the anecdote-driven realm of good and bad advice drawn from examples of past successes and repackaged as the next big thing. Many leaders, desperate to deal with perennial human compulsions in a highly anxious world, rush from one seminar to another like dogs chasing cars at a demolition derby.

    "The only way to become a real thought leader is to ignore all this noise and listen to a few great thinkers. You will learn far more about leadership from reading Thucydides's hymn to Pericles than you will from a thousand leadership experts. You will learn far more about doing business in China from reading Confucius than by listening to 'culture consultants.' Peter Drucker remained top dog among management gurus for 50 years not because he attended more conferences but because he marinated his mind in great books. … Inward-bound courses would do something even more important than this: they would provide high-flyers with both an anchor and a refuge." (Schumpeter, "Philosopher Kings," The Economist, October 4, 2014, p. 76.)

    Engaging deeply great thinkers helps us discern what is truly important, what it means to live wisely, how to keep our heads amid distraction and danger, and what is truly valuable.

    "It is difficult to measure your worth in terms of how many toys you accumulate when you have immersed yourself in Plato. Distracted bosses would also benefit from leaving aside all those emails, tweets and LinkedIn updates to focus on a few things that truly matter." (Schumpeter, p. 76)

    Of course, many of us have known students and professors of the subject of philosophy who score as poorly at living as do the most deluded of the rest of us. That's where a key philosophical distinction comes into play. One deserves to be called a philosopher not if one has read the most books on the subject or can rattle off the most impressive array of somebody else's ideas. One deserves to be called a philosopher who has learned to live a life guided by thought and enduring values.

    In Neil Gaiman's novel American Gods, we are introduced to an array of modern gods all vying to knock off the ancient ones. Among the contemporary gods, I think the most entertaining one is the twitching, compulsively superficial spotty-faced young god zipping around in a fast car unable to center his attention on any one thing for more than a few seconds, anxious that someone else will possess a technological toy or trendy new idea before him, greedy and angry and zealous for short-term gains. Perhaps the time has come to save ourselves, our businesses, our organizations, families and lives, from the deathly worship at the shrine of the god of perpetual distraction. Surely it's worth a thought.

  • Leadership Notebook 4: Adaptive Leadership

    by Michael Jinkins | Oct 23, 2014

    Editor’s note: Periodically throughout the 2014-2015 academic year, “Thinking Out Loud” readers will receive blog posts that address the idea of leadership. Best practices, challenges, rewards and lessons learned from different models of leadership are the focus of these special blog posts. We’d love to hear what you have written in your “leadership notebook.” E-mail us!

    Our second theoretical model for the practice of leadership is adaptive leadership.

    Leadership Notebook 4Ron Heifetz is the founding director of the Center for Public Leadership and the King Hussein bin Talal Senior Lecturer in Public Leadership at the Harvard Kennedy School. In arguing for the importance of what he calls “adaptive leadership,” Heifetz says that if we wish to “clarify a complex situation,” we must be able to see it from “multiple vantage points, each of which adds a piece to the puzzle.” Heifetz, in other words, is arguing for our using a variety of theoretical lenses to bring our practice of leadership into clear focus.

    Leadership, according to Heifetz, is not for the fainthearted, nor for those who wish a quiet retreat from the “fever of life” in this busy world (to borrow John Henry Cardinal Newman’s eloquent phrase). Leadership, Heifetz argues, demands that leaders stir things up so that groups and organizations can examine their own deep, largely invisible, but life-guiding beliefs and values. In doing so, leaders ask whether, where and how these beliefs and values continue to serve their common life and their goals, and whether, where and how even long-held beliefs and values actually work to the detriment of their common life.

    According to Heifetz, leadership must be comfortable with and politically prepared to deal with the conflict and anxiety produced among a community or organization if it hopes to meet the challenges of the present and make the necessary adaptations to meet the challenges of the future. Heifetz understands something that many do not. He understands that the deep beliefs and values of every group are and must inevitably be in tension, even in contradiction, and that this state of affairs does not represent a failure to be overcome or an evil to be opposed, but merely a reality that is essential to the nature of things.1

    In order to understand the significance of Heifetz’s perspective on adaptive leadership, we need to examine the powerful assumptions underlying our culture which explicitly contradict what Heifetz is saying. These assumptions are so deep and so tenacious that most people never question them. They constitute the cultural and philosophical water we swim in without noticing it. They are so much a part of Western culture that Sir Isaiah Berlin, a professor of political philosophy and founder of Wolfson College at Oxford University, referred to them as the philosophia perennis, i.e. the perennial philosophy of Western Civilization. I want to explain why at least one aspect of Berlin’s thought matters so much to our leadership.

    A Sense of Reality
    Berlin had the rather amazing capacity to cast his mind over the entire scope of Western civilization and to see those dynamics that shape our lives and communities. His most provocative (and perhaps most useful) attempt to understand the societies in which we live takes into account the entire philosophical heritage of the West, from Socrates, Plato and Aristotle through the twentieth century (he died in 1997). Even as a young student at Oxford first reading philosophy, he had begun to notice something that disturbed him, an assumption inherited from ancient Greek philosophy that (as he put it) “all genuine questions must have one true answer and only one, all the rest being necessarily errors,” that “there is a dependable path towards the discovery of these truths,” and that “the true answers, when found, must necessarily be compatible with one another and form a single whole, for one truth cannot be incompatible with another.”2

    In some of the most brilliant and often witty essays in the English language, Berlin debunks these ideas and argues for a sweeping pluralism founded on what G.K. Chesterton once described as the most extraordinary form of imagination, the imagination to see what is really there.

    Berlin has a lot to teach leaders, but arguably the most important lesson he has to teach us relates to that basic idea Heifetz articulates in his discussion of adaptive leadership.

    There are in various cultures, and frequently in the same culture, and often in the same individual, conflicting and incommensurable values and moral ends. These values and ends compete for our loyalty, exerting claims upon our allegiance. And these claims may necessitate conflicts that are as intractable as they are objective. We must, in a manner appropriate to our own deepest understandings and wisdom, and especially with the adaptive needs of our communities in view, make our choices between these competing values and ends. As we make these choices, we must recognize that our choices often entail losses that are as irremediable as they are irretrievable.

    For example: There are times when a nation which values both freedom and security will have to make trade-offs between these two values, sacrificing the one for the other. Even a society that values freedom as a bedrock value, a founding value which lies at the core of its identity, may choose to sacrifice a greater measure of freedom than it wishes in order to survive a particular threat to its existence. A society should be absolutely clear and truthful with itself about what it is doing, Berlin observes. It should never misname a value to pretend to itself that it is not making a tough choice.

    Several years ago, Jack Stotts, then president of Austin Seminary, said that he had noticed a profound shift in American cultural debate. He noted that in former times, it seemed to him that when two people disagreed strongly, one was likely to say, “You are wrong.” Now, one person disagreeing with another has become more likely to say, “You are evil.” The theoretical insight derived from Berlin’s analysis of Western philosophy may be among the most practical perspectives a leader can bring to a community’s decision-making because it recognizes that often our conflicts are not grounded in a lack of values, but a wealth of values.

    Good leadership will inevitably churn up conflicts over values and ends within an organization, because good leadership keeps an organization focused on its forward momentum, both dedicated to the fulfillment of the organization’s mission and adapting to changes in the environment. When values come into conflict – as they inevitably will – there may be times when one must trump another for the sake of the organization’s success. It is natural for people in these organizations to mourn losses in the midst of these value negotiations. The fact that the losses are real does not change the fact that the choices have to be made for the sake of an organization’s future. This is why Berlin’s theoretical model is sometimes referred to as “agonistic realism.” The fact that it is true doesn’t detract from the agony.

    I suspect that Berlin’s insight might introduce a word of grace into many of the conflicts raging in our societies, in our churches and in higher education.

    1A few years ago, the Academy of Religious Leaders, an organization of which I was a founding member, asked those who teach leadership in theological schools to rank the best books in the field of leadership studies. No. 1 by a large measure was Ronald A. Heifetz, Leadership Without Easy Answers (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1998).

    2Quotes here are from Isaiah Berlin, “The Pursuit of the Ideal,” in The Crooked Timber of Humanity: Chapters in the History of Ideas, ed. Henry Hardy (London: John Murray, 1990), 5-6. Among Berlin’s many other writings, see Isaiah Berlin, The Sense of Reality: Studies in Ideas and Their History, ed. Henry Hardy (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1998), in which two other essays especially pertinent to leadership appear: “The Sense of Reality” and “Political Judgment.”

  • Does OUR History Have a Future?

    by Michael Jinkins | Oct 20, 2014

    All of the future has a history; not all of history has a future.
    -Dan Aleshire

    Does Our History Have a FutureThis summer Dan Aleshire, executive director of the Association of Theological Schools (ATS), addressed the 49th biennial meeting of the association on the topic of change. Dan is quite simply one of the wisest observers of theological education and the church in our time. His reflections were sobering, but also exciting.

    Dan says that twenty years from now theological schools will probably not look as they do today. As someone who joined a theological faculty in 1993, and thus has spent more than twenty years in theological education, I have come to realize that only the very young think that two decades is a long time. The truth is, twenty years is a mere blink of an eye, and already the transformation of which Dan speaks is well underway. Some ATS member schools with great histories have no future, Dan said. Thus, the epigraph at the beginning of this blog: "All of the future has a history; not all of history has a future."

    If there is one feature that dominates the current ecclesial and educational landscape more than any other, it is change. There are technological, economic, ideological and demographic aspects to this change. However you characterize the change, it is relentless and real.

    A year ago at a consultation in England, a professor expressed his fury to a group in which I was participating. He said he was sick of administrators in British universities constantly talking about change and the need for sustainability. All they do is change things, he said.

    I don't know his particular context well enough to comment on it, but if the administrative leadership of his schools is anything like the administrative leaders I know in American higher education, they aren't making the change happen. They are desperately trying to help their schools adapt to the change with integrity, because if they don't adapt with integrity, they either won't survive, or they won't be worthy of survival.

    Dan Aleshire, in his address to the ATS biennial, drew lessons from a handful of congregations he has observed, each of which has adapted with integrity to the massive changes in their environment. All of the congregations he profiled are in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where Dan lives. He went into great detail analyzing each congregation, but I will simply enumerate the lessons he believes these congregations may hold for theological schools. There's real hope in his rather somber message.

    First, each congregation he profiled found a way to a future. In other words, each of their histories will have a future. The churches he examined did not give up or give in to the forces surrounding them. They found a way to respond to their challenges. They found a way to thrive in indifferent - if not hostile - environments.

    Second, each congregation claimed the future in a different (its own) way. You might say, each of their histories will have its very own future. They embraced the distinctiveness of the challenges they confronted rather than giving in to the drumbeat of pessimism in contemporary culture regarding the future of faith communities. While learning from others, they also learned how to adapt in their own ways.

    Third, what worked for each congregation would likely not have worked for the others. The examples of these congregations dispels the terrible temptation many desperate institutions share - to find a template for success and to force your church or school to fit it.

    Fourth, conventional wisdom might not be very wise. This is important to remember every time we see a bandwagon rumbling by promising that it has the solution for everyone who will just jump on. Many are the congregations and the schools that have spent their best energy and resources following the crowds rushing to a solution that "every expert agrees" is the only thing they can do.

    Fifth, the future of each congregation is more multiracial and multicultural than their past. Those churches and schools that want to thrive by retreating into an enclave of homogeneity (whether denominational or cultural) are likely to fail. The vision of the New Testament, as described in the book of Acts and the letters of Paul, is of an ever enlarging circle of God's love, to paraphrase Gene March’s book, The Wide, Wide Circle of Divine Love: A Biblical Case for Religious Diversity (Westminster John Knox Press, 2004). The gospel calls us relentlessly outward.

    In each case, each congregation built on foundations that were distinctly their own. They claimed what was strongest and most durable in their histories, but they also claimed what was most flexible. They were willing to sacrifice some cherished traditions so that something even more sacred than their cows might survive. They discovered the grace of stewardship that lurks within the challenge of sustainability.

    Dan warned his audience that "fundamental redirection takes time." His comments reminded me of what Dean Robert Shelton often told his green young faculty: "A theological seminary is like an ocean liner. It takes time to turn." Dan wanted us to understand that we are likely at the front end of huge changes, not behind them. So, we need to be a little patient, but we also need not to grow weary in making necessary changes. The conditions that necessitate change are not a couple of momentary bumps in the road that we're bouncing over. Rather, we're climbing a long hill, and it won't do any good for our schools to pretend either that the hill isn't there or that we don't need to go over it.

    The theological schools that thrive in the future will be inventive with their missions, their resources, their facilities and their employees, Dan told us. There are implications for every aspect of theological education, from pedagogy to governance to faculty roles. Some things that were much beloved in the past will not exist in the future of our schools, and other things we do not know today will emerge. Of course, this has been true from the beginning of formal higher education. Hardly anyone today engaged in liberal arts education can name the original "liberal arts" (hint, they are carved above the doorways of the Old School Quadrangle at the Bodleian Library at Oxford University).

    As I emerged from Dan's address, the question that I found myself asking was this: "Does OUR history have a future?" I'm sure I wasn't the only president or dean in the audience asking that question.

    Upon longer reflection, a better question may be: "If our theological school has a future (and I am convinced our seminary does because of the courageous course we have charted) what parts of our history will go forward with us into that future?"

  • "Who am I? Why am I here?"

    by Michael Jinkins | Oct 13, 2014

    James StockdaleJames Stockdale is not a name I had thought about in years.

    Probably the last time I thought much at all about him was during Ross Perot’s independent run for the White House back in 1992. Perot chose James Stockdale to serve as his vice presidential running mate. Most people, if they remember Vice Admiral James Bond Stockdale at all today, remember him for saying, “Who am I? Why am I here” during his opening remarks in the 1992 vice presidential debate. He died in 2005 at the age of 81.

    So why has his name come to mind now?

    John Wimmer, a friend and program director in the Religion Division at the Lilly Endowment Inc., knowing my love for Stoic philosophy, in general, and Epictetus, in particular, shared with me a lecture that James Stockdale presented when he was a senior research fellow at the Hoover Institution at Stanford. The lecture is titled, “Courage Under Fire: Testing Epictetus’s Doctrines in a Laboratory of Human Behavior” (Hoover Institution on War, Revolution and Peace, Stanford University, 1993). I am grateful to John for his reading recommendation. Since the essay came into my hands, I have read and reread it, and bought copies for colleagues and family members.

    The “laboratory of human behavior” of which Stockdale speaks was, largely, his own life. As he explains in the lecture, he came to the philosophical life relatively late as a thirty-eight-year-old naval pilot in graduate school at Stanford University. By this point, he had already been in the Navy for twenty years, spending most of that time in a cockpit. Philip Rhinelander, dean of Humanities and Sciences at Stanford, opened Stockdale’s eyes to philosophy in a course he taught on “The Problem of Good and Evil.” Specifically, Dean Rhinelander turned Stockdale on to Epictetus, giving him a copy of The Enchiridion, a brief handbook of Stoic thought drawn from the teachings of the former Roman slave who was born in approximately 50 A.D.

    Stockdale seems to have resonated immediately with the teachings of Epictetus. However, it was after he was shot down over North Vietnam on September 9, 1965, during the seven-and-a-half years he spent as a prisoner of war - four of which were spent in solitary confinement – that Stockdale drew for daily sustenance on the Stoicism of Epictetus. Repeatedly and brutally tortured, wearing heavy leg irons for two years, attempting suicide rather than allowing his captors to force his capitulation, Stockdale brought to life the Stoicism he had committed to memory.

    In his Hoover Institution lecture, Stockdale says:

    "The Stoic viewpoint is often misunderstood because the casual reader misses the point that all talk is in reference to the ‘inner life’ of man. Stoics belittle physical harm, but this is not braggadocio. They are speaking of it in comparison to the devastating agony of shame they fancied good men generating when they knew in their hearts that they had failed to do their duty vis-à-vis their fellow men or God. Although pagan, the Stoics had a monotheistic, natural religion and were great contributors to Christian thought. … In his inimitable, frank language, Epictetus explained that his curriculum was not about ‘revenues or income, or peace or war, but about happiness and unhappiness, success and failure, slavery and freedom.’ His model graduate was not a person ‘able to speak fluently about philosophic principles as an idle babbler, but about things that will do you good if your child dies, or your brother dies, or if you must die or be tortured.' " (Stockdale, “Courage Under Fire,” 3-5).

    At the core of Epictetus, there is a conviction that no one and nothing can restrict our freedom once we understand that our freedom (and our happiness and serenity) do not depend upon externals, the things that happen to us, but only upon our response to them.

    This philosophy served Stockdale well as the highest-ranking naval officer in captivity, encouraging and organizing his fellow prisoners, helping them to develop “a society with our own laws, traditions, customs, even heroes.” Stockdale was eventually awarded the Medal of Honor, two Distinguished Flying Crosses, three Distinguished Service Medals, two Purple Hearts and four Silver Star Medals. I am sure that these recognitions meant a great deal to Stockdale, but the philosophy that was forged like steel in the crucible of his imprisonment taught him, in the words of Epictetus, that “whoever then would be free, let him wish nothing, let him shun nothing, which depends on others.”

    Beyond the lessons Stockdale’s Stoicism teaches (and I do encourage you to read both Stockdale’s lecture and Epictetus for yourself), there is something else his experience of public life brings to mind, and it is a point of considerable criticism I wish to raise. Indeed, it is a point of self-criticism.

    How does it happen in our culture that a person as distinguished as Stockdale is reduced to a caricature? Even the reverential obituary offered by The New York Times mentions that Stockdale is remembered by the general public as “the butt of jokes from late-night comedians” because of what he said during the vice presidential debate. Incidentally, as the Times obit says, in an article written by Stockdale for The World & I magazine, he explained that he had chosen these words, “Who am I? What am I doing here?” in order “to showcase his basic view of himself” as a “philosopher.” (Steven A. Holmes, “James Stockdale, Perot’s Running Mate in ’92, Dies at 81,” The New York Times, July 6, 2005, accessed August 21, 2014, http://www.nytimes.com/2005/07/06/politics/06stockdale.html.)

    We have all seen it happen again and again, haven’t we? If I were Roland Barthes, I would have the competence to develop a rich semiotics of public caricature, something like what Barthes did with his brilliant essay The Eiffel Tower, observing the way in which the Eiffel Tower, quite apart from its architectural function, now serves as a gesture “standing in” for the identity of France.

    We use a shorthand of images and statements conveying simplistically (and often humorously) the identity of a person, reducing the rich complexity of their lives to a gesture. Sometimes we employ the gesture to remind ourselves of them with affection, but sometimes we employ it to dismiss or ridicule them. Of course, we do not only do this to public figures and celebrities, we do this to other people too, even to acquaintances and relatives.

    I recall a very good friend, an artist herself, remarking several years ago that she does not like sketched caricatures. The reduction of a person’s appearance to a few linear gestures (as we often see in political cartoons) was offensive to her. It seemed unfair and untrue to reduce a person in this way. I have mulled over her comments for something like twenty years, reflecting on the way she called into question a genre that I dearly love (political cartoons). Where would the political cartoon be without the immediately recognizable hangdog expression of Lyndon Johnson or the exaggerated ears of Barack Obama? Equally, where would Saturday Night Live be without the political caricatures in comic sketches from the “stumbling President Ford” of Chevy Chase to today’s hottest targets ready for comedic lampooning? But maybe there should also be a pause of reflectivity beside or just on the other side of our caricaturing, a reminder that however much fun we are having, we owe others more dignity than a stock gesture.

    “Who am I? Why am I here?” It may not be adept professional politics to ask these questions, but they are still great questions. Maybe it takes a philosopher to ask them. Maybe that was the point.

  • Leadership Notebook 3: Fables, and Other Truths and Untruths

    by Michael Jinkins | Oct 10, 2014

    Editor’s note: Periodically throughout the 2014-2015 academic year, “Thinking Out Loud” readers will receive blog posts that address the idea of leadership. Best practices, challenges, rewards and lessons learned from different models of leadership are the focus of these special blog posts. We’d love to hear what you have written in your “leadership notebook.” E-mail us!

    Because of its influence, especially in congregational leadership, the first theoretical model we’ll look at is family systems theory.

    Friedmans FablesA domino saves all the other dominoes in the long row from falling just by remaining standing. An “uncouth” animal observes that if you want a ferocious beast in your forest and you don’t want the small animals terrorized or eaten, you’re going to have to build a cage. A man who, in his desire to motivate his wife to play tennis with him, ends up running back and forth on the tennis court playing both sides of the net. A very sensitive, sadly afflicted fellow who has learned to use his sensitivities to run over others, until his wife has finally had enough. Fables.

    Whenever I think about Edwin H. Friedman, who died in 1996, I do not think first of his extremely influential book, Generation to Generation: Family Process in Church and Synagogue (New York: Guilford Press, 1985). Nor do I think first of his posthumously published A Failure of Nerve: Leadership in the Age of the Quick Fix (New York: Seabury Books, 1999/2007), his popular DVD and study guide Reinventing Leadership (New York: Guilford Press, 2007) or even the intensive workshops he led around the country. I think first of Friedman’s Fables (New York: Guilford Press, 1990) where his remarkable gift as a storyteller and his insights into human nature come together.

    Edwin Friedman and the family systems theory, which Friedman developed and applied to the leadership of religious organizations, was arguably, at least for a season, the most influential force guiding pastors of a certain ilk (my own ilk, mainline Protestant, especially those of us who had some training in pastoral counseling) as we sought to be better congregational leaders. We flocked to work with him. We read his books. We did our genograms. We joined groups of other Friedman fans assiduously examining our own families of origin and analyzing the organizations we led. Those of us who taught in seminaries put his books high on our list of required texts and framed many class exercises to help students learn the best of what Friedman taught.

    The first thing that must be said about all of this is that it was, in the main, extremely beneficial.

    Any pastor or other leader of a congregation will benefit from learning how to achieve genuine “self-differentiation” while also remaining “in touch” with her or his congregation. It is a fundamental of good leadership to be a “non-anxious presence” in the midst of the organization you lead (there’s no “faking” non-anxiety). And it is valuable for everyone to be able to identify emotional triangles and to learn how to de-triangulate oneself from them. I remain convinced that if a pastor or other leader can do these three things consistently, s/he is giving the church an inestimable gift of emotional and spiritual health that can form a foundation for real community.

    Friedman’s occasional comments and asides were almost as valuable as his big theoretical insights. For example, he often noted that in highly anxious systems it tends to be the least mature group members who exert the most influence, thus preventing the group from actually achieving its goals. He often said that, in spite of the best intentions of highly rational people, insight does not change unmotivated people. And he observed that adventure and lightheartedness are far more valuable in actually moving a group forward than safety-seeking and over-seriousness. For Friedman, vision was an emotional phenomenon. Persistence and stamina, especially in the face of mutinies, was the gold standard of good leadership. Self-regulation of one’s emotional responses was the only way to deal effectively with sabotage, because reactivity only stokes the fires of the emotionally immature, while self-differentiation and reflection hold the best chance of inspiring more mature group members (and potentially mature group members) to participate positively and to counteract sabotage.

    Friedman’s key insights derived from his own experience as a rabbi and as a therapist who had grown disenchanted with the highly individualistic approaches long popular in psychotherapy. Along with others like Murray Bowen, Michael Kerr and (though he is not strictly speaking in the same family of family systems therapists) Salvador Minuchin, Friedman sought to understand how our systems function emotionally often drawing or even forcing people into roles for which they are then blamed.

    This was largely for the good. However, there was a tendency among some who applied family systems theory to accentuate its authoritarian side. While self-differentiation actually allows for greater freedom in a healthy system, some in leadership used it as an excuse to say “My way or the highway” to those who didn’t agree with them. For them, it was often much too easy to paint as immature or even saboteurs anyone who disagreed.

    There was also a rather strange need on Friedman’s part to generalize his insights into universal truths - strange at least to my post-modern ears, and unnecessary. Anyone who ever participated with Friedman in his intense workshops also observed the mischievous twinkle in his eye when he provoked someone with a particularly insensitive remark. It was hard to tell if he really meant what he said in one of his more outrageous utterances or if he was simply (like many good teachers) saying it to provoke thinking on the part of his students. In contrast to the genuinely and deeply beneficial insights offered by Friedman’s brand of family systems theory, these are all relatively minor concerns. I would be the first to say that if you really want to see for yourself just how valuable family systems theory can be for you as a leader or just to be a healthier and saner human being, you would be well served by reading Generation to Generation.

    However, when it comes to communicating to others the most important of his insights, you can’t do better than Friedman’s Fables. Whether working with families in workshops or intensive retreats or with groups of pastors or students more interested in understanding leadership, again and again I have seen the light of self-recognition appear in someone’s eyes as they heard the fable of “The Bridge” and realized in their soul, “I need to free my hands from this rope,” or who suddenly realized that they are the fish in the fable “Burnout,” who swims incessantly at the bottom of the pool eating up everyone else’s excrement until it is too much to bear.

    Recently someone asked me if family systems theory was the answer to getting their organization to move out of its rut and to move ahead. It is possible, but that’s not really the primary interest of this approach to leadership. The basic thesis of family systems theory is that unhealthy behavior (a lack of self-differentiation, being driven by anxiety, participating in triangulation, and so forth) on the part of an organization’s leadership dooms an organization to the same. The healthier the leadership, the greater chance the organization has of getting healthy and remaining healthy.

    Family systems theory isn’t a manipulative tool to motivate other people to do what you want. It offers an opportunity to embrace sanity, at least for leaders of organizations. I would argue that this is no small thing.

  • The Talk

    by Michael Jinkins | Oct 06, 2014

    The TalkWhen some parents say they need to have "the talk" with their kids, they are speaking of that awkward conversation so many of us have had with a prepubescent child about "the facts of life." But for many parents these days, "the talk" is about something rather different than "the birds and the bees."

    Recently, a friend and former student, the Rev. David Snardon (MDiv ’11), was visiting with me, and we were talking about the events in Ferguson, Missouri, where a young man was gunned down by a police officer. The young man was black, the officer was white. (Incidentally, I encourage you to read the Rev. Dr. Shannon Craigo-Snell’s excellent article, “Marching into Danger,” which appeared in The Christian Century and focuses on her recent experience as a nonviolent protestor in Ferguson.) David and I also talked about another incident in New York City, where a black man was killed by being placed in a chokehold and the shooting of a black man in South Carolina during a routine traffic stop.

    David, who is also a pastor, mentioned that he had recently seen a film clip on television of a white woman arguing with a police officer who was demanding to search her car but refused to state the cause of the search. She was stopped at a roadblock, and her car was holding up traffic. She argued vigorously with the officer until a supervisor came over, took a look at the woman, and told the officer to let her car move on. David told me he was watching the news story with his son. After it ended, he turned to his son and said, "Don't you ever do what she did."

    Then David had "the talk" that many people today must have with their children. It’s "the talk" about the dangers of being black, the necessity of saying "yes, sir" to the police officer, cooperating fully and immediately, keeping your hands visible, doing exactly what you are told, and not arguing (even if you believe strongly that you are in the right) so that you don't get hurt or killed. "The talk" that many parents - black parents - are having with their children is about how dangerous, how potentially lethal, it is to be a person of color - especially a young black man - in our society.

    My children could always count on running to a police officer anytime they felt threatened or in danger. That's what we told them to do. But my children are not black. They are white. And for many citizens of our country today, our police forces do not represent safety, they represent a life-threatening danger.

    Some people have argued that this is a case of a "few rotten apples" among law enforcement. And I personally know many fine policemen who place their lives on the line every single day to protect and to serve. I grew up in a home in which police officers and other emergency workers were not only heroes of our community, but close friends and even family members. But there is no denying that we have a problem in our country today which we must address. It is a profound problem when many of our citizens live in fear because of the color of their skin. A result and symptom of that problem is "the talk" that so many of our African-American neighbors are compelled to have with their children.

    The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once told the story of having to explain to his daughter why she couldn't go to an amusement park she had seen advertised in the newspaper. He said, as he explained the rules of segregation to her, he could see a pall, a tragic veil, fall over his child's face. A psychic wound was opened up that he feared might never heal. The wounds suffered by too many of our nation’s children today are both psychic and physical.

    My colleague, the Rev. Kilen Gray, who is the dean of students here at Louisville Seminary, recently put it more eloquently than I possibly can. He said:

    “While African-Americans feel the necessity of survival to have ‘the talk’ with their children, we need to encourage our white sisters and brothers to have a much more necessary ‘talk’ of how they will work among their law enforcement friends to make this necessity a figment of the past. I just wonder, while we are training our children how to survive legal terrorism, what are the conversations being held within the majority culture? There must be a comparable conversation and action by all Americans so that the few who hold hegemonic filters will find no sanctuary for their misguided beliefs.”

    "The talk" that many black parents are having today with their children has become necessary. This is a tragedy beyond all words, and we must do whatever we can to make it unnecessary.

  • Friendship as a Means of Grace

    by Michael Jinkins | Sep 29, 2014

    Thinking out Lous 093014What does the most notorious spy of the twentieth century have to do with a twelfth-century saint?

    Almost nothing. But it’s the “almost” that’s interesting.

    Over a thirty-year period, Kim Philby worked his way up the ladder of Britain’s elite MI6 (MI for “military intelligence”). Yes, that MI6. The one of which the British government denied the existence. The one that employs the fictional James Bond. But Philby was no fiction, though I’m sure there are lots of people who wish he had been.

    A product of the British establishment, schooled at Westminster and Cambridge, Philby was recruited as a Soviet spy while in college. Philby betrayed his country. Throughout his long and apparently distinguished career (at one time in charge of counterintelligence against the Soviet Union), he fed his Soviet handlers every scrap of information he came across, costing untold lives across Europe and the Middle East.

    He also betrayed his friends, especially the two colleagues who trusted him most, Nicholas Elliott (his fellow officer in MI6) and James Jesus Angleton (the head of counterintelligence for the CIA). Cutting an elegant and disarmingly charming swath across British, European, Middle Eastern and American society for three decades, Philby used every relationship he gained to advance a Communist ideology that he refused to question even as the evidence continued to mount of the horrors of the Gulag and Stalinism.

    Philby once said, “Friendship is the most important thing.” But he also said, “I have always operated on two levels, a personal level and a political one. When the two have come into conflict, I have had to put politics first. The conflict can be very painful. I don’t like deceiving people, especially friends, and contrary to what others think, I feel very badly about it.”

    However badly he may have felt about his betrayals, his actions led to the death of hundreds of real people who placed their trust in him and the intelligence services for which he worked. As a result of Philby’s spying, one CIA analyst said: “What it comes to, is that when you look at the whole period …, the entire Western intelligence effort, which was pretty big, was what you might call minus advantage. We’d have been better off doing nothing.”

    And the friends Philby betrayed never recovered from the betrayals. All were scarred by the profound betrayal of intimacy and trust. He left in his wake three wives, one of which took her own life and another who died prematurely, as well as friends on two continents who never recovered. The lack of trust suffered by Angleton likely contributed to the witch hunts he conducted undermining the CIA for a generation after Philby’s defection to Moscow.

    Ben MacIntyre’s new book, A Spy Among Friends: Kim Philby and the Great Betrayal (New York: Crown Publishers, 2014) leaves the reader scratching his head alternately asking, “How stupid could we have been?” And “How could someone do what Philby did to people he seemed to care about?” It is particularly this last question that fuels this book, delving into the tragedy of friendship betrayed, the power of political ideologies and the detritus of sociopathology.

    So, how does Philby connect to the twelfth-century saint?

    If ever there were a perfect opposite to the ideal of friendship, the sacramental potential of friendship, portrayed in Aelred of Rievaulx, Kim Philby is it!

    Recently during a silent retreat at the Abbey of Gethsemani, I came across Aelred’s writings, and I was astonished never to have read him before. Born in Hexham in 1110, near Durham, England, which for the past thirty years has figured prominently in my sense of call, Aelred served first as novice master at Rievaulx Abbey in Yorkshire, before becoming Abbot of Revesby Abbey, and finally returning to Rievaulx as abbot.

    He remained at Rievaulx until his death in 1167. Just to locate Aelred historically, before entering the monastery he served in the household of King David I of Scotland and later as an adviser to King Henry II of England. As a Cistercian monk and abbot, he was under the authority of St. Bernard of Clairvaux, who took a great interest in him, mentoring and encouraging him as a writer and diplomat. Among the greatest of Aelred’s writings (and he wrote broadly in history, theology and spiritual direction) and the most influential of his texts in the medieval period, was a book titled, Spiritual Friendship.

    To understand the significance of this book, perhaps a little theological background is in order: Christian theology, from the church’s earliest times, advanced an understanding of the Trinitarian God known as perichoresis, though this term does not appear until somewhat later. This doctrine can be difficult to grasp, but I think it can best be understood by focusing on the incarnation of Christ. In the incarnation, according to this doctrine, we are invited to look into the very heart of God’s eternal being; as classical theology puts it, into the Father’s eternal outpouring into the Son, God’s giving away God’s own life and love without reservation. This act of self-giving love is itself not merely an impersonal “it,” but is God the Holy Spirit, flowing from the Father to the Son and through the Son to all humanity and creation. The life of Jesus, through the eyes of faith, invites us to see that love is the ultimate meaning of all things because God is love. God created all things in love, and God loves all things that God has created. The God who is love invites us to participate in God’s own life and love through the power of the Holy Spirit.

    This classic doctrine has been articulated variously by fourth-century theologians like Gregory of Nyssa and modern theologians like Catherine Mowry LaCugna. C.S. Lewis famously described prayer in these terms as participation in the triune God in his Mere Christianity, noting how an ordinary believer quietly bowing to pray in his or her bedroom is in fact lifted up into the inner life of the Trinity.

    Every attempt (at least, that I know of) to speak of our participation in the life and love of God has been explicitly religious. Prayer is a religious act, a means of grace by which we participate in God. The Lord’s Supper, the same. And so forth. But then I came across Aelred. For him, human friendship is a pathway to participation in the life and love of God. Friendship is sacramental, a means of grace.

    As Marsha Dutton (of Ohio University) explains, Aelred “writes of the sacramental essence of friendship – the way in which men and women may by loving one another embrace Christ in this life and enjoy eternal friendship with God in time to come.”

    Drawing on sources like Cicero’s On Friendship, Ambrose of Milan’s On the Duties of the Clergy, St. Augustine of Hippo’s Confessions and the Bible, Aelred argues that God has woven God’s own love for the other, God’s love for community, God’s own being-in-communion into the very fabric of creation. When we participate in friendship, then, we are participating in God, we are being united to God. [Aelred of Rievaulx, Spiritual Friendship, tr. Lawrence C. Braceland, SJ, ed./intro. Marsha L. Dutton (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2010)].

    According to Aelred, whether we know it or not, Jesus Christ is the silent partner in every real human friendship. Through the power of the Holy Spirit, Christ shares with us, in and through the bonds of friendship, the joy that is the love of God. Not only is such “spiritual friendship” a love that never ends, it is a love that is divine because ultimately it flows from God and returns to God. This means, of course, that a betrayal of friendship is not merely a social faux pas. It is not an unfortunate lapse about which we may “feel very bad.” It constitutes a loss that shatters something of eternal significance in us.

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