What a start to the week.
In another op-ed, author and journalist Frank Bruni’s commentary in the New York Times made an interesting point, regardless of the reasons for the exit:
“However grudging, Biden’s withdrawal is a remarkable reckoning and a historical anomaly. It runs counter to human nature, or at least to the nature of humans who have known the exhilaration of being on top. Rulers cling to their gilded stations. When they’re threatened, they cling tighter. History is lousy with guests who wouldn’t leave, not once they’d experienced the fluffiness of the pillows and the fawning of the help.”
Bruni goes on to question how many senators, Supreme Court justices, or even presidents have “minimized their physical declines and their inability to work as forcefully as they once did?”
Please understand: I’m not making a political statement here.
What I want to poke at is our own leadership of whatever we’re a part of. Are we coming to grips with our level of passion, drive, nimbleness, and vision? Is my level of self-awareness and, may I add, humility, at a factor that enables me to honestly see what is best for the organization I’m privileged to lead? What parts of my identity are entangled in the job at hand?
And this isn’t just a problem of age.
My observations of leadership and the “letting go” thereof, particularly pastoral positions, would generally concur with Bruni’s comment: “It runs counter to human nature…”
Letting go is a general spiritual theme throughout scripture and, I believe, a vital spiritual practice. From the story of Abraham and Isaac to Jesus in the garden, relinquishing one’s own will to the greater good is crucial. That, and seeing past the now.
I have worked with too many churches with pastors who are either coasting or white-knuckling to the end. Though they are not bad or ill-intentioned people, I’m often stunned at their deep fear of “what’s next?”
But I get it.
Often, it’s financial, particularly for Boomers who opted out of Social Security at the advice of others. Many times, it’s about the aforementioned issue of identity: This is who I am. What else can I do or be? But I think often the reality might actually be deeper.
The opposite of faith is not unbelief but rather fear:
What will I do? Who will I be? How can I survive? If my faith isn’t active regarding God’s care for me, his available resources, and his will for the organizations and values I’ve stewarded, then my problem is far greater than the previous three questions: this is a question of faith.
My “holding on” may very well be stunting the work that needs to happen for future effectiveness. Let’s face it: this could be our garden moment—“Father, not what I want, but what do you want?”
Let’s just get honest in the olive grove.
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