|
Flags a Flyin’ “More
than any time in history mankind faces a crossroads. One path leads to despair and utter
hopelessness, the other to total extinction.
Let us pray that we have the wisdom to choose correctly.” Readings From American writer and
painter Henry Miller. “Everything
we shut our eyes to, everything we run away from, everything we deny,
denigrate, or despise, serves to defeat us in the end. What seems nasty, painful, evil, can become a
source of beauty, joy, and strength, if faced with an open mind. Every moment is a gold one for him who has
the vision to recognize it.” A wisdom tale from the
Middle East. Nasrudin
rode the train to work every day. One
day, as usual, the train conductor came and asked him for his ticket. He began fumbling around in this coat
pockets, and his pant pockets, and then in other people’s pockets. He looked in his briefcase, in his bags, and
then in other people’s bags. Finally
the train conductor said, “Nasrudin, I’m sure you have a ticket. Why don’t you look for it in your breast
pocket? That is where most men keep it.” “Oh
no,” said Nasrudin. “I can’t look
there. Why, if it wasn’t there, I would
have no hope.” Sermon The bright, florescent
orange plastic flags went up one weekend morning a few months ago, just as the
weather was beginning to finally turn from winter to spring. They caught my eye as I walked past a window
in my house. I looked out and saw my
across-the-street neighbor with his teenaged son, stringing them between two
metal posts in his front yard. As I
watched them carefully tie the plastic ends until the string was taught, I
couldn’t help but wonder just what they were up to. Were they going to chop down some trees? Were they going to begin a construction
project? Were they going to have a yard
sale, or maybe set up a lemonade stand or a water station for a 10k race I
hadn’t heard about? Just as quickly as
the father and son had appeared, they finished their work and returned
inside. Later that day, when I was
walking down to the neighborhood store, the flags again caught my eye. Actually there was little hope of them not
catching my eye. Florescent orange flags
against a white-siding backdrop are hard to miss. Clearly something was going on over
there. Day after day passed with
no activity taking place that might reveal the intention behind these
mysterious flags. While I am on a
first-name basis with this neighbor, I didn’t feel right about calling him to
ask about his new front-yard adornments, which had become a prominent feature
of my family’s eastern view. I didn’t want to come across as a nosy
neighbor…even if I was one. Besides, I
figured the purpose of the flags would soon be apparent. But after a couple of weeks of flags and no
sign of anything, I realized that I might have to grab the bull by the horns to
get to the bottom of this day-glo mystery.
One evening, the moment of
truth had arrived. My neighbor and I were finally outside at the same time,
rolling our garbage out to the curb.
“How you doing?” I called out as I made my way across the street to ask
the question I had been yearning to ask for nearly a month. Master of subtlety
and friendly banter, I nodded toward the site of the future construction
zone/used-car lot/lemonade stand as I smiled and asked, “So, what’s the deal
with the flags?” My neighbor looked back at
his house and then turned to me with a sly smile and a twinkle in his eye. “I put those there to keep the mailman from
walking on my pachysandra.” “Oh…” I said as I tried to
process what he had just told me. “Yeah,” he went on, “I
just can’t keep people from walking on my plants.” Still stunned from my
neighbor’s unexpected explanation for his carefully thought out and executed
plan to use ugly, bright orange plastic flags to help protect the beauty and
health of his less-than-thriving ground cover from the inevitable sabotage of
the US Postal Service, I blurted out what might have been an offensive question: “Well, have you talked to him about
not walking on your plants?” He mumbled that he had
tried and it had done no good. Still stunned by his
protective strategy of self-inflicted front-yard vandalism, I couldn’t help
myself: “Do you want me to talk to
him?” I asked. The twinkle in his eye
stopped twinkling and I realized that maybe I had gone too far. I quickly added, “Cause, you know, it just
seems odd that the mail carrier would not do his best to keep off your plants. Maybe he just doesn’t understand?” “I don’t know,” my
neighbor said. “Maybe he just forgets,
and besides, different people deliver the mail….” His voice trailed off. Trying to return to the
kind of banter about nothing to which we were both more accustomed, I said,
“OK. Well, I was just wondering. Good to see you. How about this weather?” We both turned and made
our way back to our respective houses.
“Yeah,” he called out. “See ya
later.” Now that the mystery had
been solved, I realized I had more questions than answers. I wondered about the interaction my neighbor
had shared with the mailman, a really nice, unassuming guy who had been
delivering mail in our neighborhood for a couple of years. Studying my neighbor’s front yard, I wondered
what motivation the mailman would have to walk in the now-protected area,
considering the path through the pachysandra would not provide easy access to
the mailbox anyway. And, I wondered what
the mailman’s perspective on all this was. But even more than these
obvious questions about the story my neighbor had shared, I couldn’t remove
myself from the metaphorical implications of this whole affair. Each time I see those flags, still flying
these many weeks later, I wonder about the flags I might be flying in my own
life, the things I might be doing to communicate my hopes, needs and intentions
that may seem to be necessary and effective, but that, in the end are more
confusing to the people in my life, if not counter-productive, than clear. I had been primed for this
kind of reflection after attending a two-day workshop in March called “Crucial
Conversations” which led the participants through a several-stage process on
how to engage in difficult conversations in ways that are honestly direct, but
still respectfully humane. I couldn’t possibly
capture anything more than a brisk overview of that workshop for you this
morning, so I won’t try. But I do want
to highlight a component or two, with the expectation that doing so might help
you consider your behavior in the crucial conversations of your own lives. Simply put, a “crucial
conversation” is any discussion in which opinions vary, the stakes are high,
and emotions run strong. In short, a
crucial conversation is one where real or perceived safety is at risk. Not every conversation in
our lives is crucial, but many are. Crucial conversations can
happen at work, when we may feel that attempting to communicate honestly could
jeopardize our jobs or put us at dangerous odds with our peers. For example,
maybe a boss or a co-worker is doing something that runs contrary to company
policy, or common sense, but no one else seems to notice or to care. Choosing
to speak up will almost inevitably lead to a crucial conversation because so
much is (or at least seems to be) at stake.
Or maybe an employee you are supervising is not meeting expectations and
you have to find a way to communicate your request for improvement while still
honoring the things the employee does well.
A very run-of-the-mill
interaction between neighbors or acquaintances can turn into a crucial
conversation very quickly if the content gets emotional. For example, if your neighbor wakes you up by
running a leaf-blower before sunrise and you feel compelled to march out in
your bathrobe to read him the riot act (some of you may recall, I have personal
experience with that one…). Or maybe a
mailman seems to be walking on your pachysandra despite your plea for him to be
careful, so you put up a string of loud, protective flags. And, then there are some
of the most crucial conversations of all, which can be found within our most
intimate relationships between family members, the loved ones who can seem to
hold (consciously or unconsciously) our very identities and feelings of
self-worth in their hands, who can, with a well or poorly-chosen word, laugh,
shrug or eye-roll, seem to impact our entire day, if not week. How could we possibly speak the truth to our
family members, when we are so painfully aware (or afraid…) of the negative consequences
of doing so? One of the signs that a
conversation has turned crucial, and that it is therefore worthy of particular
care and intentional consideration, is when we observe ourselves falling for
what the workshop described as the “sucker’s choice,” when we convince
ourselves that we have only two options, which are both ultimately
unappealing. For example, we believe we
can either be honest and attack the other person (whether with our words or
attitude) or we can be “kind” and withhold the truth (which contributes nothing
toward the pursuit of our ultimate needs or desires). Returning to the story of
my neighbor, my sense is that he created a sucker’s choice for himself. After his initial attempts to communicate
that he didn’t want the mail carrier to walk on his pachysandra were apparently
ineffective, he must have believed his two options were 1) to do nothing and see
his ground cover trampled or 2) to petulantly adorn his
house with plastic flags which may have protected his plantings but which also
created the aesthetic of a flea market and undoubtedly confused (if not
offended) the very mail carrier with whom he had been communicating. Those flags carried with them an insulting
“I’ll show you” energy that might appear to be effective but that actually
inhibits communication going forward, leaving the participants guarded and
suspicious of one another…not the best scenario for creative interchange. Convincing ourselves that
we are victim to the sucker’s choice, the choice between silence or violence in
our relationships and crucial conversations often legitimizes unattractive
behavior that keeps us from being the people we would really want to be if we
could see things more objectively. For
example, when I berated my neighbor for running his leaf blower before sunrise,
I had convinced myself that if I wanted his behavior to change, I needed to go
on the attack, to take the difficult, but necessary step no one else around us
seemed willing to take. It was a tough
job, I thought, but someone needed to do it! The problem was that I
believed I needed to approach him as an alien invader rather than as a fellow
human, leaving me with far more relationship repair work to do in the end than
if I had avoided the sucker’s choice all together. How to avoid the sucker’s
choice, is the real question, of course. When we are observing from
afar and not involved in a crucial conversation ourselves, it’s easy for us to
see that there is another way. We don’t
have to succumb to our instincts of “fight or flight”. We know that we can pursue a third option
that keeps us from justifying strident attacks or silly game playing (flag
flying, we might say) and that helps us think more creatively about what is
possible through real, honest, respectful dialogue. So how can we do
that? How can we, in the cauldron of our
most crucial conversations, avoid the sucker’s choice and pursue another way? The first thing to do is
to pay attention to how we are thinking about the conversation that awaits
us. When we feel ourselves drawn to the
sucker’s choice of silence or violence, we could ask some important questions.
These are important life questions that can be applied to many circumstances
and would, therefore, be good to ponder any time, but they are particularly
useful when our conversations take a crucial turn. These questions are: What do I really want for
myself? What do I really want for
others? What do I really want for
the relationship? And finally, How would I
behave if I really wanted these results? Asking these questions
helps us keep our focus on what really matters and while engaging our brains in
the prospect of seeing outside the sucker’s choice. A key to helping us keep
these important questions in mind is, when we feel the sucker’s choice coming
into play, to search for the and statement, to continue questioning what
we do want but adding to it a statement of what we don’t want. For example, we might have
reason to ask ourselves, “Can I tell my spouse that I am concerned about how we
are spending money and not leave him feeling that he is being attacked?” Or “Is it possible to
convey my disappointment with a co-worker who consistently drops the ball on
projects and still make it clear that I want us to work well together?” Or “Is there a way to tell
my neighbor that I am annoyed by his early morning use of a leaf-blower and
not come across as self-righteous or unfairly demanding?” Of course the answer is
yes, though it is not easy and takes lots of practice. Still the first step may be the most
important one: to recognize and steer
away from the sucker’s choice by being clear about what we do want and pairing
it up with what we don’t want so that we can bring ourselves to dialogue in
ways that encourage the other person to engage in a similar way with us. When I thought about how
to share this information with you today, I knew that I needed to find a
concrete example to which we could all relate, an example that we could work
through together which would enable me to model how this approach might work. So I want to offer you a very specific
example that I trust, once shared, may bring each of you into dialogue about an
issue that I believe is very important to the life and health of this
congregation. It is an issue to which I
have, over the years, mostly responded in silence rather than violence, but
after some things that happened recently, including the work I have done on
this very sermon, I now see it is an area in which I may have been doing some
flag flying myself…and perhaps some of you have, too. The issue: Our weekly Joys and Concerns ritual. Three stories from the
recent past will help explain. Story #1 I was out on the town last
week with a group of guys, one of whom I had never before met. Once he learned I was minister of this
church, he shared with me his impression of the only service he had attended
here, which happened to be as many as ten years ago…long before I got here, and
before many of you got here, too. But
what he told me struck a chord. It’s not
unusual for someone raised in a more orthodox tradition to attend services here
unsure of how what we call church intersects with their
understanding of church. This fellow had
been raised Catholic, and, while our conversation had made it clear that he was
far more in sympathy with our liberal religious perspective than what he had
left behind, what he had experienced in this very room all those years ago did
not compel him to return. He said, “Mark, I have to
tell you, that morning felt more like an Al-Anon meeting than a church
service.” Of course, I knew why he
might have had that impression. It
probably was a morning of over-abundant Joys and Concerns. Those of us who have been
around here a while forget how odd that ritual can sometimes be to
newcomers. Yes, I know, many people say
how cool it is that we do it. And some
of us remember Sara Scott, a longtime member who died a few years back, who
once shared during a religious services committee meeting that until I got here
at least, for her Joys and Concerns was the church service. While I certainly wouldn’t want to deny the
great meaning and power that can be conveyed during Joys and Concerns (or at an
Al-Anon meeting for that matter!), and the model of open sharing both can
represent, I also don’t believe the purpose or intent of our weekly services to
be the same as an Al-Anon meeting. Story #2 Last Sunday, my friend
Mike stood up in Joys and Concerns and mentioned that he was the go-to person
in town if anyone wanted Barack Obama or Tom Harkin signs. I must have cringed, as did probably many
others in the room, as these kinds of political announcements are not
appropriate anywhere in a church service, and certainly not during Joys
and Concerns. I told him why after the
service, as did, I figure, a couple of other people, but the deed had already
been done. Someone else might have seen
him do it and figured it would be OK to do something similar themselves
somewhere down the line. Similarly, when someone stands up and shares an
announcement of an upcoming event during Joys and Concerns, and the misuse of
the ritual isn’t addressed in a public way, someone else may believe that Joys
and Concerns is an appropriate place to make announcements. Story #3 Then, just the other day,
I was chatting with a member who was sharing with me her concerns about a
particular issue in town that she was feeling compelled to speak up about. It was an admittedly important issue having
to do with health care costs for indigent people, but when she said, “I think
I’ll get up and talk about it during Joys and Concerns next week,” I found
myself encouraging her not to and explaining in 30 seconds or so what I think
that ritual is for. As I articulated for
my friend my “Joys and Concerns” philosophy, I realized that I had never said
it so succinctly…nor had I ever done it publicly. I’ve always excused my
public lack of clarity on Joys and Concerns by saying, “Oh, I don’t want to be
a traffic cop minister,” meaning I don’t want to accept the job of controlling
the ebb and flow of our lives together.
Suddenly, I realized what a cop-out that really is. The fact is, a significant component of my
calling to serve with and for you here is to help craft our weekly services, to
conduct them with compassion and concern for our community, both those already
in our midst and those yet to find us, including those looking for a church
service, not an Al-Anon meeting. I don’t think most of you
would be surprised that I have occasional problems with the way we conduct our
Joys and Concerns ritual. After all, I
know many of you do, too. You’ve told me
so. But, rather than deal with
the elephant in the room, some of us at least, have flown our flags by
muttering under our breath, or elbowing our neighbors, or looking down at the
floor when someone may be misusing the ritual, and refusing to provide the kind
of clarity about what the ritual is there to do that could lead us to own it as
an entire church community rather than just tolerate it as a ritual that serves
the needs of a select few, while irritating (or confusing) others. When I was considering
whether or not to address this today, I followed the “crucial conversation”
guidelines by asking myself some important questions. What do I really want for myself? --to set the tone and the
expectation for the most meaningful and
responsible church service I (and others) can lead What do I really want for others? --to have a ritual in our
weekly services during which we have the opportunity to share the true
milestones of our lives…those things that are too important not to be
shared…a ritual during which each of us can experience the cycles of life
though the words and experiences of others…significant births, deaths,
anniversaries, personal transitions, triumphs and losses. What do I really want for the relationship? --that we collectively
understand the purpose of this ritual and begin to see the maintenance of it
not as something that “Mark wants” but as something that each of us can own,
honor, treasure and do our part to responsibly maintain, which includes taking
the risk to have crucial conversations with those who may consciously or
unconsciously be misunderstanding or even abusing it. And finally, How would I behave if I really wanted
these results? I would tell you directly
what I want, not be afraid to say it more than once, and open the door for you
to talk to one another about what you want, trusting that we may have more in
common about this than I may have previously believed. Beyond being clear about
what I want, I needed to search for the and statement of what I don’t
want. I had to ask myself “Can I, as
minister of this congregation, describe my expectations of our weekly joys and
concerns ritual and not give the members the impression that I don’t
care about their feelings or leave them to think I am trying to be overly
controlling?” I trust that you will bear
with me as I try to do just that. My vision is a Joys and
Concerns ritual that is focused on personal milestones, the things that we
ourselves or those most close to us are experiencing. Speaking for ourselves as we share our
experiences of the cycles of life can be a powerfully connecting ritual that
reminds us that we are not alone in our humanity. Joys and Concerns focused on
ourselves and our most immediate loved ones can open up universal truths about
what it means to be human in joy and pain, in youth and in old age, and in
every age range in between. Joys and Concerns is not a time to announce
upcoming events. It is not a time to
make politically-biased announcements. It is not a time to invite people to
help with a project. We have other
avenues to do that, including pulpit editorials, as well as announcements in
the order of service or newsletter. Joys
and Concerns is not, even, a time to share with the congregation the health
status of those with whom we are only remotely related or associated. When the milestones shared are not close
enough to our own lives, I believe they take us out of the ritual and leave us
to wonder just why we are doing this at all.
I like that our Caring Ministry shares with the congregation updates on
our members during this time, as these are members of our immediate church
family and I think it is important to be reminded that much of the pastoral
care of a church our size is extended by members to other members. Do I expect you to agree
with me about the intent and content of Joys and Concerns? Oh, I’ve been a UU minister for too long to
expect that! However, if I, the primary ritual leader for this congregation, do
not share with you my understanding of and expectations for a regular ritual of
our congregation, I believe I am abdicating my responsibility as your minister
and effectively “flying flags” rather than clearly communicating with you. I apologize for having flown those flags for
so long. It’s only because I love
this church and the people in it that I would take the risk to tell you what I really
believe and desire, even if I come off sounding like a traffic cop. It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Finally. Which leads me to ask,
what risks are you willing to take for this congregation? What truths are you
willing to say out loud? Directly, honestly, but also respectfully and
humanely? How about in the other
relationships of your life? What flags might you be flying right now that you
might do better to take down so that you could begin to have a crucial
conversation with someone you love…the crucial conversation that your relationship
deserves? You might be surprised to
find out how much others would appreciate seeing those flags come down, too. For more information about the “Crucial Conversations” content, consult: Crucial Conversations: Tools for Talking When the Stakes Are High by Kerry Patterson, Joseph Grenny, Ron McMillian and Al Switzler (New York: McGraw Hill, 2002).
|