by tashmcgill | Sep 2, 2008 | Culture & Ideas, Spirituality, Youth Work
There are certain ways that societies organise and arrange themselves .. in facing my recent changes in work and life.. one of the most significant passages of time was sitting with Renier Greef, co-author of this book and psychologist.
He told me the story of Medicine Man Chief, the ancient themes that echo in today’s world just as strongly.
Tribes arrange themselves around chiefs. The stronger the chief, the bigger the tribe. Chiefs have mini-chiefs. They are found at the centre of the tribe – the Chieftains house is always in the centre – the focal point of the tribe’s direction and leadership. Tribespeople need a chief, and chiefs need tribespeople in order to be a chief at all. The loyalty is chief to tribe, tribe to chief. They are dependant on one another for security.
Chiefs are good or bad, sometimes good and bad. They have a job to do – which is leading people, leading the tribe.
But there is another crucial and necessary person in the life of any people group – the Medicine Man. The medicine man never lives within the tribe. He lives on the outskirts, outside the city gates or simply travels in a nomadic fashion between tribes that require his services.
The medicine man isn’t loyal to the tribe or to the chief. He’s loyal to the Higher Truth. His is the business of healing. Of bringing truth to the tribe. As such, he has great influence and power. He can be magnetic and charismatic, just like a chief, but his loyalty to truth (which is ultimately for the sake and care of the tribespeople) will always be his highest priority.
But tell a story… where a chief, with a big tribe and lots of mini-chiefs all of a sudden discovers an illness within the tribe. A sickness that needs the services of a medicine man. An inground misbelief that needs truth spoken to it. He puts out the call to the medicine man, who comes, with all his knowledge and healing ability, all his concern for the tribespeople.
He sets to work bringing truth and light. Healing returns to the tribe, health comes forth in new and powerful ways. The medicine man operates outside of the usual systems. At first the chief is grateful for the good work of the medicine man. But eventually, the people come to recognize the skill of the medicine man. They begin to trust his ability to bring healing and wisdom to the way of the tribe.
Now the chief has a choice. A good chief will recognise the value of having a good medicine man in the tribe. He’ll work with him, forging trust. See, the medicine man doesn’t want to be the chief – he’s firstly loyal to the Higher Truth, then the people. The chief is loyal to the cause of the tribe, it’s strength and health. That’s where his prowess and manna as a chief comes from.
A good chief will work in healthy tension and trust with the medicine man, allowing him to do his work. The medicine man most wants recognition of his particular skill, the chief wants recognition as leader of the tribe, he wants loyalty.
A moderate chief will send the medicine man on his way, ensuring that his position of leadership within the tribe remains unthreatened, only to call on the medicine man again in the future.
A bad chief, simply sees the threat to his leadership and kills the medicine man.
When the chief kills the medicine man, everyone loses. At least when the medicine man is sent on his way, the knowledge of the medicine man remains accessible when it’s next needed. But when you kill the medicine man, the relationship is severed, there is significant loss to the tribe.
So… what am I? Where do I fit in? Where do any of us fit?
I’m a medicine man. Simple. But I’m also a medicine man who understands and appreciates the complexity of the chief’s role. I respect the chief’s job. But I don’t necessarily want it. In fact, my preference is much more as chief of the medicine men, schooling up a tribe of folks bred to bring healing and truth and light into many more tribes.
Sidenote: When a medicine man becomes chief.. they really become a benevolent dictator according to Greef. In other words, their way really is the only way, but because their way is primarily directed towards the health of the tribe, there is a healthy amount of trust and freedom available. In fact, some believe that Jesus, who came first as a medicine man when they were expecting a chief, will come again as a benevolent dictator… a dictator because his ways are right, but loved because of the rightness of his ways.
So I’m a medicine man that got killed…. because my ways were so different, but there is a huge strength within me to say .. they were the right ways. And I could never offer my loyalty to anything other than the Truth, the highest Truth.
Youthwork & The Medicine Man
So I wonder .. as youthworkers.. are we more likely to be chiefs or medicine men? Is there some clarity offered to the ages-old tension between seniors and youth pastors in the distinctions here? It’s true – some youth pastors are chiefs, but they are more likely to be grafted in as mini-chiefs, whereas the medicine men youthworkers who threaten the stability of loyalty and leadership within the tribe are the ones most likely to find themselves in conflict within a hierarchal structure.
What can be done? Well, for starters, understanding who you are is always going to be helpful… and then understanding certain circumstances that help or conversely hinder your ability to function within the organisations you find yourself.
Long-term pastors? Chiefs, who hopefully have learnt the value of their role and the role of medicine men within the life and vibrancy of the tribe. Short-termers? Medicine men who are there for a season.. I can think of a number of interim pastors who bring healing and hope to fragile commmunities for a season before moving on.
Lots of key ministry leaders are mini chiefs, who can align effectively with pastoral staff because they understand the structure of loyalty and respect they operate on. Medicine men struggle because they operate in different ways.
A bad chief often will think they can apply the same ‘medicine’ as the medicine man, hence repeating someone else’s good idea without the same healthy impact or effect. They, no longer ‘needing’ the medicine man, can send him on his way and thus maintain the security of their position within the tribe..
There are so many ways to think about this, apply it, unpack it and understand it. It may not all be right, but for now this is an important application for me as itinerant speaker, leader, creative pastor… i can bring my gifts and healing to multiple locations, whilst understanding now how to derail the fear of many chiefs.. “do they want my job?”.
by tashmcgill | May 11, 2007 | Culture & Ideas
“…..every time there are losses there are choices to be made. You choose to live your losses as passages to anger, blame, hatred, depression and resentment, or you choose to let these losses be passages to something new, something wider, and deeper.” Henri Nouwen
When you plant a seed in the earth, the seed must die in part in order to bloom. The seed disintegrates while germination takes place, so it is a kind of death that requires earth, moisture, warmth and oxygen. It is the kind of death that usually brings new life with it.
Today I realized that for a long time I had been holding on the seed that I had planted in hope so long ago. Sure, I buried the seed so it could grow. But it was never dead to me and I never let go of it. Never let it touch the soil or the damp darkness of the earth. It simply lived on in my heart as did the expectation of that seed’s rebirth. I expected that when new life from the old – that the seed would be resurrected as it had been.
During the long wait and wondering why the seed had not yet bloomed, I realised my foolishness and error. I had buried my hand in the dirt along with the seed, and stay locked to the place I had been and given the seed no chance to emerge. So I pulled my fist from the earth, reburied the seed and took my hand back to myself.
I prayed for a bigger heart willingly to love deeply instead of the small, tight-held heart of my hand and that my eyes would open to whatever new things could now burst forth from that seed of my dream.
little seed, you have carried the hope of my soul
you have been my world, my all, my invested self
i have finally learned that burying you in the dark, damp ground
is the very task you were made for, that I was made for.
made to be buried, my confusion and sorrows
little seed, today you are gone down into the dirt and
i am empty handed again, bruised from holding you so tight
so long holding myself from the brink of homecoming
my pathway home, to the house of my father
the wide open, unknown but familiar embrace
is scattered with small burial mounds, hope filled moments
where I have learned to trust openhanded into the darkness
secretly I am burying myself, placing my too easily constructed
ideas into the earth to break down, shake out new strength
learning to breath in the big empty spaces
now that I am ready to be new.
by tashmcgill | Aug 9, 2005 | Church, Culture & Ideas
Confused Identity
“Kia mura tonu nga ahi kaa
mo te matemateaone”
Keep the home fires burning,
so loved ones will always return.”
I am looking for a home fire, and wanting to surround my campfire with other travellers, artists, thinkers, lovers, friends, companions that will enrich both my own faith but also make a lasting impact on the surroundings we live in. To burn a fire that will both warm, light, consume and refine people who gather around it.
Now, I am at war with myself, and others, as to where that fire is. Where it should be. Where it must be. Where it could be. All these questions and possiblities float like smouldering ash from a bonfire. Whether work and home in pastoral, missional life can interact and serve one another.
And I am looking for a home fire for my immediate community.. and that is where the personal and ministry stories intersect. We are predominantly a white, middle class modernly styled, seeker-friendly youth – adult congregation that meets on Sunday evenings on the North Shore of Auckland. We are a large community, and that both helps and hinders us.
The kind of people that I would gather around my campfire, are not necessarily those who gather around this one, but I sense one has something to offer the other in complimentary parts.
Yesterday’s conversations with Brian W, highlighted that although I believe incorporating more of the arts and Emerging practice into our evening gatherings would be of enormous benefit to some.. the reality is that enrichment can sound presumptious, educational can sound arrogant.. and too much experimentation can overwhelm the voice and power of simplicity. I’ve been reading Edward de Bono’s book on Simplicity. Which raises the question of Confused Identity.
If one week I am leading the music team above, in pop/rock choruses, with the occasional hymn thrown in for effect, and the immediate week after, I am asking them to trust me to lead them through a labyrinth…. is that remotely fair?
Small steps, small steps, and in careful constructed pathways.
I was so wary that creativity as an idea of ‘good practice’ would become the inevitable goal in this process.. and I think that we are on the cusp of that now. So two big steps back, reframe, breathe again… and think simple.
I’m lighting a fire, and I have to start with kindling, fuel and a small match before I can lay the heavy logs on.. after all, this is meant to be a fire that burns slowly, and for a long time, the kind of fire that invites the visitor, not simply burns and roars in the faces of the familiar. And perhaps… I have an obligation to be the match. Or a desire to be. I know that I want to love these ones into my campfire, and make a home for them there.
All at once, I am charismatic worship leader, songwriter, poet, painter, youth pastor, colleague, student, teacher, leader, voice, ear. I am indeed confused. No wonder, music leading has been hard these past few weeks. It’s become over-complicated and pulled in too many different directions. I am breathing deep, I am thinking… “be aware of the roles, not defined by them”.. I am thinking.. tend the fire first. I am thinking of loved ones, and how I can guide them to this place. I am thinking of the desert where this fire will burn, and I am praying very hard. I am asking… how can I make this a fun place to be?
Kure kwandinoenda, asi ndichakusvika chete – Where we are going is far, but we will eventually get there.
PS
Isn’t is amazing what a few candles, crimson flowers & a white tablecloth will do for a mid-winter pot-luck dinner? As we gathered the music team last night, I felt a lot of pleasure in who they are as people. There was no inspirational talking.. just conversation, food, gifts (from small to ridiculous), music.
by tashmcgill | Jan 6, 2005 | Culture & Ideas
A Lesson In Jazz
YOGI BERRA EXPLAINS JAZZ
Interviewer:“What do expect is in store for the future of jazz guitar?”
Yogi:“I’m thinkin’ there’ll be a group of guys who’ve never met talkin’about it all the time.”
Interviewer: Can you explain jazz?
Yogi: I can’t, but I will. 90% of all jazz is half improvisation. The other half is the part people play while others are playing something they never played with anyone who played that part. So if you play the wrong part, it’s right. If you play the right part, it might be right if you play it wrong enough. But if you play it too right, it’s wrong.
Interviewer: I don’t understand.
Yogi: Anyone who understands jazz knows that you can’t understand it. It’s too complicated. That’s what¹s so simple about it.
Interviewer: Do you understand it?
Yogi: No. That’s why I can explain it. If I understood it, I wouldn’t know anything about it.
Interviewer: Are there any great jazz players alive today?
Yogi: No. All the great jazz players alive today are dead. Except for the ones that are still alive. But so many of them are dead, that the ones that are still alive are dying to be like the ones that are dead. Some would kill for it.
Interviewer: What is syncopation?
Yogi: That’s when the note that you should hear now happens either before or after you hear it. In jazz, you don’t hear notes when they happen because that would be some other type of music. Other types of music can be jazz, but only if they’re the same as something different from those other kinds.
Interviewer: Now I really don’t understand.
Yogi: I haven’t taught you enough for you to not understand jazz that well.
by tashmcgill | Dec 22, 2004 | Culture & Ideas, Family
The New Family Christmas
Each year that passes our family christmas evolves a little more. Mum’s partner (whom I adore) has been part of Christmas for many years now, but in recent years his children have become more part of the celebrations as well.
It’s a weird thing. It’s not as simple as adding another gift to the pile under the tree. It raises questions in me that are difficult to answer, and creates strange and conflicting emotions, that are difficult to contain.
It’s never as simple as the love that Mum and her partner share being the complete circle. In fact, that love is like a pebble being thrown into a lake, and the ripples slowly move out to envelop everyone.
The first ripple for me, were the photos of grandkids. Be careful in understanding here. I really like my de facto stepsisters, what little I know of them, and the kids are gorgeous. But it’s strange that the first photographs of grandkids to be displayed in Mum’s house, aren’t our kids.. my kids, or my nieces and nephews.
The second ripple bounces off the first.. because it reflects that the house that was once ours, changes by definition when it starts to belong to other people. See, I want with all my heart to be warm and embracing to the faily newcomers, but the cost seems high. My family home becomes filled with people and photographs of people that begin to belong to this house too.. but I don’t feel like they belong to me, or that I belong to them.
The third ripple is when we start to alter the family I’ve known all my life, to accomodate others sensitivities. This is where I start to chide myself on being selfish and proud. At the family Christmas tree decorating party, Mum put the family photos we had done away, so that said step-family wouldn’t feel left out. But inside I screamed.. I feel left out, of this new family. I battle this.. how to keep the original family sacred, whilst treasuring the new.
The fourth ripple does come down to gifts under the tree. With all my heart, I want to include and embrace this new family, but how do I give a gift to someone I barely know that is meaningful and not tacky, that doesn’t appear contrived or obligatory.
When all the desire in the world is to love, and yet love is painful and uncertain.. how do I do it?
How did Joseph love a son that wasn’t his, as if he was his own? How must Joseph have felt naming that child, in place of his real Father?
Help me God, to love this new family and to be fully part of it, to enjoy everything it has to offer and to make my own contributions to it. Help me not to be angry at what is lost, but to treasure what is gained. May something beautiful grow from the hard soil of my heart.
by tashmcgill | Aug 17, 2003 | Culture & Ideas, Prose & Poetry
A Recipe for an Episcopalian
He used to leave the tomato leaves
To dry on the windowsill,
Separated,
The largest on the left,
Diminishing in size
Until there was just a scrap of green left,
The baby of the family.
Once dry, the leaves were so fragile
A strong gust of wind could crack them.
He put them into soups, sauces and
Sauerkraut: odd for an Episcopalian.
I remember his Sunday sermons,
Severe for a man who took such care
With the leaves of tomatoes.
But as we both grew older, and I learned
How the family had fallen apart,
I realized the importance of tomato leaves–
Making order out of chaos,
Letting the juices dry,
Keeping us all in line.
Jessica Anthony
Brooklyn, NY
